Kael lay rigid on Mira's stainless‑steel table, every muscle screaming in protest. The leather straps bit into his wrists, carving shallow grooves that throbbed in time with the shard‑eye monocle fogging over from Mira's breath. Above him, she hovered like a vulture, her silhouette lit by the harsh glare of a single overhead lamp. Drops of condensation trickled from a corroded vent, plinking into a rusted tray below—an incessant metronome marking each agonizing second.
Before he could gather his scattered thoughts, Mira leaned in, her shard‑eye adjusting focus with a soft click. "Fascinating," she whispered, half to herself. The vial in her hand glowed sickly green, venom from last week's draw pulsing like a heartbeat. Its occasional wriggle of fractal veins spoke of a living intelligence, adapting and evolving.
The needle slid home without warning. Hot metal caromed off his sternum and detonated pain behind his eyes. Kael clenched his jaw so hard he heard teeth grind. The metallic hiss of the siphon warbled as venom was siphoned out in a slow, merciless trickle. He tasted copper in his mouth—his own blood mixing with acidic dread.
Six hellish months of this. He struggled for a thought that wasn't consumed by pain. Better than letting Shardblight eat me alive in a rat‑infested tunnel.
Mira's voice cut through the haze: "The spores in the serum I injected you with are forcing your Shard to metastasize." She tilted the vial under the lamp. "See these fractal patterns? Each new vein is an adaptation—chaos learning structure."
Kael's vision swam. He spat a glob of bitter saliva onto the cold floor. "Don't give me your science lesson," he snarled, throat raw. "I just want to know if I live."
She paused, eyes flicking to a pinboard behind him. A photograph showed a girl—Mira's sister—with Mira's sharp cheekbones and haunted eyes, standing next to a corpse laced in gleaming Oblivion crystal. The memory of that loss was etched deep in Mira's face, only to vanish the moment she turned back.
"You will," Mira said, her tone flat. She grabbed a label and scrawled "Subject V‑K" in neat block letters before sliding the vial into a steel case. The lock snicked shut. "Your corruption would have swallowed your heart by now. Instead, it's… negotiating."
Kael shifted, agony radiating down his chest. He rolled down his sleeve, exposing fresh black veins that pulsed like wounded worms. The numbness receded, replaced by a dull ache—a reminder that the cure was borrowed time. Sweat beaded on his forehead, tracing salt‑white rivulets down his temples. He'd hallucinated worse in the sewers.
"Rent's due, by the way," Mira said over her shoulder without looking up. "Two pints next time."
Kael's gut twisted. "My venom's not your payday."
She dipped a quill into ink and scribbled in her notebook. "Everything's a commodity. Yours just happens to be rare."
He wanted to spit in her face but couldn't summon the strength. Instead, he studied her tools: a row of beakers filled with spore‑tinctures, cages lined with mutated rodents, and on a workbench, an array of jagged shard‑fragments humming faintly. Each piece whispered of power and madness, of broken men and the price they paid.
He tried to push himself up. The world tilted; his vision duplicated for a flicker. Mira caught his eye, just for a heartbeat. Something unguarded flickered there—regret? No. Too quick. She masked it with a brittle smile. "Lie still. I have charts to update."
The drip from the vent sped up, as though echoing his pulse. He closed his eyes, breathing shallowly. Every heartbeat was a drumbeat of war—against time, against his own failing flesh.
Mira's boots clicked on the grated floor. He heard her sorting through vials, the subtle clink of glass on glass. She hummed a hollow tune, something like a lullaby turned inside out. It grated on his nerve endings.
"Sleep," she said at last, voice softer, almost kindly. "We resume at dawn." She straightened a stray strand of hair behind her ear, then flicked off his strap with mechanical precision. "Until then, rest—if you can."
Alone under the sterile glare, Kael's chest rose and fell in ragged rhythm. He pressed his palm against the table's chill, feeling the faint pulse of the Shard beneath his flesh. Six months of stolen time stretched ahead—a countdown etched in his veins. He gritted his teeth against the ache and whispered, "Next time, I end it on my terms."
The condensation drip slowed to a near crawl. In the hush of Mira's lab, Kael waited for the first whisper of dawn—and the promise of his own rebellion.