The car ride from the alley to the agency was quiet. Kahn's hands trembled slightly on his knees, the echo of the fragment's exertion still pulsing faintly beneath his skin. Bones ached, joints burned, and deep inside his chest and stomach, a dull, unsteady strain pressed outward, like his organs had been stretched beyond their normal alignment. Even the smallest movements sent subtle shocks of fatigue through his spine. The fragment's memory lingered, humming faintly under his skin, reminding him of the edge he had survived.
Voss sat beside him, calm, cigarette smoke curling faintly from the dashboard vent. "You made it," he said quietly. "That's what matters. We'll debrief inside."
The agency was stark and clinical. Polished floors reflected harsh white light, walls lined with abstract artwork that seemed to shift subtly when stared at too long. Voss led him through a maze of corridors to a large private office.
The door opened, and Kahn stepped inside.
Selene sat behind a broad, obsidian-black desk, her red hair falling over her shoulders like molten copper. Her eyes were dark as polished stone, sharp and assessing. The air carried a faint metallic tang, a subtle reminder of iron, copper, and blood.
"You're here," Selene said, her voice smooth, almost liquid, but weighted with authority. Her obsidian eyes scanned him carefully, noting the slight tremor in his hands, the tension in his shoulders, the faint pallor of his skin. "From what was supposed to be a simple investigation, you've… returned. Explain. From the beginning. What happened."
Kahn swallowed, struggling to steady himself. "Director Selene… Commander Voss… We went to investigate a standard situation. But… I—I was pulled into another space. It was decaying… twisted. The walls, the floor, the air… it moved strangely, like it had a will of its own. The creatures I encountered… they weren't human, but they had human-like shapes. Bodies fused with rusted metal, joints bending impossibly, skin bubbling along corroded seams. They weren't alive like us… but not entirely dead either."
He took a shaky breath. "I used my fragment instinctively. I could manipulate the rusted parts of the creatures—twisting limbs, breaking them apart. I also… just slightly affected the environment beneath them. Floors softened, tiles warped… enough to slow them, make them stumble. But I only pushed a little. My body… it feels broken. Bones, joints, even internal organs feel strained, shifting in ways they shouldn't. I barely made it out."
Voss's brow furrowed, and he exchanged a glance with Selene. "You're saying a simple investigation turned into… that?"
Kahn nodded. "Yes. The space, the creatures… it all reacted instinctively to me. The fragment guided me, but the strain… I could feel my body fighting against it every step. Every muscle burned. Every joint ached. My organs… it's hard to describe, but it felt like something inside was pulling against itself, resisting the bending of reality around me."
Selene leaned back slightly, her hands folded over the obsidian desk. The metallic tang of the office mixed faintly with the faint scent of her presence—blood, alive and present, like a quiet pulse. Her eyes held his steadily. "You came through… alive," she said softly. "Barely. You were very close to transforming into an aberration. Your body has limits, Kahn, and you pushed beyond them. The fragment reacts instinctively, yes—but it is still your flesh that channels it. Bones, muscles, organs… they can only bend so far before breaking. You've skirted the edge of what you are capable of."
Kahn's chest heaved, muscles still trembling. The fragment throbbed faintly beneath his skin, a subtle echo of exertion. "I didn't understand it at first," he admitted. "I didn't know the space existed… didn't know the creatures were even possible. I reacted instinctively, and I survived… but I feel every cost now."
Selene rose, moving around the desk with deliberate grace. Her red hair caught the light, framing her sharp features, her presence commanding. "Your instincts kept you alive. But instinct alone is not enough. You bend reality—but your body is the frame. Push it too far, and there will be nothing left. You've glimpsed the edge of what you are. Do not forget it."
Voss stepped closer, steady and calm. "You did what you had to. And you made it out. That counts. But Selene is right—you need to understand the cost. Don't let instinct alone carry you."
Kahn nodded, taking a slow, shuddering breath. He flexed his fingers, feeling residual strain, the dull, insistent ache radiating through bones, muscles, and chest. "…It's like my body is reminding me what I risked."
Selene returned to her seat, hands resting lightly on the obsidian surface. "Your fragment is instinctive, yes. But instinct is not control. Your flesh is the vessel, Kahn. Respect it. Learn it. Survive it."
Kahn exhaled slowly. For the first time since the decaying space, he felt a mix of relief and determination. He had survived the impossible—but understanding his power, and respecting his body, would be the true challenge ahead.
Selene and Voss exchanged a glance one more time. Selene's obsidian eyes softened slightly. "You've done enough for today, Kahn. Go. Take the rest of the day to recover. Calm your mind."
Voss gave a small nod. "Get some fresh air. Walk. Think. Just… take care of yourself."
Kahn exhaled, a tight knot in his chest loosening slightly. "Thank you," he murmured, the weight of the fragment's recent strain still lingering beneath his skin. He left the office quietly, stepping into the brisk afternoon air.
The city sprawled around him, familiar yet alive with a thousand small details he had almost forgotten in the chaos of the decaying space. He wandered through the streets, each step grounding him. The scent of baked bread drifted from a small bakery, mingling with the warm spice of roasted chestnuts being sold from a nearby cart. Steam rose from open grills, carrying the savory aroma of sizzling meats and sweet glaze from caramelized nuts.
At a corner, a street vendor sold roasted corn on the cob. The kernels glistened golden-brown, steaming in the cool air. He bought one, the warmth seeping into his hands. The first bite was sweet and slightly smoky, the juice trickling over his fingers, a simple, grounding pleasure. Around him, the vendor's call echoed, blending with the rhythmic clatter of carts and distant traffic.
A few steps further, another stall offered freshly fried pastries dusted with powdered sugar. Kahn paused, inhaling the heady scent of butter and sugar mingling with fried dough. The pastry was warm, flaky, and soft, melting in his mouth with a light sweetness that contrasted the metallic tang still lingering on his tongue from the fragment. He could hear the faint sizzle of oil from the stall, see the sugar clinging to the golden crust, smell the sweet aroma mingling with faint hints of coffee from a nearby café.
He walked on, passing a cart selling fresh fruit—bright oranges, deep red apples, and plump, glistening grapes. The smell of citrus and ripeness cut through the city's usual grime. He bit into a crisp apple, the skin giving a faint snap before the juicy flesh burst with tart sweetness. The texture was crisp against his teeth, cool and refreshing, a grounding sensation after the unnatural, warped space he had just escaped.
The simple, mundane world—the city alive with smells, tastes, and textures—was almost surreal after the horrors he had faced. Kahn moved slowly, letting himself feel each sensation: the warmth of a bun in his hand, the crunch of a crisp apple, the sweet scent of pastry and roasted chestnuts mingling in the air. His breathing steadied, his pulse gradually calming, the faint thrum of the fragment under his skin quieting to a soft, reflective beat.
For the first time in hours, Kahn let himself think—not of survival, or fragments, or twisted spaces, but of himself. Each bite, each smell, each step anchored him in reality, in the simple pleasures of a world he had almost forgotten he could enjoy. The city, in all its mundane chaos, became a small refuge, a place to recover, to remember that even in a life of powers and danger, there was still room for ordinary life—and ordinary moments of calm.