The alchemy wing was forbidden after dusk. The vents hummed with residual heat, exhaling plumes of colored vapor that stained the stone walls yellow and green. Cassian moved through the shadows of the corridor, his densified legs making no sound. He had learned to control the weight, to place his feet with the precision of a predator.
He reached the waste disposal room. It was a small chamber lined with lead shelves. Jars of failed experiments sat gathering dust. Reagents that were too volatile to keep, too dangerous to dump.
Cassian found the jar he needed. *Aether Rot.* A byproduct of mana refinement. Inhaling raw vapor caused lung collapse within minutes. Death followed within the hour.
He uncorked the jar. The smell was sweet, cloying, like rotting lilies. It made his eyes water.
He took a breath. He held the jar to his face. He didn't hesitate. Hesitation was a luxury for people who planned to survive without changing.
He inhaled.
The vapor hit his throat like liquid fire. He dropped the jar. It shattered on the stone.
Cassian fell to his knees. He clawed at his throat. His lungs spasmed, trying to reject the poison. They couldn't. The vapor was already in the blood.
He collapsed onto his side. His vision blurred. The edges of the room turned black. He could feel the tissue in his chest dying. The alveoli collapsing. The airways sealing shut.
He was drowning on dry land.
Panic surged, primal and instinctive. His body wanted to gasp. He forced himself still. If he gasped, he would draw in more air, but his lungs couldn't process it. He had to wait for the adaptation.
The pain was different from the bone breaking. It was internal. A slow, creeping freeze. He could feel the gray spread starting in his chest. It wasn't skin this time. It was membrane. It was muscle.
His heart hammered. Slow. Too slow. *Thump... ... Thump...*
He couldn't feel the beat in his wrists. He couldn't feel the cold stone against his cheek. The numbness was winning.
*Adapt,* he thought. The word was a command. *Survive.*
Heat bloomed in his chest. It wasn't the warm heat of blood. It was the dry heat of combustion. His ribs shook. A cough racked his body, violent and wet. He vomited black bile onto the floor.
The bile smoked where it landed.
Cassian lay still. He waited. The pain receded, replaced by a hollow sensation. His chest felt empty. Light.
He tried to breathe.
Air rushed in. It didn't feel like air. It felt like data. Pressure. Temperature. Composition. He could taste the chemicals in the room. Sulfur. Lead. Dust. He didn't need to smell them. His lungs analyzed them directly.
He sat up. He placed a hand on his chest. The skin over his sternum was gray, hard as plate armor. He could see the outline of the ribs beneath, shifted, densified.
He tried to speak. "Test."
The sound was wrong. It wasn't his voice. It was raspy, hollow, like wind blowing through a cracked pipe. The vocal cords had hardened too.
He stood up. He stepped over the broken jar. He walked to the window. The night air was cold. He opened the sash. He inhaled deeply.
The cold didn't hurt. His lungs didn't freeze. They adjusted the temperature instantly before the air reached the blood. He was immune to the cold. Immune to the poison.
He was efficient.
He closed the window. He walked out of the alchemy wing. He needed to return to the dormitory before dawn. If anyone found him here, the explanation would be difficult.
The corridors were empty. He passed a mirror in the hallway. He stopped.
His face was pale. The dark circles under his eyes were deeper. But it was the neck that caught his attention. Gray veins pulsed beneath the skin, visible even in the dim light. They glowed faintly, violet like the ward flicker.
He pulled his collar up. He adjusted the glove on his left hand. He looked like a corpse dressed in noble clothes.
He continued walking.
He reached the courtyard that separated the dormitories from the training wards. He stopped.
Someone was there.
Elian stood in the center of the courtyard. He wasn't training. He was standing still, looking up at the moon. He held his sword loosely at his side.
Cassian should have walked away. Engagement was unnecessary. But he needed to gauge the threat. He needed to see if Elian sensed the change.
Cassian stepped into the courtyard. The gravel crunched under his boots.
Elian turned. He didn't look surprised. He looked tired.
"You smell like chemicals," Elian said. His voice was quiet.
Cassian didn't answer. His voice was ruined. He didn't want to use it.
Elian stepped closer. He stopped five paces away. He looked at Cassian's neck. At the collar pulled high.
"Verra said you're dying," Elian said. "She said your cellular structure is destabilizing."
Cassian met his eyes. Elian's gaze was sharp. He wasn't guessing. He knew.
"Are you?" Elian asked.
Cassian shook his head. Once.
Elian frowned. He tightened his grip on the sword. "Whatever you're doing... stop. The academy isn't worth it."
Cassian almost laughed. The sound died in his hardened throat. *The academy isn't worth it.* Elian thought this was about school. About rankings.
Elian didn't understand. This wasn't about worth. It was about existence.
Cassian took a step forward. Elian didn't retreat. He raised the sword slightly. A warning.
Cassian stopped. He raised his left hand. He peeled back the glove. He showed Elian the gray skin. The dead fingers.
Elian's eyes widened. He lowered the sword. "What is that?"
Cassian pulled the glove back on. He turned away. He couldn't speak. He couldn't explain. Words were for humans. He was becoming something else.
"Day 29," Cassian rasped. The voice was ugly. Broken.
Elian stiffened. "What?"
Cassian didn't look back. He kept walking. "The storm."
He left Elian standing in the moonlight. He didn't know why he said it. A warning? A challenge? Maybe he just wanted to see the fear again.
He reached his dormitory. Julian was asleep. Cassian undressed in the dark. He looked at his torso in the mirror.
The gray spread had reached his collarbone. It covered his sternum. It was spreading down toward his heart.
He touched the skin over his heart. It beat slowly. *Thump... ... Thump...*
He could feel the organ changing. Hardening. Becoming more efficient. Less prone to failure. Less prone to fear.
He lay down on the bed. He didn't need blankets. The cold didn't touch him.
He closed his eyes. He listened to Julian breathe. Soft. Rhythmic. Human.
Cassian's breath was silent. He didn't need to exhale often. His body recycled the oxygen perfectly.
He was twenty-four days from the dungeon. He was immune to the air. He was immune to the cold. His legs could shatter stone. His arm could hold a blade against a hurricane.
But he couldn't feel the sheets. He couldn't taste the blood in his mouth. He couldn't speak without sounding like a monster.
He was winning. He was surviving.
He was losing.
He stared at the ceiling. The shadows shifted. They looked like grasping hands.
*Twenty-four days,* he thought.
He would take the Sunheart Blade. He would break the script. He would kill the destiny that waited for him in the snow.
And when it was done, he would look in the mirror. He wondered if anyone would recognize him.
He wondered if he would recognize himself.
He closed his eyes. He didn't sleep. He entered a state of suspension. Conservation of energy. Waiting.
The night passed. The sun rose. The gray veins on his neck pulsed once, then faded beneath the skin.
Cassian stood up. He dressed. He pulled the collar high. He put on the gloves.
He was ready.
The ledger was balanced. For now.