“Our potions, Brun!” the Duplicate Children exclaimed. “The last potions we were searching for—Finally! Look, there they are!”

  Brun opened his eyes, and there they were, just a few feet away. Several tiny glass jars, shaped like fingers and filled with a radiant white potion, lined up side by side in a device that looked like an open fridge, surrounded by a frosty mist.

  He glanced around to get his bearings. In front of him stretched a massive hall with glass walls, strips of metal and white lights, scientists scattered all over the place, and…

  Surprise! After jumping around so many places and running into so many strangers, he was finally seeing some familiar faces.

  The fancy, nice-smelling gentlemen—men, some of them almost as old as Bernardo—who were always talking about ‘all the money they’d put into this,’ were now gathered in that white room. Only this time, there were more than the usual two or three who came to talk business with old Bernardo. There had to be… well, he didn’t know how to count, but definitely more than three.

  The strange bald woman with violet eyes was there too—the one in the black dress and cape, the same one who used to visit him when he lived in the cold lab.

  “This is the last vial,” she said, placing one of the potion-filled tiny jars into the last available slot in the cooling machine. But then, she gasped in surprise and looked around, now on high alert.

  “Something wrong?” asked a weary voice Brun recognized instantly.

  Of course! If the fancy gentlemen and that woman were there, then Bernardo couldn’t be far.

  There he was—the old man, with his wrinkled face and oversized glasses, directing the other doctors. He no longer used his cane, unlike the last time Brun had seen him; now, he sat in a wheelchair, pushed by one of his loyal assistants.

  “I sensed something,” the woman told old Bernardo. “We should hurry.”

  No one could see or touch Brun while he hid within the Nocturnal Nebulae. But somehow, this strange woman could sense his presence—at least a little.

  The fancy gentlemen remained silent, watching the woman’s every move. They tried to appear calm, but their faces were too stiff, too tense. Their eyes were wide, their lips pressed tightly together—some of them were even sweating from fear. Brun could feel it, could smell it.

  Two of them were whispering to each other, standing a bit apart from the rest. They kept their eyes fixed on the scene before them, their voices low, their gestures minimal—but their expressions told a different story. Their conversation was far from friendly.

  “Brun, get closer to them. We want to hear what they’re saying,” one of the children urged.

  “Maybe we’ll find out if there are any more potions left,” another suggested.

  “More potions? Aren’t these enough?”

  “No, Brun. They can’t keep a single one, understand? They don’t deserve them!”

  “Yes, Brun. And besides… Remember, the more potions you drink, the stronger you’ll get, and the faster you’ll find your brother.”

  “Alright, alright,” he said, and went over to hear what the two fancy gentlemen were talking about.

  One was tall and slender, the other shorter and stockier. Both wore glasses, like most people there, and both still had their hair—unlike most people there—though it was already gray. The shorter, stockier man pulled a handkerchief from his suit and wiped his face. Rather than nervous, he looked furious, shaking his head, which looked like a red potato.

  “Getting to this point is a disgrace,” the man was saying. “They should’ve gotten rid of that brat a long time ago. Look at us now! Hiding the last doses in the vault like scared rats, because the cat ate the ones we left as bait too early.”

  “The cat? Who’s the cat?” Brun asked.

  “They’re talking about you, Brun,” said one of the Duplicate Children.

  The other gentleman, the tall one with a face like he was smelling something rotten, cleared his throat and rubbed his long nose.

  “Well, it’s just… we thought it would work,” he replied to his companion, embarrassed.

  “Of course, that’s what you all thought,” the shorter man shot back. “I was always against that foolish plan. Now the decoys are gone and what’s left is at risk. We’re putting the future of the project on the line. Such a disgrace!”

  “There’s no need to remind me, Gerard,” said the tall man, his voice now leaning more toward frustration than shame. “I’m paying a lot of people to keep the boy’s intrusions into our labs under wraps. On top of that, the illustrious members of the Order are breathing down my neck, demanding to know why we sacrificed those doses. Ever since those two Vicars died, they’ve been… concerned.”

  Brun looked down at the children.

  “Illustreeus members? Vicars? What does that even mean?”

  “Quiet, Brun.”

  “Those walking corpses ought to learn when to hold their tongues,” Gerard muttered in the meantime. “They were the ones who chose not to eliminate that brat when we had the chance.”

  The tall man motioned for that Gerard man to lower his voice.

  “One does not poke the bear unless one is quite sure he can match its strength,” he said then.

  “Well now, Constantino, my old friend, I wouldn’t do it anymore,” the stocky man replied. “That bear has gotten stronger—and smarter.”

  “Bear? What bear?” Brun turned again to the kids for answers.

  “They’re still talking about you, Brun.”

  The slender man—this Constantino guy—watching as the doctors closed up the refrigeration machine, also pulled out a handkerchief. Before wiping his face, though, he cleaned his fogged-up glasses.

  “I’m well aware of the danger we face,” he said. “That’s why we’ve decided to bring the Atavistic Project to its conclusion today. Templeton will carry out the protein fusion here, in the vault. As we speak, my men are retrieving the Binaries.”

  “Uh-huh. One’s here—but what about the other? Rodinia’s not exactly next door.”

  “My contact in Markabia has secured an Auriga for us,” Constantino replied. “We’ll have both twins here soon.”

  “I see. And what about the old men of the Order? Have they been informed?”

  “They are not yet aware, but they’ll understand. After all, we’re merely moving the timeline up by a few days.”

  “Well then, Constantino, I see you’ve got everything ready. I don’t see why you summoned me.”

  “Tradition, Gerard. Witnesses are required—and you’ve contributed greatly to the cause.”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Oh! A noble gesture, my old friend. I just hope this doesn’t end in tragedy. If that brat was able to find the dose Rotanev hid in his lab and destroy it, it wouldn’t surprise me if he discovers this vault, too.”

  “Fear not,” said Constantino, though his tone betrayed more hope than certainty. “We need only a couple of hours for everything to be completed. It’s a very narrow window for Brun to uncover us.”

  “Hey! He said my name! They’re totally talking about me!”

  “We told you, Brun.”

  “Ha! What a dummy! Doesn’t he know I’ve already found them?”

  “Brun, be quiet!”

  Constantino, the taller one, made an even more sour face than before and put his handkerchief away.

  “Ah, Gerard…” he said, his gaze hidden behind the glare on his glasses. “Now, since you’ve brought it up, allow me to mention that I’ve heard… rumors. They say Ignacio Rotanev lied—that the dose he was guarding wasn’t destroyed by Brun, but consumed by that abomination he calls a hound. That’s why they had to dispose of the entire control panel—because it was covered in his filthy prints.”

  Gerard’s eyes, suspicious behind his glasses, snapped toward his friend’s evasive gaze.

  “Abomination?” he echoed, irritated. “It was my scientists who brought that abomination to life, and I assure you, he performs his duties flawlessly. I’ve said it time and again: My hound tracks lost Plasma doses and reports their location. He does not consume them!”

  “Hmm. That’s what I’ve heard. But tell me, Gerard, don’t you find it odd that no camera recorded Brun’s intrusion into Rotanev’s lab? I assumed you, as his partner, might have something to say…”

  The nervousness in Gerard vanished completely. His gaze sharpened.

  “My dear friend, I don’t like what you’re implying.”

  “I’m just saying what I heard,” the slender man excused himself.

  “What people say is of no concern, Constantino,” Gerard replied, clearly offended. “Cameras or not, that control panel disappeared along with the dose—and there’s no one else to blame but Brun!”

  “Me?! What did I do?!” Brun protested.

  “See, Brun? We told you,” one of the Duplicate Children pointed out. “These people are unworthy. They think they’re the rightful owners of the potions and can do with them as they please.”

  It was true. The Duplicate Children hadn’t lied.

  Determined to reclaim what was his, Brun swept aside the Nocturnal Nebulae like the curtain of a theater and revealed himself. His bare feet stepped onto the air, hovering just inches above the ground, while his pajamas and hair fluttered in an electric wind that swept away the last of the red-tinged gas cloud that had carried him there.

  Everyone froze in shock. Some gasped in awe and fear.

  The frail, decrepit Bernardo began shouting from his wheelchair, writhing as though he wanted to stand. He looked… what was the word they always used to describe him? Brun searched for it. Pathetic?

  A group of armed guards—Bernardo’s constant companions—rushed toward Brun. The pale, bald woman also approached, though more cautiously. But it didn’t matter who or how many there were. He needed those potions, and he was going to take them. His body demanded it, and besides, they were his.

  Brun stretched his hands toward the fridge-machine, ready to grab as many tiny jars as his hands could hold—when a shot grazed his face.

  Startled, he froze for a second. None of them had ever tried to hurt him before! He turned to the guards and from his eyes burst a torrent of white light, engulfing them in a sea of crackling energy. The glowing surge spilled over, reaching some of the fancy gentlemen—including the two who had been talking about him just moments ago.

  Damn it! He hadn’t meant for his light to consume them, but as had happened so many times before, it—just like the Nocturnal Nebulae—often acted on its own, almost as if it were alive.

  The bald, pale woman also tried to stop him from drinking the potions, but she received a slap of light to the face, so strong it threw her across the room, slamming her into one of the tables. Had that been his light too? Or was it the work of the Duplicate Children?

  “Drink them, Brun!” they urged, grinning. “Drink the potions before they take them! Drink them quickly!”

  And despite Bernardo’s shouts, Brun drank them.

  These were the last remaining potions, and it seemed that drinking them was all the Duplicate Children had wanted.

  As soon as he did, the children, still and silent, let themselves be embraced by the Nocturnal Nebulae—their amber eyes locked onto his—and he watched them vanish, swallowed by that cushion of stars and dark clouds.

  “Hey! Wait! Where are you going?” he tried to stop them. “I drank the potions just like you asked! Am I strong now?”

  But the children didn’t answer.

  Yes, drinking the potions had worked. What that Gerard man had said was true. Even though he wasn’t a cat or a bear, he could feel himself growing stronger and more cunning—though he wasn’t entirely sure what that last word even meant.

  Still, the most important thing was missing.

  “Now that I’m strong, how do I find my brother?”

  Immersed in his Nocturnal Nebulae, Brun wandered here and there in search of his brother. He searched for a long time, traveled to many places, always in vain. His brother was nowhere to be found.

  And to make things worse, he had no home left to return to.

  Drinking the potions that Bernardo and the unworthy people had kept hidden had made him the target of their hatred. Every time he showed up at the cold lab in Columdia, he was greeted by blaring alarms and gunfire—lots of gunfire. The bullets didn’t hurt him; they didn’t even reach him, as his Nebulas took care of them. But the fact that they shot at him terrified him, deeply. Maybe drinking the potions hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

  A wanderer, he continued his journey.

  Until an idea crossed his mind.

  What if he hadn’t found his brother because he was still inside the Nebulas? Time and space worked differently in there—being inside meant not existing to anyone. Maybe if he left them for a while, he could find his brother. Or maybe his brother could find him.

  So, every now and then, he would open the Nocturnal Nebulae and use his feet to walk through the outside world like any other person. Only for short periods, of course—his legs felt heavy, and he could feel them burning from the inside.

  He wandered through deserts and jungles, though he avoided cities and towns.

  Dogs barked too much and tried to bite him. And people… well, unworthy or not, it made no difference—no one wanted him around; something he’d gotten used to.

  Maybe they feared what his light could do, like the people at the cold lab. Or maybe they avoided him because of his appearance. He hadn’t bathed in a long time and smelled awful, his pajamas were dirty and torn, and the hair on his face had grown thick and somewhat menacing.

  The one thing that brought him a bit of comfort was waiting for the night to come and falling asleep under the watchful gaze of the beautiful, radiant moon. The moon held the cure for his troubles—he was sure of it. And even if he couldn’t reach it, at least not yet, he was content just watching it until sleep took over.

  Once, while crossing a vast valley, he lost one of his rubber shoes somewhere, cut his foot on a rock, and got scratched all over by those dwarf trees with razor-sharp leaves. Another time, walking through a place filled with plants, he felt so hot that he feared his life would escape through his sweat. Then, a sudden downpour caught him off guard, drenching his clothes, leaving him freezing and shaking.

  Of course, this always happened under the watchful eyes of several Cythlops, who followed him wherever he went. The moment he stepped out of the Nebulas, it wouldn’t be long before those red-eyed robot men appeared.

  None of them was his android friend, the one who used to visit him at night to give him his medicine. These were different. They arrived unannounced, trailing behind him—but never too close. Even they feared his white light. Once, he got too close to one, and the Cythlops started to smoke and sputter.

  “Why won’t you help me find my brother?” he asked them once. But they didn’t answer. “Come on! I know you can talk; I’ve heard you,” he pressed. Still, the androids remained silent. “You don’t need a mouth to speak, y’know? I had a Cythlops friend who could talk, and the Duplicate Children have mouths but don’t use them, yet I can still hear them.”

  In truth, it had been a long time since he’d seen or spoken to the children.

  And with so much silence, how could he not feel lonely?

  Until one day, a new group of Cythlopes appeared and, with beams of light, destroyed the other group that had been following him everywhere. The shower of sparks was wild to see!

  These new androids were different—they could approach him, and they wore amusing little black cube-shaped hats perched on their heads.

  Curious to see the hats up close, Brun removed one from a Cythlops, and the poor robot sparked from its head and collapsed to the ground.

  “Sorry,” he apologized.

  “Brun, we’ve come to take you to your brother,” said the new Cythlops.

  The robot men loaded him into the back of a huge truck, where some people dressed in white suits that covered them from head to toe laid him on a table and jabbed him in the shoulder.

  “Stay calm, Brun. You’ll see your brother soon,” they said, and he drifted off to sleep.

  When he woke up, he found his brother—his exact duplicate—right there. That was the happiest day of his life.

  “Hello, Brun. I’m Broga, your brother,” said his brother with a smile, hugging him.

  The hug felt nice, though Broga’s arms felt cold to the touch. For some reason, Broga looked just like him, but his arms and legs were those of a robot.

  “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Brun said, tears of joy streaming down his face.

  “I know,” Broga replied. “But there were bad people out there, and I had to wait for just the right moment to act, y’know? I couldn’t let them see me. Now I’m here, and soon, you’ll be back to normal. Don’t worry—I’ll help you.”

  “And then you’ll leave, like Bernardo did? Will you come see me?”

  “I won’t leave, Brun. This is our home. You and I will live here, together,” Broga promised. Walking to a large door that resembled the entrance to a cave, he showed Brun that they were inside a cliff, next to a forest where the sun shone brightly.

  “It doesn’t rain ice here,” Brun said cheerfully.

  Broga smiled, and for some reason, Brun got the impression his brother knew his Cythlops friend. After all, there had to be a reason why his brother, whenever he put on that helmet with the red eye, looked just like his android friend. Even their voices sounded the same!