Adyr felt tired.
He has endured a full cycle of self-destruction, his body unmaking itself from the inside out, heaving up organs like unwanted scrap while the rest seemed to devour itself, only to begin rebuilding.
Pain threaded every inch of him, steady and exact.
But he did not hate it. He took it, counted it, and let it pass for one purpose: the moment of rebirth.
Heat leaked away in thin streams—a coolness spread like slow rain under a burning sun. Vapor lifted from his pores and, instead of stinging, settled with the faint tick of dew on skin.
Deep within, something deliberate clicked into place. New organs formed like meshed cogs finding their teeth. His chest learned a new rhythm. The pulse steadied. The machine was assembled.
His skin tightened to the shape beneath, as if an unseen hand were scoring lines from the inside. Texture changed under his fingertips: tougher, yes, but also smooth in a way that promised glide rather than drag.
