Sublevel 9 was quiet.
Not empty. Quiet.
The lights hummed overhead. White. Too clean. The kind of clean that never meant safety.
Isaac walked down the corridor in silence. Two guards followed behind him. They didn't speak. They never did. They kept their distance.
Doors lined the hall. Thick glass. Reinforced steel. Each one sealed. Each one labeled with a number instead of a name.
He didn't look at them.
He already knew what was inside.
They stopped at the end of the hall. The largest door. No window.
A voice came through the intercom. "Stand still."
Isaac did.
The door slid open. Cold air rushed out. It smelled like disinfectant and old metal.
Inside was a wide chamber. Runes etched into the floor. Faded. Scarred. Some burned black. Others cracked, like they had been forced too hard.
This was where it started.
Technicians stood behind glass panels. White coats. Tablets in hand. None of them met his face.
"Status?" one asked.
"Stable," another replied. "Curse levels within tolerance."
Isaac stepped onto the rune circle. The markings dimmed as soon as he crossed the line.
One of the technicians frowned. "It's reacting to him again."
"Of course it is," another said. "It always does."
Isaac felt it shift inside him. Not hunger. Not pain. Pressure. Like something coiled and waiting.
He ignored it.
A screen lit up on the wall. Data scrolled past. Pulse. Heat. Fragment resonance.
"Begin synchronization check."
The runes flared once. Then settled.
No screams this time.
Isaac stood still while the machines finished their work. Minutes passed. Maybe longer. Time was hard to track down here.
A younger technician glanced at the readings. "He's still holding."
"Barely," the lead replied. "If the fragment wasn't fed in the field—"
"It would've taken him," someone finished.
No one said the word again.
The tests ended. The runes faded completely.
"Escort him back," the lead said. "And log the result as acceptable."
Acceptable.
Isaac turned and walked out. The guards followed.
As the door sealed behind him, the lights flickered once.
For a second, the glass reflected his shape wrong. Too tall. Too still.
Then it was gone.
Isaac kept walking.