Clink.
The sharp metallic clang of the steel door sliced through the suffocating silence, jolting Sinn from his inward spiral like a splash of icy water.
The sound echoed in his mind, reverberating with the urgency of a warning bell. It was yet another bizarre anomaly to add to the growing list of oddities in this place.
He shoved aside the torrent of questions about how he could hear it through the supposedly soundproof glass and layers of metal. There was no time for that now. His focus sharpened, and a cold realization settled over him: he needed to escape.
What day was it? He had no idea. Jenny would attack this place soon, to free him from this hellish prison, but the date of her arrival was as elusive as a shadow slipping through his fingers. Slowly, he closed his eyes, shutting out the sterile, oppressive environment that threatened to crush him.
He began sifting through the fractured memories he shared with Nel, pulling together every thread—each date, each movement, each moment forcibly etched into his mind by the scientists.
One thing was certain: rescue was coming. In a few weeks, they'd strike, and he would finally have his chance to escape.
The fog swirling in the air seemed to thicken in response to his thoughts, but then, like a strange symphony, the ventilation system hummed to life, sucking the haze away with unnatural speed.
Sinn turned his gaze toward the one-way mirror—only to be stunned. For the first time, he could see through it clearly. The figures on the other side were no longer mere shadows; they were real, tangible people.
His heart stuttered. But that wasn't the most shocking part. No, the most jarring thing was the clipboard.
The man holding it. Leonard. Sinn's blood ran cold. He knew that name. Well, Nel knew him, at least.
The clarity of his vision was almost dizzying.
Sinn leaned in, eyes narrowing as he read the contents of the clipboard. At the top of the page was the date, and it made his breath catch in his chest.
It was the exact date Jenny would attack. The pieces were falling into place.
His plans had to change—quickly. The base was about to be under siege. This was the perfect opportunity, the perfect excuse to take what he needed.
To steal their hearts. The three ingredients to become a vestige—he only needed one thing here: the hearts of ten people. Fresh hearts, that is.
It was precisely why Nel had never succeeded. His ideals prevented him from taking hearts that were still alive. Instead, Nel had dug up graves, harvesting the hearts of the dead. A total of 35 graves, 17 hearts that were fresh enough to consume.
It had sickened him, the act revolting. But he couldn't deny his instincts. His hunger. It had taken him no time at all to exceed the number of 17—but those hearts had been decayed, rotten. And as a result, his evolution had been stunted, incomplete.
Nel's skin never fully healed from the process. The first stage of vestige evolution didn't give abilities—it gave total physical recovery and enhancement.
But Sinn wasn't like Nel. He would take the hearts he needed from the living. He'd rip them from anyone who stood in his way. The people in this place? They deserved it.
He wasn't picky. Anyone who crossed him would be nothing more than prey, their hearts ripe for the taking—as long as they didn't fight back, he thought.
Sinn wasn't one for humor, but as the realization hit, he couldn't help but see the dark irony. This was the perfect chance to escape. The perfect opportunity to frighten them and strike a deal.
Imagine the scene: the person you've been observing, trapped in a glass cage, suddenly stares. They blink, their eyes clear with purpose.
They speak your language, and in a voice that drips with eerie certainty, they tell you this place will soon be under siege. They ask for nothing more than freedom.
What would you do?
Could you, in your right mind, deny them freedom? Knowing that you were dealing with a being of pureblood lineage? A creature you had observed, cataloged, and documented?
His blood was untouched by exterior mana, but it still carried the legacy of his ancestors. Sinn had two abilities.
Abilities that were his by birthright. The dialect couldn't corrupt them, only enhance them. And unlike Nel, whose memories of using these abilities were feeble at best, Sinn had no such doubts about their potential against weak humans.
Even if they didn't let him go, Sinn knew he could break out by sheer force—his strength alone would tear this place apart.
All he needed was for them to open the steel door.
There truly was a reason they pumped fog into his cell. There was a reason he was always the only one asleep among the pure bloods.
The truth was beginning to crystallize. They had been keeping him weak—afraid—slowed. But soon, it wouldn't matter at all