The cold didn't come from the air. It was deeper. Penetrating. It wasn't felt on the skin, but in the bones. In the soul. It didn't come from a current, but from the walls themselves, made of gray steel, without a single imperfection, without windows, without visible doors. As if the place had been designed not to harbor life, but to contain it, mold it… or extinguish it.

  The ceiling seemed to breathe. A subtle, almost imperceptible hum ran through the room with a constant, artificial rhythm. It was as if the whole place were alive. Or worse, as if it were watching. Watching. Waiting.

  Aurelio opened his eyes slowly. The light hit him like a slap. His body was immobilized on a metal stretcher. He couldn't move, not because of weakness, but because of the thick straps that tightened his limbs. The most disturbing thing was the feeling of emptiness inside him… as if his aura had been sucked dry, silenced. Dead.

  "It's no use trying to move," said a metallic voice from an intercom hidden in some corner. "It's contained."

  "Where... am I?" he thought, his vision still trembling.

  Bit by bit, his surroundings took shape. Needles injected into his arms, sensors attached to his chest, some kind of dark bracelet around his neck like a cursed necklace. Cold, oppressive, pulsing with an unnatural energy.

  "Subject 001 has awakened," the same voice announced. "Initiate adaptation protocol."

  A whisper drifted from the edges of the stretcher. A colorless, light, almost imperceptible gas invaded his space. His mind began to give way, to go numb, but something in him refused. He resisted. They had underestimated him.

  I am not just any child... I am a king who has returned from the abyss.

  Hours later…

  In a room as white as marble slabs, facing a wall of tinted glass, a figure stood silently. Black robes, face covered by a silver mask. He emitted no aura. His presence was a void.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Welcome to reality, 001... or, as they used to call you, Aurelius Cassius."

  Aurelius barely blinked.

  "Who are you?"

  "We are the New Age Council, the CNE," the figure replied emotionlessly. "And you are part of the most ambitious experiment of this era."

  "What do they want from me?"

  "Perfection."

  The word hung in the air, like a sweet poison.

  Aurelius didn't respond. His eyes scanned the room, memorizing every detail. Every reflection, every sound. He calculated. Analyzed. Adapted.

  "We want to create the ideal human," the figure continued. "Physical, mental, magical, auric." A being who surpasses all limitations… And you, Subject 001, are at the top of our ranking.

  “And what do they do with those who aren't 'perfect'?” Aurelio asked, a cold smile on his lips.

  “We learn from them. Before we discard them.”

  What followed were weeks that can't be called life.

  Daily sessions. Physical and psychological torture. Auric shocks, electric currents, corrupting magic injected directly into his blood. His body was taken to the limit and then pushed beyond. They wanted to break him. To study. To redefine him.

  But they couldn't.

  Aurelio wasn't just a prodigy. He was a reborn tyrant. His will was iron forged on the fields of war, in betrayal, in death. He had been a king. And he wouldn't give in.

  Amidst torment, he found small moments to observe.

  In his cell, shared with other children, he watched the results of the CNE. Some cried day and night. Others simply went out, like burnt-out candles. And others… simply didn't speak. They were all broken.

  Except for one.

  A girl with ash-white hair and violet eyes like lightning in the night. She sat silently. She watched. And one day, she spoke.

  "Do you also pretend to be weaker than you really are?"

  Aurelio looked at her, curious.

  "Interesting way of greeting."

  "My name is Amelia Astor. Advanced telekinetic magic. I can break your neck without lifting a finger, but I prefer to speak first."

  An involuntary smile crossed Aurelio's lips.

  "Aurelio," he said simply.

  They shook hands, not like children, but like soldiers who recognize each other as equals. A silent truce in the midst of hell.

  From that moment on, whispers replaced the silence. They exchanged ideas, theories, bits of information. They discovered that the assigned numbers corresponded to their “value” according to the National Council of Necromancers (CNE). From 001 to 999. The lower the number, the greater their potential.

  “If you're 001… then you must be the one they fear most,” Amelia murmured one night, with a spark of respect.

  “Or the one they need most,” Aurelio replied, with that smile that never betrayed vulnerability.

  And so, the hell continued. But now, they weren't alone. Now, the fire didn't just burn… it also forged.