The guild infirmary smelled like dried lavender and alcohol. Malek recognized it before he even opened his eyes.

  His left arm burned. His chest ached with every breath. When he tried to move, his body made it very clear that was a terrible idea.

  "Awake again?"

  Malek turned his head just enough to see the speaker—a middle-aged woman with gray-streaked hair pulled back tight.

  "Your party brought you in three days ago," she said. "You lost enough blood that I'm honestly surprised you're conscious. Don't try to sit up."

  Malek hadn't been planning to. "What happened?"

  She folded her arms. "That's what I should be asking. What was a kid in your condition doing running around pretending to be an adventurer?" Her expression sharpened with frustration. "Your body was in such bad shape that if your party mage hadn't paid for a healer, you'd have bled out before you even got here."

  "Am I good now?" Malek asked.

  She sighed. "Did you listen to anything I just said? Kids these days. Your arm will heal and you'll have scars, but you're not dying."

  Malek exhaled, somewhere between relief and exhaustion.

  "Your family's been here," the healer went on. She nodded toward a small table by the window. A cloth-wrapped bundle sat there, and beside it, a wooden toy, a small carved horse, worn smooth with age. "Your sister left that. Said you need to wake up so she can yell at you properly."

  Malek stared at the toy. That was Elara's favorite. She never let him touch it.

  "Get more sleep," the healer said. "Your body needs it."

  This time, when he closed his eyes, he didn't resist.

  ---

  Malek was six. He remembered being cold despite the heat radiating from his own skin, remembered his mother's hands replacing the cloth on his forehead over and over, the water never quite cold enough to help.

  The fever lasted four days. Mira whispered prayers under her breath.

  Mira didn't sleep. He knew because every time he opened his eyes, and he opened them often, confused and frightened by the heat consuming him she was there. Her eyes were red. Her hands shook when she touched his face.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

  He didn't understand what she was apologizing for. Later, he would learn that she blamed herself for everything she couldn't fix with magic she didn't have, for every illness and injury that struck her children while wealthier families simply paid for healing spells.

  But that night, all he knew was that she was crying.

  She sang to him. He couldn't remember the words, fever had turned them into meaningless sounds but the melody was gentle, rising and falling like breath. Her voice cracked on some notes. She sang anyway.

  At some point, she took his hand. Her fingers were cold against his burning skin.

  "You have to stay," she said. Her voice was quiet but fierce. "I know it hurts. I know you're tired. But you have to stay with me. With us."

  He wanted to answer but his throat wouldn't work.

  "The world's going to hurt you," Mira continued. "People are cruel to those who are different, to those who don't have power or money or the right blood. They'll try to make you small. They'll try to break you."

  Her grip tightened on his hand.

  "When that happens, come home. No matter how far you go, no matter what you do, you can always come home. I'll be here. We'll be here. And we'll remind you that you're loved, even when the world doesn't."

  Movement in the doorway. Elara, Thirteen-years old, stood clutching something to her chest. She watched with wide, frightened eyes.

  Mira didn't notice. She pressed her forehead to Malek's burning one.

  "Live," she whispered. "Even if it's hard. Even if it hurts. Live."

  Elara crept forward. She set the wooden horse down next to his pillow, then retreated quickly to the doorway.

  Malek's vision blurred. The fever dragged him under again, but not before he felt his mother's tears hit his cheek, warm against warm.

  ---

  When he woke this time, she was there.

  Mira sat in the chair beside his bed, slumped forward with her arms crossed on the mattress and her head resting on them. Asleep, finally. Her hair had fallen across her face. Dark circles marked the skin under her eyes.

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  Malek tried to sit up. Pain shot through his arm and chest, and he must have made some sound because Mira's eyes snapped open.

  "Malek" She was on her feet instantly, hands hovering over him like she wanted to touch but was afraid of hurting him. "Don't move. You're still..."

  "I'm fine," he managed.

  "You're not." Her voice cracked. "You almost died. Garrett said" She stopped, pressing a hand to her mouth. "He said you were attacked by a wolf."

  "Mom—"

  She pulled him into a hug before he could finish. Careful of his bandaged arm, but tight enough that he felt her shaking.

  "You stupid boy," she said against his shoulder. "What were you thinking? Going into the forest alone, fighting a wolf"

  "It was..."

  "I don't care." She pulled back just enough to look at him, and her eyes were fierce despite the tears. "Do you understand? I don't care why. You don't get to die protecting yourself or anyone else. You don't get to throw yourself away like you're nothing."

  Malek opened his mouth. Closed it. The words from his fever dream came back come home and suddenly his throat was too tight to speak.

  The door burst open. Elara stood in the doorway, breathing hard like she'd been running. When she saw him awake, her face crumpled.

  "You—" She crossed the room in three steps and threw her arms around both of them. "You idiot! You're such an idiot!"

  "Elara" Mira said.

  "I prayed every day!" Elara said. "Every single day! I went to the shrine and I told the gods that if they let you wake up, I'd never complain about you being annoying ever again, and—and—I won't complain about food!"

  "That's a lie," Malek said. His voice came out rough. "You'll complain tomorrow."

  Elara hit him on his good shoulder. Not hard. "Shut up. I'm trying to tell you I was scared."

  The combined warmth of Mira and Elara pressed against Malek's chest. The heat behind his eyes became too much. He remembered his last life. How sad it was. How unloved he was. How unfamiliar he was to this kind of warmth. Suddenly, like a dam that can't hold the rain water anymore, tears started falling from his eyes. They were tears of sadness, loneliness, and longing. For the first time in both of his lives, it was the first time Malek felt such warm feeling.

  "What happened, son?" Mira asked, startled by his sudden loud crying.

  But Malek didn't respond and just cried loudly.

  "Whaaa!"

  "I'm so sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry. I was scared. I was really scared."

  Elara had tears in her eyes now. She held him harder. Mira joined in too. The family of three cried for a long time.

  ---

  The Town Lord’s castle sat in the middle of town, tall enough to be seen from almost anywhere. The walls around it weren’t meant for protection—they were more like decoration. Garrett once said they were just the Town Lord’s way of reminding everyone who really ran the place.

  The party was shown in through a side entrance, not the main gates. A servant in pressed gray livery led them through corridors that smelled like furniture polish and nothing else. No cooking scents, no sound of daily life. Just silence and the echo of their boots on marble floors.

  They were shown to a receiving room. More silence. Lyssa shifted her weight from foot to foot. Corwin examined the paintings on the walls—landscapes, all of them, devoid of people.

  A door opened to their right.

  The man who stepped in wore black and moved with the smooth economy of someone who'd refined every gesture to its essential form. He was the Buttler of Town lord.

  "Moonlace," he said.

  Garrett took out a bag from his pack, carefully wrapped, the leaves still faintly luminescent even through the cloth. The butler took it without comment, set it on the table, and produced a small crystal device. He passed it over the herb slowly. The crystal pulsed with pale blue light.

  "Authentic,” the butler said. He opened a lockbox and took out a pouch full of coins. “Your payment, as agreed.”

  "We'd like to see the Lord," Garrett said. "To discuss our previous request."

  "The Lord is occupied."

  The butler's expression didn't change as he countinued. "The Lord requested immediate delivery. The contract specified retrieval and payment. Both have been fulfilled. As for your request, the Lord said he will think about it but did not promise you anything. If you wish to dispute the terms, you may file a formal complaint with the guild."

  Garrett stared at him for a long moment. Then he swept the coins pouch into his beg. "Fine. We're done here."

  The servant led them back out through the same silent corridors. When they reached the street, Lyssa exhaled hard.

  "Something about that place makes my skin crawl," she said.

  "Rich people," Corwin said. "They're all like that."

  But Garrett looked back at the castle, frowning. He didn't say anything.

  ---

  Deep beneath the castle, in a hidden chambers the Town Lord worked.

  The laboratory was large and cold. Glass chambers lined one wall, each holding something that had once been human. Some still were, technically. They breathed. They moved. But the modifications had progressed far beyond what most would consider acceptable.

  The Lord himself was unremarkable—average height, average build, the kind of face that vanished from memory the moment you stopped looking at it. He preferred it that way. Power was more effective when no one remembered who wielded it.

  He set the moonlace on his workbench and began processing it immediately. Leaves stripped and ground. Essence extracted with careful application of heat and chemical reagents. The result was a thick liquid that glowed faint silver in the dim light.

  He added it to a larger vessel—blue liquid, already prepared. The mixture hissed. The color shifted from blue to green to deep, arterial red.

  “Beautiful,” he said, his voice completely emotionless.

  Thud

  A sound from across the room. One of the subjects had woken. It threw itself against the glass of its chamber, eyes wild, mouth open in a scream the soundproofing swallowed completely.

  The Lord glanced at it. "Still too much consciousness remaining."

  He dipped one gloved finger into the red liquid, then walked to the chamber. The subject inside increased its thrashing, sensing danger through whatever remained of its survival instincts.

  The Lord pressed his finger to the glass. The liquid adhered there, trembling. He waited three seconds, then flicked it through the feeding port.

  A single drop landed on the subject's exposed skin.

  Immediate reaction. The subject convulsed, slammed against the back wall, convulsed again. Its screaming stopped. After five seconds, it collapsed. After ten, it stopped moving entirely.

  The Lord made a note in his journal: Phase Seven complete. Compatibility confirmed. Lethality maintained. Next step: application to unawakened subjects. Hypothesis: forced awakening through survival response. Materials required: subjects aged 15-20, preferably unranked, with recent trauma exposure.

  He closed the journal and looked at the remaining chambers. Eleven subjects, at various stages.

  The subjects had all come willingly at first. Guard positions, he'd told them. Special training for castle defense. Good pay. They'd signed their names and walked through his doors with hope in their eyes.

  None of them had walked back out.

  He allowed himself a small nod of satisfaction. The work was progressing well. Soon he would have what he needed. Soon he would prove his theories correct.

  The subject in Failure Seven's chamber stared at nothing with dead eyes.

  In the red liquid, something moved beneath the surface.

  When I first hit “publish” on this novel, my hands were shaking. I was excited, terrified, and one second away from closing my laptop and pretending none of it ever happened. Then something unforgettable happened: after just two chapters, two people followed the story.

  Two followers. To anyone else it might seem small, but to me it meant everything. It meant someone out there wanted to come back. Someone wanted to know what happens next. That tiny spark was enough to keep me going.

  Now we’ve reached the end of the prologue — seven chapters that taught me so much, not only about the story but about myself as a writer. Each chapter revealed things I hadn’t planned, characters who grew in ways I didn’t expect, and moments I never knew I had in me until I wrote them.

  I won’t pretend the story is perfect. I’m still growing, still learning, still figuring out how to shape the ideas in my head into something real on the page. There are places where my inexperience shows, and I’m aware of that. But every step, every mistake, and every moment of improvement has been worth it.

  And that’s because of you.

  Whether you left a like, a comment, followed the story, or read quietly without saying a word — you gave this story your time. You chose to be here. That support means more to me than I can express. It motivates me to work harder, to do better, and to create a story worthy of the people who believe in it.

  So here’s my promise: I will finish this story. Even if we never grow past ten followers, even if this remains a small and quiet corner of the internet, I’m seeing it through to the end. You’ve given me a reason to keep writing, and I intend to make this journey worth every chapter for you.

  Before the next arc begins, I’ll be taking about a one-week break to outline the main story from here on. Until now I’ve been discovery-writing, letting everything unfold naturally, but I want the chapters that follow to be stronger, more focused, and more rewarding for you as readers. This break isn’t a loss of motivation — it’s a commitment to improvement.

  Thank you for being here. Thank you for giving this story a chance. Thank you for letting my characters live in your time and in your thoughts, even for a little while.

  The prologue ends here — and the real story starts next.

  Let’s continue this journey together.

  — I'm Henry