Sylva's aura, which had been burning bright and steady for the past hour, was starting to flicker.

The rescued Weavers noticed too.

A boy near the edge of the group started rocking faster. The scars on his face, where his God Mark was, began to glow faintly red again.

"It's coming back," he whispered. "The noise. I can hear it again."

Panic spread quickly through the crowd.

Jonah pushed more of his will into Sylva, forcing the aura to brighten again. The effort made his legs shake, but he stayed standing. He had to.

"Jonah." Vanessa was beside him instantly, with her hand on his arm. "You are pushing yourself too hard. At this rate, you will burn yourself out in another hour."

"I can handle it."

"No, you can't." Her voice was gentle but firm. "Look at yourself. You are shaking."

She was right. His whole body trembled from how hard it was to keep a Grade-5 Progeny at full power for so long. His God Mark felt like it was on fire.

But what choice did he have?

General Ironwood's soldiers were moving through the ruins, setting up a border around the area. Medical teams also followed, carrying stretchers and emergency supplies.

One soldier approached a young Weaver girl cautiously, as if she might explode at any moment.

The girl flinched away, her face showing clear fear.

"Easy," the soldier said, raising his hands. "I'm just here to help."

"Don't touch me!" The girl's God Mark flared. For a second, something dark and twisted tried to appear beside her. A half-formed Progeny that was all wrong angles and exposed bone.

Sylva's aura pulsed, and the creature faded before fully forming. The soldier had jumped back, with a hand on his weapon.

Jonah moved between them quickly. "It's okay. She's okay. Just give her space."

The soldier nodded and backed away, but Jonah saw the fear in his eyes. The way he looked at these young Weavers wasn't like he was looking at victims. It was like he was looking at bombs that might go off at any second.

That look bothered Jonah more than he wanted to admit.

"We need to move them," Seraph said, walking up with a datapad. "The Headmaster has authorized the use of the old East Wing quarantine facility. It's secure, isolated, and has medical equipments."

"You mean it's a prison," Draven said bluntly. His ribs were wrapped now, courtesy of one of the medics, but he still moved carefully. "Let's not pretend otherwise."

"It's protection," Ironwood corrected, overhearing them. "For them and for everyone else. Until we understand their condition better, containment is the only responsible option."

Jonah wanted to argue, but he couldn't.

These Weavers were dangerous, even if they didn't mean to be. Even now, with Sylva's calming presence, they were barely holding it together.

What would happen when that presence was gone?

The Headmaster approached. "The transports are ready. We can begin evacuation immediately."

"How are you going to explain this?" Ariana asked. She stood a little apart from the group, her silver armor still clean and shiny despite the battle. "Hundreds of new Weavers appearing overnight? Your people will have questions."

"Let them question." The Headmaster's voice was tired but determined. "We will call it a rescue operation from Sterling's illegal experiments. Which is the truth, technically."

"And when people realize these 'rescued' individuals have godlike powers and unstable minds?" Ariana pressed. "Fear spreads faster than truth, Headmaster."

"Then we deal with it." He turned to Jonah. "But first, we need to get them somewhere safe. Can you maintain Sylva's aura during transport?"

Jonah nodded, even though the strain was already making his vision blur. "Yeah. I can do it."

The evacuation began.

It took three full hours to load all the Weavers onto the military transports. Each one had to be approached carefully, spoken to gently, and guided like frightened animals rather than ordered like soldiers.

Jonah walked among them with Sylva always at his side, keeping the peace.

By the time the last transport lifted off, Jonah felt like he'd aged ten years.

The flight back to the Academy was quiet one. Jonah sat in the lead VTOL with his team. Seraph was reviewing security protocols on her datapad. Draven dozed in his seat, finally allowing himself to rest. Ariana looked out the window at the passing landscape, lost in thought.

And Vanessa never let go of his hand.

"You did good back there," she said softly.

"Did I?" Jonah's voice was flat. "We destroyed Sterling's factory, but he got exactly what he wanted. Data. Combat analysis. Everything he needed to perfect his next batch."

"You also saved hundreds of lives."

"For what? So they can live in fear? So they can be locked up in a secure facility because everyone's too scared of what they might do?"

Vanessa shifted closer, resting her head on his shoulder. "You gave them a chance, Jonah. That's more than Sterling ever did. That's more than anyone else would have done."

He wanted to believe her. But the weight of all those frightened faces pressed down on him.

The Academy came into view as the sun began to set.

The transports landed on a restricted platform far from the main campus. More soldiers waited there, along with medical staffs.

The Headmaster had already arrived, using a quicker transport to beat them there. He stood with General Ironwood, both men looking grim.

"The facility is ready," the Headmaster said as Jonah came down from the transport. "We've set up separate rooms, medical monitoring, and a courtyard where they can interact under supervision."

"Under guard, you mean," Jonah said quietly.

The Headmaster didn't deny it. "Yes. Under guard. For everyone's safety."

The process of moving the Weavers from the transports to their new home took another hour. Jonah walked with them, Sylva's presence keeping them calm even as they were led into rooms that looked more like cells than bedrooms.

Each room had a bed, a small bathroom, and a window. But the window had bars. And the door locked from the outside.

The young girl Jonah had talked to earlier, the one he'd promised to teach, stopped at the entrance of her room and looked up at him.

"You said you'd help me," she whispered. "You promised."

"I will." Jonah knelt down to her level. "I know this place looks scary, but you won't be here for long. Just until we find out how to make the pain stop for good."

"What if you can't?"

"Then I'll keep trying until I can."

She searched his face for a long moment, then nodded and went inside.

By the time the last Weaver was settled, night had fully fallen. Jonah dismissed Sylva, finally allowing the Progeny to rest. The moment the aura faded completely, he collapsed.

Vanessa and Draven caught him before he hit the ground.

"Medic!" Seraph shouted.

"I'm fine," Jonah mumbled, but his words were slurred. "Just tired."

"You're not fine," Vanessa said, her voice breaking slightly. "You just maintained a Grade-5 Progeny at full power for over five hours. That's not humanly possible."

"I had to."

A medic arrived with a wheelchair. They loaded Jonah into it even though he weakly tried to say no. As they wheeled him toward the medical wing, he looked back at the containment facility.

Hundreds of young faces pressed against barred windows, watching him go.

He'd saved them from Sterling's factory. But what kind of life had he saved them for?

The medic gave him a shot that made everything go fuzzy. As he began to fall unconscious, Jonah heard a few voices talking around him.

"The scan results are troubling," someone said. Probably the Headmaster. "His God Mark is showing signs of strain we've never seen before."

"He pushed himself too far," Vanessa's voice, tight with worry.

"He had no choice," Ironwood replied. "Without him, those Weavers would have torn each other apart."

"That's the problem, isn't it?" This was a new voice. The medic, maybe. "They're dependent on him now. On his power to keep them stable. What happens if he can't maintain it?"

Then the Headmaster spoke, his voice heavy. "Then we'll have to find another solution. Quickly."

Jonah wanted to say something. To tell them he'd be fine. That he'd figure it out.

But darkness pulled him under before he could form the words.

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