The "Dross Pile" was more than a shop; it was a fortress of discarded technology. Behind a heavy, lead-lined blast door in the basement, the air grew cold and stagnant, smelling of battery acid and ancient dust. Xylia led Roman to a makeshift medical slab surrounded by flickering diagnostic monitors and tangled bundles of fiber-optic cables.
"Lay down, 'Normal' Class," Xylia muttered, her mechanical third arm already prepping a high-pressure injector. "If your theory is wrong and your bones can't handle the frequency, the catalyst will turn your skeleton into brittle glass. You'll be a human statue before you can even scream."
Roman didn't hesitate. He pulled off his hoodie, revealing the fresh, pale scars where his ribs had mended. He lay on the cold metal slab, his hand instinctively gripping the soot-covered necklace.
"Start the infusion," Roman said.
Xylia's mechanical arm moved with surgical precision. She pressed the injector against Roman's sternum. With a sharp hiss, the Conductive Bone-Marrow Catalyst—a shimmering, mercury-like liquid—was forced directly into his skeletal system.
The reaction was instantaneous. Inside Roman's body, the Star Cultivation manualoverdrive. The catalyst was designed to increase the "bandwidth" of the bones, making them capable of conducting massive amounts of energy without shattering. For a Level 2 Lightning Snake, this should have been lethal.
But the Solstice Core against his chest began to pulse in a rapid, violet staccato. It acted as a regulator, filtering the raw spiritual energy from the room's power grid and feeding it into Roman's bones in precise, high-frequency bursts.
Roman's body arched off the table. His teeth were clamped so hard he feared they would shatter. In his mind's eye, his skeleton was no longer white bone; it was a glowing lattice of violet and white light. The "Cosmic Frequency" he had discussed with Thorne was no longer a theory. It was a physical hammer, striking his marrow over and over, forging it into something denser than any Mortal-rank material.
[Warning: Bone Density exceeding Stage 2 parameters.]
[Status: Initiating Stage 3: Core Hardening.]
The pain was a living thing, a white-hot fire that consumed his senses. Every time his heart beat, it sent a wave of liquid lightning through his frame. He could feel the catalyst binding with his calcium, turning his bones into a biological semi-conductor.
"His readings are off the charts!" Xylia shouted, her goggles reflecting the violet sparks dancing off Roman's skin. "He's drawing enough power to brown out the entire block! Roman, shut it down or you'll melt the slab!"
But Roman couldn't stop. He was a vessel for the vacuum, and the vacuum was hungry.
While Roman was being rebuilt in the bowels of the city, the atmosphere on the 80th floor of the Academy Spire was reaching a boiling point.
Brent Carter slammed his fist into the mahogany table of the Elite Class lounge. A localized burst of wind—sharp as a razor—sliced through a nearby holographic projector, sending sparks flying.
"What do you mean he's not in the infirmary?" Brent hissed, his eyes glowing with the reptilian slit-pupils of the Wind Wyvern.
"He... he disappeared right after the practical session, Young Master," one of his goons stammered, backing away from the swirling vortex of air centered around Brent. "Sergeant Vane said he took a heavy hit from Kaelen Jax, but when the medics went to collect him from the lockers, the room was empty. No blood trails. No security footage. He just... vanished."
Brent's face twisted into a mask of pure, aristocratic rage. He had spent the last hour imagining how he would "accidentally" finish Roman off in the recovery ward. He had a Level 5 bloodline; he was destined for the Central Continent. Being ignored—and mocked—by a Level 2 branch-family failure was a stain on his pride that only blood could wash away.
"Check the estate gates," Brent commanded. "If he went home to Damien, I want to know. If he's hiding in the city, hire the Shadow-Wraith trackers. I don't care if he's a Carter; he's a defect. And defects are meant to be recycled."
"But Young Master," another student whispered. "Professor Thorne was watching him closely today. If we move against him outside school grounds and Thorne finds out..."
"Thorne is a ghost," Brent spat, his wind-aura flaring. "He cares about nothing but his ancient books. He won't lift a finger for a Level 2 student who was 'unlucky' enough to run into a street gang. Find him. Now."
Back in Xylia's basement, the hum of the machinery died down. The violet light retreated into the necklace, and the room was plunged into a heavy, ringing silence.
Roman lay on the slab, his skin slick with sweat and a strange, metallic-smelling soot. He sat up slowly, his movements no longer having the slight hesitation of a recovering patient. He felt... heavy. Not in a way that slowed him down, but in a way that suggested he was anchored to the very planet.
He hopped off the slab, his feet hitting the concrete floor with a dull, solid thud that seemed to vibrate through the entire room.
"You're alive," Xylia whispered, her mechanical arm shaking slightly as it held a diagnostic scanner. "I don't know how, but you're alive. Your bone density... it's higher than a Stage 5 Earth-rank specialist. Roman, what are you?"
Roman didn't answer. He looked at his hand. With a thought, he summoned a tiny arc of electricity. It wasn't the blue-white spark of before. It was a deep, pressurized violet—a bolt of "Star-Fire" that hummed with the frequency of the Solstice Core.
"I'm a Level 2," Roman said, his voice deeper, more resonant. He pulled his hoodie back on, the "low-key" mask settling back over his features, though his forest-green eyes shone with a dangerous intensity through the tinted lenses.
"Xylia, keep the change from the energy cell. And keep your mouth shut. If the Academy comes looking, I was never here."
"I don't sell out my best customers," Xylia said, though her eyes were glued to the scorch marks the violet spark had left on her floor. "But Roman? That cousin of yours... he's not going to stop. I saw the news. He's already put a bounty out for 'information' on a missing student."
"Let him look," Roman said, walking toward the exit. "A wyvern is only dangerous when it's in the air. On the ground... it's just another lizard."
He stepped out into the rain-slicked streets of Sector D. He had reached Stage 3 Bone Hardening. His foundation was no longer a cage; it was a fortress.
The hunt was on, but the predators didn't realize that the prey had just grown teeth made of stars.