The med pod’s hiss faded as Karyth stepped out, his bare feet meeting the cold floor of his apartment. His legs wobbled beneath him, muscles trembling with the effort of holding his weight. Every step felt like dragging a boulder uphill, the scars on his arms and chest pulsing faintly with each labored breath.
“Take it slow,” Eirys advised, her holographic form appearing on the console nearby. She wore her usual smirk, but concern flickered in her eyes. “Your body’s still recovering, even with the pod’s accelerated healing.”
Karyth scoffed, steadying himself on the edge of the pod. “I’m fine. Just need to... get my balance.”
He took a few shaky steps toward the bathroom, his reflection catching his eye in the mirror above the sink. For a moment, he froze, staring at the stranger before him.
The scars were impossible to ignore. Jagged lines glowed softly along his arms, chest, and neck, trailing upward to curve beneath his eyes in eerie crescents. The purple light pulsed faintly, rhythmic, as if tied to his very heartbeat. His once-pristine skin was now marred with crisscrossed patterns of burn tissue and glowing marks that looked like they had been carved by an otherworldly artist.
His face had changed the most. The scars traced his jawline, and the crescents under his eyes gave him an almost unnatural look—haunting, powerful, and alien all at once. His hazel eyes, once sharp and calculating, now glowed faintly with the same purple hue.
Karyth ran a hand over his face, his fingers trembling as they brushed the raised scars. The reflection was both mesmerizing and horrifying.
“I look like some... monster out of a fairy tale,” he muttered, the words barely audible.
“Not a monster,” Eirys said softly, her tone lacking its usual teasing edge. “Just... different.”
He turned away from the mirror, his shoulders tight. “Different doesn’t exactly scream ‘normal life,’ does it?”
Eirys didn’t respond, her holographic projection fading as he limped back toward the living area.
---
The mirror moment lingered in his thoughts as he pushed himself to take another step. His hands brushed the scars on his arms, the faint glow reminding him of just how much had changed.
Another step, then another. Sweat beaded on his brow, but he forced himself forward. He was halfway across the room when his foot caught on the edge of the carpet. The world tilted, and he went down hard, his knees slamming into the floor.
Pain exploded through his body, a searing, white-hot agony that left him gasping. He clutched his arms, his scars burning like fire beneath his skin.
“Karyth!” Eirys’s voice was sharp, cutting through the haze of pain. Her holographic form appeared beside him, crouching as if she could physically help. “Stay still. Let the drones—”
“No!” he snapped, his voice raw. “I don’t need their help. I don’t need your help!”
The room fell silent except for his ragged breathing. Eirys stared at him, her expression unreadable.
“You don’t need help?” she said softly, her tone deceptively calm. “You’ve been burned, broken, and thrown halfway to hell, and you think you don’t need help?”
Karyth looked away, his jaw tightening. “You wouldn’t understand. You’re just a—”
“Say it,” Eirys challenged, her voice hard. “Finish that sentence, Karyth.”
He hesitated, the words dying in his throat as he saw the faint shimmer of holographic tears trailing down her face.
“You’re just an AI,” he muttered, barely audible.
Eirys straightened, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “You think I don’t care? You think I don’t feel anything watching you tear yourself apart like this? You’re more than just another project, Karyth. You’re my... partner. My friend.”
Karyth’s shoulders sagged, guilt washing over him. “Eirys, I didn’t mean—”
“No,” she interrupted, her voice trembling. “You don’t get to brush this off. You’re angry, I get it. But that doesn’t give you the right to take it out on me. I’ve been here for you every step of the way, and I’m not going anywhere. So if you want to wallow in self-pity, fine. But do it without dragging me down with you.”
The room was silent again, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade. Karyth stared at the floor, his breath shaky.
“You’re right,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been a mess, and I... I can’t keep going like this.”
Eirys’s hologram softened, the faint trace of her usual smirk returning. “Good. Because I already scheduled your first therapy session. You’re going.”
Karyth let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t even get a choice, do I?”
“Not if you want to keep your sanity,” Eirys replied, her tone lighter now. “And maybe... just maybe, I’ll forgive you for being an ass.”
He looked up at her, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite the lingering pain. “Thanks, Eirys.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, her smirk widening. “You still have to survive therapy.”
Karyth adjusted the cloak draped over his shoulders, the fabric heavy against his scars as he stood outside the door to Dr. Nestor’s office. The station’s therapy wing was sterile, all muted colors and soft lighting, designed to soothe the anxious. Karyth couldn’t decide if it was calming or unnervingly quiet.
“Just remember,” Eirys’s voice chimed in his earpiece, “this is about getting you back on track. So maybe try not to antagonize the therapist in the first five minutes.”
“I’m not the one who antagonizes people,” Karyth muttered, glancing down at his faintly glowing scars. The purple crescents beneath his eyes caught the light, and he tugged the hood of the cloak further forward.
The door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a modestly furnished office. Dr. Nestor sat behind a desk, his expression neutral as he gestured for Karyth to enter. He was an older man, his hair a mix of gray and black, his sharp eyes peering over thin spectacles.
“Mr. Elsan,” Nestor greeted, his tone clipped but professional. “Please, have a seat.”
Karyth hesitated before lowering himself into the chair opposite the desk. The cushion felt too soft, like it was designed to make people sink in and feel vulnerable.
“I understand you’ve been through a lot,” Nestor began, folding his hands on the desk. “Your accident, your recovery... It’s commendable that you’re here.”
“Not much of a choice,” Karyth replied, his voice flat.
Nestor offered a thin smile. “Sometimes we all need a push.” He tapped a small pad on the desk, pulling up Karyth’s file. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s been on your mind? No judgment here.”
Karyth shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flicking to the holographic display of his file. “What do you want me to say? That I feel great? Because I don’t.”
“Let’s start with the accident,” Nestor suggested. “Walk me through what happened that day.”
The words came slowly, reluctantly, as Karyth described the experiment, the shard, the explosion. He kept his tone clinical, focusing on the technical details rather than the emotional fallout.
“And how did you feel when it happened?” Nestor pressed, his voice carefully neutral.
“Like I was dying,” Karyth admitted, his hands clenching in his lap. “Like everything I worked for was gone in an instant.”
Nestor nodded, leaning back slightly. “Loss is a powerful thing. It can bring out parts of ourselves we didn’t know existed. Anger, fear, regret...”
Karyth’s jaw tightened. “I don’t regret what I did. I regret... how it ended.”
“And what about now?” Nestor asked, his gaze sharp. “How do you feel about the changes you’ve undergone?”
Karyth hesitated, his scars seeming to burn beneath the cloak. “I don’t know. I look at myself, and I don’t even recognize who I am anymore.”
“That’s natural,” Nestor said, his tone almost too smooth. “But let’s talk about accountability. Accidents like this don’t happen in a vacuum.”
The words hung in the air, their weight pressing down on Karyth. He frowned, leaning forward. “What are you getting at?”
Nestor adjusted his glasses, his expression still composed. “I mean, these things have consequences, Mr. Elsan. Your accident didn’t just affect you. The fallout from that explosion... lives were disrupted. People were hurt. Property destroyed.”
Karyth’s chest tightened, a cold wave washing over him. “I didn’t... I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”
“Of course not,” Nestor said, his voice almost pitying. “But intention doesn’t erase impact.”
The subtle jab hit harder than Karyth expected, his hands clenching into fists. “Are you saying this is my fault?”
I’m saying you need to acknowledge your role,” Nestor replied, his tone sharpening. “People lost their livelihoods because of what happened in that lab. One of those people... was my son.”
The room seemed to tilt as the words landed. Karyth’s breath caught, the air thick with tension.
“I didn’t know—”
“Of course you didn’t,” Nestor interrupted, his composure cracking. “Why would you? You were too busy playing with forces you didn’t understand, risking everything for... what? A prototype? A dream?”
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Karyth stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “That’s not fair. I didn’t choose this. I didn’t want—”
“Fair?” Nestor snapped, rising to his feet. “Life isn’t fair, Mr. Elsan. But people like my son? They have to live with the consequences of your choices.”
“Enough!” Eirys’s voice crackled through Karyth’s earpiece, but he barely registered it, his scars burning as adrenaline coursed through him.
“Is this supposed to help?” Karyth demanded, his voice shaking. “Because all you’ve done is make me feel worse.”
Nestor’s gaze hardened, his professionalism long gone. “Perhaps you should feel worse. Maybe then you’ll think twice before—”
The door slid open abruptly, and a sleek drone hovered in, its mechanical arm gesturing toward Karyth. “Session terminated,” Eirys’s voice declared, cold and final.
Karyth stormed past the drone, his chest heaving as he left the office.
“Great start to therapy,” Eirys muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You sure know how to make friends.”
“Not now,” Karyth bit out, his fists clenching as he stalked down the hallway.
“Fine,” she replied, her tone softening. “But you’re not done. Group therapy starts tomorrow.”
Karyth didn’t respond, his mind swirling with anger, guilt, and the faintest thread of determination.
Karyth stood in the center of his reconfigured apartment, the air alive with the faint hum of mana conduits. The space had been transformed over the past few days—makeshift workbenches, glowing blueprints suspended mid-air, and drones buzzing about like metallic bees. His cloak was discarded, draped over a chair in the corner, leaving his scars exposed to the soft light of the room.
“Let’s see what this Fusion Architect class can actually do,” he muttered, flexing his fingers.
Eirys appeared on a nearby console, arms crossed, her expression skeptical. “You know you could just wait for someone to explain the basics instead of, I don’t know, winging it?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Karyth shot back, a small grin tugging at his lips. He tapped his fingers in the air, activating the System HUD. Lines of data scrolled before his eyes, detailing his abilities and stats.
First up: Mana Ingot Forge.
Karyth closed his eyes, focusing on the flow of mana within him. It was a strange sensation—like liquid fire coursing through his veins, both exhilarating and exhausting. With a slow, deliberate gesture, he extended his hand. Threads of mana wove together in the air, condensing into a small, glowing ingot that hovered just above his palm.
The ingot pulsed faintly, its surface smooth and metallic, yet shimmering with raw energy. Karyth turned it over in his hands, marveling at the craftsmanship.
“Not bad,” Eirys admitted, leaning forward. “Though I’d suggest not juggling them. They’re volatile, remember?”
Karyth smirked, setting the ingot down on the workbench. “What’s next?”
Next, he activated Mana Construct Control. The ingot floated back into the air as he guided it with subtle movements of his fingers. It split into smaller shards, each one taking on a distinct form—a miniature drone, a tiny mechanical spider, and even a crude humanoid figure.
The constructs moved in sync with his commands, responding to his thoughts as though they were extensions of himself.
“Okay, that’s impressive,” Eirys admitted, her holographic eyes narrowing. “But can they do more than look cute?”
“Let’s find out.”
He guided the spider-like construct to the corner of the room, where a small, discarded piece of tech lay forgotten. The construct’s legs unfolded into tiny tools, dismantling the device with precision.
“Think of the applications,” Karyth mused, his voice tinged with excitement. “Automated repair drones, combat assistants, even mana-infused tools for everyday use.”
Eirys arched an eyebrow. “And how many more explosions are we going to have on the road to innovation?”
Karyth rolled his eyes, but his grin widened. “You’re no fun.”
He moved on to Arcane Nexus. Standing still, he focused inward, drawing on the enhanced flow of mana. The air around him seemed to vibrate as his mana reserves replenished rapidly, the scars on his arms glowing brighter with the surge of energy.
“Regeneration rate’s insane,” he muttered. “I could power constructs for hours without draining myself.”
“Or burn yourself out entirely,” Eirys countered.
Karyth waved her off, his mind already buzzing with ideas. He turned back to the workbench, sketching designs into the air with deft movements. His plans unfolded like a symphony—schematics for modular mana tools, ideas for integrating constructs into larger systems, and even concepts for portable mana storage devices.
“You’re doing it again,” Eirys said, her tone exasperated but fond.
“Doing what?”
“Losing track of time,” she replied. A clock blinked onto the console beside her, its numbers flashing insistently.
Karyth glanced at it, groaning. “Group therapy.”
“Yes, group therapy,” Eirys said, her smirk returning. “Where you get to be around real people instead of, you know, making friends with glowing ingots.”
Karyth sighed, brushing his hands against his cloak as he grabbed it off the chair. “Fine. But if they don’t have coffee, I’m walking out.”
Eirys grinned. “Fair warning—I’ll follow you into the hallway and nag you all the way back in.”
With one last glance at his workbench, Karyth stepped toward the door. “Let’s get this over with.”
As the door slid shut behind him, Eirys lingered in holographic form, her gaze drifting toward the glowing ingot on the bench. “Don’t blow anything up while you’re gone,” she muttered to herself, her tone half-joking.
Karyth sat in a circle of chairs, the faint hum of the station’s atmospheric systems filling the silence. The group therapy room felt neutral, almost bland—pale walls, soft lighting, and a ring of mismatched chairs that looked like they’d been repurposed from various station lounges. It was a place meant to be safe, but all Karyth felt was exposed.
He shifted uncomfortably, his scars itching beneath the fabric of his sleeves. His hood was pulled low over his face, obscuring the faint glow of the marks that ran along his neck and jawline.
“Welcome, everyone,” the facilitator, a middle-aged woman with warm eyes and a calm demeanor, began. She glanced around the room, her gaze settling briefly on each person before moving on. “This is a space to share, to listen, and to support one another. No one here is alone in what they’re going through.”
Karyth stared at the floor, his fingers tracing invisible patterns against the fabric of his pants. The words washed over him, distant and hollow, like an old recording played through static.
A man a few seats down cleared his throat. He looked to be in his late forties, with a weathered face and tired eyes. “I lost my leg two months ago,” he began, his voice steady but subdued. “Was on the docks when... when the explosion happened. Didn’t even see it coming. Just heard the blast, and then...” He gestured to the metal prosthetic that replaced his lower leg. “Everything went black.”
Karyth flinched but kept his gaze locked on the floor. He could feel the man’s words slicing through the air, cutting deeper than he wanted to admit.
A woman spoke next, her voice trembling. “I lost my husband that day. He was on the lower levels, working maintenance. He...” She paused, her hands gripping the edge of her chair. “He didn’t make it.”
The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the station’s systems. Karyth’s chest tightened, guilt twisting like a knife in his gut. He hadn’t just hurt himself; he’d hurt others—people who had nothing to do with his experiment, people who were just trying to live their lives.
A chair creaked as another participant shifted. Karyth glanced up briefly, and his gaze caught on a woman sitting a few seats away.
She was striking in a way that seemed effortless, her platinum braid gleaming under the soft lighting of the room. Her silver eyes, as sharp as polished metal, scanned the group with quiet intensity, and her muscular frame was balanced by soft curves that gave her an Amazonian presence. The prosthetics on her legs gleamed faintly, intricate silver designs running along the metal like veins, but they couldn’t completely hide the faint tremor in her movements as she adjusted in her seat.
“I lost my team,” she said, her voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of pain. “We were on a dungeon delve. It was supposed to be routine, but... it went wrong. I’m the only one who made it out.”
Her words cut through the room like a blade, leaving a heavy silence in their wake. Karyth could feel the weight of them, the grief she carried like a mantle.
“The worst part,” she continued, her voice softening but never wavering, “is knowing it’s your fault. I knew the risks, but I pushed my team into it. Now I live with their faces in my mind every day.”
Her hands rested on her thighs, her fingers brushing over the silver surface of her prosthetics. The movement was subtle, almost unconscious, but it spoke volumes.
“I’m Myrith,” she said finally, breaking the silence with a faint smile. “But most people around here know me as ‘The Silver Maiden.’ It’s... ironic now, I guess.” She gestured toward her legs.
The facilitator nodded gently. “Thank you for sharing, Myrith.”
The group murmured soft acknowledgments, and Karyth clenched his fists, his own scars burning like they were fresh.
“And you,” the facilitator said gently, her gaze landing on Karyth. “Would you like to share?”
Karyth froze. The weight of the room’s attention settled on him, heavy and suffocating. He could feel their eyes on him, waiting, expecting.
“I...” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, forcing himself to speak. “There was... an accident. In my lab.” He hesitated, his fingers digging into his knees. “It was my fault. I didn’t think it would... spread beyond my work area, but it did. People got hurt.”
The words hung in the air like a noose, tightening with every breath.
Myrith’s voice broke the silence. “Accidents happen,” she said, her silver eyes locking onto his.
Karyth looked up, meeting her gaze. There was something in her expression—a quiet understanding, a strength that seemed to say she’d been where he was.
“You’re not the first to lose control, and you won’t be the last,” she continued. “But you’re here now. That’s what matters.”
Her words were simple, but they carried a weight that felt grounding. Karyth nodded slightly, unsure of what else to do.
The group was dispersing, the soft hum of the station’s systems filling the silence left in their wake. Karyth hesitated near the exit, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. The session had been... uncomfortable, but not unbearable. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel entirely alone.
“Hey.”
He turned to see Myrith leaning against the wall, her silver eyes glinting under the soft lights. Up close, her presence was even more commanding, the contrast between her muscular frame and the delicate designs on her prosthetic legs striking.
“You’re still standing,” she said with a faint smirk.
Karyth huffed a quiet laugh. “Barely.”
Myrith tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “Look, I don’t do this often, but... want to grab a coffee sometime? No pressure. Just two people talking. Could be good for both of us.”
Karyth blinked, caught off guard by the invitation. “Uh... sure. I mean, yeah. That sounds... good.”
Her smirk softened into a genuine smile. “Great. Here.” She tapped something on her wristband, and a notification pinged in Karyth’s HUD, displaying her contact details.
“I’ll message you,” Karyth said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.
“Looking forward to it.” Myrith pushed off the wall and started toward the exit. “Take care, Karyth. And... maybe try to eat something other than coffee beans. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
Her teasing tone lingered as she disappeared down the corridor.
Karyth stood outside the office door, the bold company logo glowing faintly above the frame. He’d walked this hallway a thousand times before, but now it felt different. He wasn’t coming here with a new breakthrough or prototype. He was here to face the consequences.
“Ready?” Eirys’s voice crackled in his earpiece, her tone uncharacteristically soft.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Karyth muttered.
The door slid open with a hiss, revealing the familiar expanse of his boss’s office. The room was as sleek and intimidating as ever, with polished metal surfaces and a panoramic view of the station’s bustling docks.
“Karyth.”
His boss, a tall man with graying hair and a lined face, stood behind his desk. He looked tired, his usual sharp demeanor dulled by something heavier.
“Sit down,” the man said, gesturing to the chair across from him.
Karyth obeyed, the weight in his chest growing heavier by the second.
The man leaned forward, his hands clasped on the desk. “I’m not going to sugarcoat this. The higher-ups have made their decision. You’re being let go.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. Karyth felt his jaw tighten, his fists clenching in his lap. “Because of the accident.”
“Yes,” his boss said, his voice low. “It caused significant damage—not just to our labs, but to the surrounding areas. The company... they don’t think we can afford the liability.”
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Karyth snapped, his voice rising. “You know I didn’t.”
“I do,” his boss said firmly. “And I fought for you. Hell, I’ve seen what you’re capable of. But this decision... it’s above me, Karyth. My hands are tied.”
Karyth stared at the desk, his vision blurring with frustration. “So that’s it? Years of work, and I’m just... done?”
“It’s not fair,” his boss admitted, his voice softening. “But it’s the reality. Take some time to figure out your next steps. You’re a genius, Karyth. Don’t waste that.”
Karyth rose from the chair, his movements stiff. “Thanks for nothing.”
The man sighed but didn’t respond, his gaze heavy as Karyth turned and left the office.
The walk back to his apartment was a blur, his mind spinning with anger and uncertainty.
“Karyth,” Eirys’s voice broke through the haze, pulling him back to reality. “I ran the numbers. Without the company funding, your personal reserves will run out in three months. You need to start thinking about income—soon.”
“Three months?” Karyth echoed, his voice hollow.
“Maybe four if you cut out all non-essentials. But that’s optimistic.”
Karyth let out a bitter laugh. “Great. Just what I needed to hear.”
Eirys hesitated, her tone softening. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
He didn’t respond, the weight of the day pressing down on him like a lead blanket. He stepped into his apartment, the door hissing shut behind him.
As the lights flickered on, Karyth slumped against the wall, his scars faintly glowing in the dim light. He stared at his hands, the soft purple aura of his markings pulsing faintly.
Three months. No funding. No plan.
And no idea where to start.