The medical room on the third floor was filled with quiet tension.
Machines hummed softly. White lights glowed above metal beds. The smell of disinfectant mixed with the faint metallic scent of blood that hadn't fully faded yet.
Kael lay unconscious on one of the beds.
His body was wrapped in clean white bandages, but dark red stains still bled through in places. His face was pale, lips dry, chest rising and falling slowly. Every breath looked like it took effort.
Doctor Ethan Looms stood beside the bed, his glasses were slightly cracked as he read the data on a floating screen. His expression was tight. Too tight.
On the nearby beds, Examiner Holt and Clare Pearson were also being treated.
Holt sat upright, his shoulder wrapped tightly, jaw clenched as a nurse finished sealing the wound. He hadn't spoken a word since they arrived.
Clare lay on her side, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Her arm was bandaged, green thread Rin residue still faintly visible on her fingertips before fading completely. She kept glancing toward Kael without realizing it.
The nurse finished checking Clare's vitals and stepped away.
Doctor Ethan moved between the three beds, reviewing their reports one by one.
Holt: injured but stable.
Clare: moderate blood loss, Rin exhaustion.
Kael—
Ethan froze.
His fingers trembled slightly as he enlarged Kael's report. His eyes moved faster, scanning again and again, as if hoping the data would change.
"…No," he whispered.
He tapped the screen, pulled up deeper scans. Blood composition. Cellular patterns. Genetic markers.
His breath caught.
"That's not possible," he muttered.
The nurse noticed his expression. "Doctor?"
Ethan didn't answer. His face had gone pale.
He looked at Kael again. The boy looked fragile. Thin. Breakable.
And yet—
Ethan turned suddenly and started walking fast toward the door.
"I need to speak with Director Flint," he said sharply. "Now."
"Doctor—?" the nurse tried.
But Ethan was already gone.
Director Flint's Office
The large screen across Director Flint's office displayed paused footage from the outbreak.
Blood-covered corridors. Screaming alarms. Kael standing in the middle of destruction, wrapped in red flames.
Director Flint stood with his arms crossed, staring at the screen without blinking.
Jake Clinton stood to the side, posture straight but tense.
Rubin Pearson leaned casually against a table, arms folded, a cold look in his eyes.
The silence was heavy.
Flint finally spoke.
"…Play it again."
The footage resumed.
They watched Kael walk through the corridor. Watched the blood rise. Watched the needles form and fall.
Rubin let out a short, humorless laugh.
"How the hell," he said, "does a weak kid built like a stick have that much blood?"
Jake's jaw tightened.
"He survived."
Rubin glanced at him. "That's your answer for everything."
Flint raised a hand. "Enough."
The screen paused again on Kael's collapsed body.
"This incident," Flint said slowly, "has already reached the council. The outbreak. The destroyed floors. The casualties."
He turned to Jake.
"And that boy."
Jake didn't look away.
"I brought him here. I take responsibility."
Rubin scoffed. "You always do. That's the problem."
Jake snapped back. "He saved lives."
Rubin stepped forward. "Unintentionally. Without control. That makes it worse."
Flint exhaled deeply.
"Kael was tested. Twice. Resonance showed no Rin."
Jake shook his head. "And yet you saw what happened."
"That power wasn't Rin," Rubin said sharply. "That was something else. Something wrong."
Jake looked at him. "You're afraid."
Rubin smiled thinly. "I'm realistic."
Flint turned back to the screen.
"The blood," he said quietly. "The volume doesn't match his body mass."
Rubin nodded. "Exactly. A human that size shouldn't be able to lose that much blood and live. It makes no sense."
Jake spoke low but firm.
"Maybe we don't understand it yet."
Rubin's eyes hardened.
"Or maybe it doesn't belong here."
The room went quiet again.
Then—
The doors opened suddenly.
Doctor Ethan Looms rushed in, breathing hard, tablet clutched in his hand.
"Director Flint," he said urgently.
Flint turned. "What is it?"
Ethan swallowed. "I've reviewed Kael's medical data. Multiple times."
Rubin straightened.
"And?"
Ethan raised the tablet, his voice shaking slightly.
"That boy has no Rin."
Jake froze.
Flint narrowed his eyes. "Explain."
Ethan took a breath.
"The blood he lost during the trial and outbreak… it doesn't fully match his own biological signature."
Silence slammed into the room.
Rubin's expression changed. Slowly. Carefully.
"…What?"
Ethan continued, choosing his words carefully.
"Kael's natural blood volume is low. Dangerously low, actually. By all medical standards, he should have died long before the outbreak ended."
Jake stepped forward. "Then whose blood was it?"
Ethan looked down.
"…It matches devouring entities."
The air felt colder.
"The blood Kael used," Ethan said, "was not generated by his body. It behaved like external material—like it was borrowed. Or taken."
Rubin's lips curled.
"So the weakling didn't awaken Rin."
Jake's hands clenched.
"Then what did he awaken?"
Ethan hesitated.
"I don't know. But medically speaking… Kael himself is still Rin-null."
Flint closed his eyes slowly.
"No Rin," Rubin repeated. "But wielding monster blood like a weapon."
Jake's voice was low. "He didn't choose it."
Rubin turned sharply.
"That makes it worse."
Flint opened his eyes again.
"This report," he said, "changes everything."
Jake looked at Kael's frozen image on the screen.
"He's still human."
Rubin replied coldly.
"Humans don't do that."
Ethan spoke quietly.
"But he survived it. And he's alive."
Flint said nothing for a long moment.
Finally, he spoke.
"Keep this report classified. No one else sees it."
Rubin raised an eyebrow. "You're protecting him?"
Flint met his gaze.
"I'm protecting Aerin."
Jake let out a slow breath.
Outside the office, alarms had stopped. Fires were being put out. Bodies were being counted.
And three floors below, Kael slept—unaware that his existence had just crossed a line no one in Aerin was ready to face.