The ignis aftermath

Exhaustion pulled Adam under, the weight of his new reality pressing like stone. As sleep claimed him, the darkness dissolved into sterile fluorescence and the scent of ozone – a memory surfacing from three years before his death.

The lab hummed with contained power. Zion Aris rubbed his temples, eyes fixed on the main holodisplay. Schematics wrapped around the project's core: a car-sized meteorite, obsidian-black and pulsing with deep crimson light from within. Project Ignis. Data streams flowed beside it – radiation levels, particle emissions, thermal bleed.

The security door hissed open. Major Silas Way entered, tossing a wrapped sandwich onto Zion's console. "Break time, Z. You've been hypnotized by Sparky for ten hours straight." He leaned against a bulkhead, sandy hair messy, grey eyes sharp but tired.

Zion caught the sandwich with a half-smile. "It doesn't sleep, Silas. It radiates. Tertiary dampeners in Sector Four are finally holding. Almost." He gestured at the pulsing rock. "Energy bleed's negligible now. Might get a stable resonance scan tomorrow."

Silas whistled softly. "Command's been riding me hard since the last fluctuation. They see the energy density potential. Materials applications alone..." He trailed off, tension evident. "But that instability..."

"It's alien," Zion countered, gaze fixed on the crimson glow. "We're caging something we barely understand. Pushing too fast..."

"Is how we get a new crater," Silas finished bluntly. "That's why you're here. Only one who speaks its chaotic language." He pushed off the bulkhead. "Gotta face budget purgatory. Try not to let Sparky throw another tantrum." The door hissed shut behind him.

Silence descended, broken only by equipment hum and the meteorite's rhythmic pulse. Zion turned to finalize scan parameters. A secondary monitor flickered. A minor energy spike in Sector Seven – a blip dismissed as sensor noise. Zion recalibrated absently.

The blip vanished. Reappeared. Stronger. Wider.

Not noise.

Cold pricked Zion's spine. His fingers flew across the interface. Particle counts in Sector Seven climbed exponentially. Gamma radiation ticked into caution zones. The meteorite's crimson glow intensified, flickering erratically.

"No... hold on..." Zion muttered, initiating emergency protocols. Primary containment field integrity wavered: 98%... 96%... 94%... "Engage secondary dampeners! Full power to Sector Seven shielding!" He slammed commands into the system.

Warning: Containment Field Instability

Sector Seven Core Integrity Critical

Alarms whooped. Crimson light flared violently, bathing the lab in bloody glare. Zion shielded his eyes as schematics dissolved into static. The hum became a deafening roar, vibrating deck plates.

"Override Gamma-Seven! Initiate core flush!" Zion yelled, hammering the physical override panel. The system acknowledged... then froze.

The meteorite seemed to inhale. Crimson light condensed into a single, terrifying point of incandescent fury. Zion had one heartbeat to understand.

Then white-hot force tore reality apart.

Not light. Pure annihilating pressure. Containment fields shattered like glass. Zion felt it hit him – a wave of fundamental wrongness tearing at his being. Consoles exploded. Metal shrieked. Weightlessness. Roaring silence.

***

Consciousness returned in painful fragments. Antiseptic sting. Rhythmic beeping. Blurred ceiling tiles. Deep, bone-aching pain. High-pitched ringing.

Hospital bed. Tubes. Bandages.

The door opened. Silas stood there in fatigues, dark circles under his eyes, relief washing over his face. "Z..." He moved quickly to the bedside, voice rough. "You scared the hell out of me."

Zion's throat felt desert-dry. Silas held a cup with a straw. Cool water brought relief. "Ignis?" Zion rasped.

Silas's expression tightened. "Gone. Total loss. The chamber's slag. The meteorite..." He shook his head. "Dead. Cold. Dark. Whatever was inside burned out."

Zion closed his eyes. The crushing weight felt physical. Years of work. Potential. Responsibility. Gone.

"Radiation?"

"Contained. Mostly." Silas's voice was low. "You took the worst pulse. Docs say you're clean. Just thoroughly wrecked." A ghost of a grin appeared. "Stubborn bastard." It faded. "Project's shut down. Indefinitely."

Zion turned away, staring blankly at the bright window. His apartment seemed meaningless now. His life had been Ignis.

"The data?"

"Primary servers are slag," Silas said gently. "Secondary backups... fried by EMP. Unrecoverable." He placed a hand on Zion's shoulder. "Orders: Discharge. Go home. Rest. Real rest. One week minimum. Doctor's orders. My orders."

Home. The word echoed hollowly. The meteorite's brilliant crimson was replaced by institutional white. Its death roar faded into the heart monitor's beep.

He had survived. But Zion Aris, the scientist who'd held Ignis's volatile heart, felt extinguished.

***

Adam stirred in his sleep, a soft whimper escaping. The antiseptic smell faded into woodsmoke and earth. Hospital lights dissolved into candle glow. The crushing weight of Zion's failure lingered for a breath – a phantom ache in the infant chest – before receding into deeper sleep.

Unseen in his mind, words pulsed crimson:

Memory Archive Accessed: Ignis Terminus

System Update: 15% Complete

The echo of the fallen star settled within the reborn child. The fire was out, but the memory of its violent end burned on.