Kael Voss stood rooted to the spot, his gaze following Ryder Blackwood's retreating figure until it vanished into the dense glow of the aurora-kissed bio-bamboo grove. Silence hung heavy around him, unbroken save for the faint hum of Aurora Peak's energy generators.
Ryder had taken his leave shortly after their agreement—promising to return at midday tomorrow for the pain-suppressing formula. He'd mentioned needing to rest and stabilize his condition, his steps still unsteady from the earlier genetic collapse.
Not once had Kael pressed him about the reasons behind his reliance on the Marrow-Extracting Gene Serum. He knew all too well that questions would change nothing. If Ryder was willing to trade decades of his lifespan for the fleeting glory of "Senior Brother Ryder"—the fearsome warrior revered by all apprentices—he must have harbored grievances too deep to voice. No one chose slow, agonizing self-destruction lightly. Forcing him to bare his wounds would only reopen scars that had barely begun to heal.
Kael's restraint had not gone unnoticed. Before departing, Ryder's eyes had held a flicker of gratitude—unspoken but tangible—for Kael's refusal to pry. It was a small debt, but Kael knew it would linger, binding the powerful apprentice to him just a little tighter.
He intended to honor their pact. Not only would he guard Ryder's secret fiercely, but he would craft the gene analgesic formula the moment he returned to the Verdant Bio-Dome. The logic was simple: Ryder was no villain. He'd threatened Kael with a blade, yes, but had stayed his hand once the gene oath was sealed. Aiding someone who posed no real threat—and who might grow into a valuable ally—was both prudent and surprisingly satisfying. Ryder's combat prowess would only grow in the years to come, and Kael had no intention of letting such a potential asset slip away.
Satisfied with his calculations, Kael turned and made his way back to the Verdant Bio-Dome, his steps unhurried as he navigated the alloy walkways.
Once inside his cabin, Kael wasted no time. The gene analgesic formula required no rare bio-materials—all ingredients could be found in the dome's gene-modified cultivation field. The process was tedious, requiring precise measurements of neuro-suppressant extracts and cell-stabilizing enzymes, but Kael's years of training under Dr. Mordecai Thorne had honed his focus to a razor's edge.
By dusk, he had finished. The formula—stored in three sleek, airtight vials—was enough to last Ryder a full year. He could have made more, but he preferred the idea of Ryder returning annually to collect more. It would keep the debt fresh, a silent reminder of the favor owed.
As night fell over the bio-dome, Kael did something uncharacteristic. He pulled a carbon-fiber chair onto his cabin's small balcony, sat down, and tilted his head back to gaze at the artificial sky—where the Conglomerate's holographic projectors cast a canopy of stars and a glowing moon, mimicking the night sky of his homeworld.
Home. The word stirred something faint and warm in his chest. It had been four years since he'd left his family's rusted hut on the arid frontier. Four years of relentless cultivation, of gene protocols and bio-energy pathways, with barely a moment to spare for memories of his parents, his siblings, or the dust-choked village he'd called home. He sent most of his monthly credit stipend back to them, of course—enough to keep the hut's life support running, enough to buy nutrient rations and gene-enhanced berries for Lila. In return, he received one holographic letter a year, penned by Old Uncle Jax on his parents' behalf. The messages were always brief: All is well. Elias thrives in Nova City. Lila grows strong. Thank you for the credits.
The gratitude was palpable, but so was the distance. Their tone had grown increasingly formal over the years, almost stiff—as if they were addressing a stranger rather than their son. At first, the coldness had terrified him, leaving him wondering if he'd become unrecognizable to them. But time had dulled that fear, blurring the faces of his family until they felt like characters from a half-forgotten dream.
Only on nights like this, when the artificial moon hung low and the bio-dome fell quiet, did the memories resurface: the smell of his mother's dried berries, his father's crackling energy pipe, Lila's laughter as she chased mechanical vermin through the village. It was a warmth he rarely allowed himself to indulge in, and he savored it now, letting the nostalgia wash over him.
Kael's hand drifted to his chest, where the bio-synthetic pouch hung beneath his tunic. Inside was the small gene-enhanced berry pendant his mother had pressed into his hand before he left—a token infused with a trace of her bio-energy, meant to "keep him safe." He brushed his fingers over the smooth surface, a habit that had always brought him a measure of calm.
Tonight, however, it had the opposite effect.
A sudden restlessness surged within him, hot and unruly. His bio-energy—stable for years under the Unnamed Gene Calibration Protocol—began to churn uncontrollably, swirling like a tempest in his core. His breath hitched as a sharp pain lanced through his temples, and his vision blurred at the edges.
Genetic sequence instability.
The term flashed through his mind, cold and terrifying. It was the catastrophic breakdown of the genetic pathways he'd spent years forging—what old texts might have called "qi deviation," but reborn in the language of molecular biology. Dr. Thorne was away, seeking rare bio-materials on the frontier. He was on his own.
Why now? Kael forced himself to breathe, his mind racing. He'd done nothing out of the ordinary—no reckless cultivation, no exposure to unstable energy sources. To fix the problem, he needed to find its root.
He scanned his surroundings, his enhanced senses picking up nothing amiss: the hum of the cabin's life support, the rustle of gene-modified foliage outside, the faint glow of his cultivation equipment. Nothing seemed out of place.
Kael's elbow brushed against the bio-synthetic pouch, and his gaze snapped down. The pendant. Could it be?
He hesitated for only a second. His condition was worsening—his bio-energy was threatening to tear through his genetic pathways, and he could feel his cells beginning to destabilize. With a sharp tug, he unclipped the pouch and hurled it as far as he could, watching as it landed in the dense undergrowth of the cultivation field.
For a heartbeat, nothing changed. Then the pain spiked, doubling him over. His bio-energy raged hotter, more chaotic than before, and black spots danced across his vision.
"It's not the pendant," he gasped, clutching his chest as he fought to regain control. Whatever was causing the genetic tempest, it was deeper—rooted in something he couldn't see, something he hadn't anticipated.
As the darkness closed in, Kael realized with a cold dread that this was no mere instability. It was a storm of his own making—a collision between the rigid discipline of the Unnamed Protocol and the repressed longing for a life he could never return to. A primal conflict of nature and nurture, encoded in his very genes and amplified by years of emotional suppression.