Prologue – The Last Breath
The beeping was constant.
Like a countdown with no ending.
Steady. Unfeeling. Mechanical.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Michael stared at the ceiling.
Peeling tiles. Stained walls.
The same flickering light that had hummed over his bed since he was twenty-two.
Today was his birthday.
Thirty-two.
Ten years inside this hospital.
And still, he could taste iron every time he bit the inside of his cheek —
a reminder that no matter what the tests showed,
his blood had always hated him.
Not even the nurses came around much anymore.
He didn't blame them.
He wasn't dying fast.
He wasn't dying loud.
He was just… rotting slowly.
A few of the other rooms had family visitors.
Laughter. Balloons. Warmth that didn't seep through the door.
He used to have that, too.
Before his blood took them.
First his sister.
Then his father.
Then, piece by piece, the rest.
They called it a rare disorder.
Something genetic.
Something unfixable.
They could never even name it.
All Michael knew was this:
His family bled to death from the inside.
And now he was the last one.
The clock hit midnight.
Michael blinked slowly, jaw tight, throat dry.
Thirty-two.
He didn't ask for much. Never had.
But if someone — anyone — was listening,
he had one last wish.
Not for a miracle.
Not for survival.
Just… something smaller.
"Please," he whispered. "Let me have a family of my own. Just once."
The beeping stopped.
Flatline.
Silence.
But in that silence,
something moved.
Something old.
Something alive.
Something in his blood.
That's when he heard the voice.
Not outside his body. Not in his ears.
Inside his veins.
"Welcome, Michael."
And the pain began.