Kael woke to shafts of pale light slicing through the broken skylights. His body felt strange—lighter, almost buzzing—as if the meager meal from the Dregs had jolted every muscle awake. He staggered to his feet, back aching, and pressed a hand to the shard embedded in his ribs. A soft pulse throbbed beneath his palm, and he closed his eyes, drawing strength from its steady rhythm.
Let's try again.
He stepped into a cleared patch of factory floor, littered with flakes of rust and splinters of glass. He planted his feet shoulder‑width apart and flexed his fingers. Concentration coiled in his mind, and he felt the shard shift—venom gathering at his fingertips like heavy oil. No vial, no cups—just raw, living poison.
Kael extended his hand, palm up. A single droplet formed at his fingertip, viscous and dark. He willed it to solidify. The drop quivered… then snapped into a brittle shard that disintegrated before he could grasp it.
Failure. He spat on the floor, the taste of iron sharp in his mouth.
He tried again and again: droplets spun into useless spikes, puddles morphed into acid mists, even a crude sphere collapsed in a hiss. Each miscast seared his skin or clouded his lungs. His left eye twitched; sweat dripped into it. He coughed, vision blurring.
Keep going, he told himself, voice ragged. Just one shape.
On his thirteenth attempt, something shifted. Kael focused not on the venom, but on the shape he needed—a blade's edge, jagged but firm. He felt the shard respond, threads of venom weaving together. A slender dagger formed above his palm, dark and humming with unsteady energy. It held for a heartbeat—one… two… three—then vanished in a plume of acrid smoke.
He stumbled back, heart hammering with triumph. A hollow laugh escaped him. "Finally," he gasped, eyes shining.
In his euphoria, Kael spun around to face the factory's maw… and slipped. His boot caught on a rusted girder, and he pitched backward.
Time slowed as a jagged spike of loosened metal plummeted from the ceiling. It sliced into his abdomen with a dull thunk, burying itself four inches deep. Pain exploded through him, white‑hot and burning. He collapsed to his hands and knees, fingers trembling on the filthy concrete.
Fear flared—then the shard's venom surged. He felt it rush from his wound, pulsing outward. A shimmering membrane blossomed across the spike's entry point, veins of ivory light knitting flesh and metal together. The pain dulled to a roar, but the membrane held fast.
Before he could process relief, a heavy crash rang out. A rusted pipe dislodged by his fall crashed onto his chest, embedding its jagged edge against the membrane. Kael braced himself, expecting the barrier to shatter—and it bent, rippling under weight, cracking at the edges but never giving way. The pipe pinched into his side, but the venom‑woven shield prevented further rupture.
Gasping, Kael felt sweat and blood mingle on his skin. He tasted copper and triumph. He forced himself upright, the spike and pipe still lodged but no longer mortal threats. Each breath was agony, but each breath proved the barrier had adapted—just as he had.
He pressed one hand to the shard in his ribs and let out a fierce, breathless laugh. Small victory, he thought, wincing as he tested his wound. But victory all the same.
The factory's groan faded into background static. Kael took a trembling step forward, steel in his spine. He'd forged his first weapon—and his body had learned to defend itself. He was still a scared kid in a broken place, but now he carried proof that he could turn his curse into strength… one painful, precious lesson at a time.