The glowing characters on Qingyi’s terminal pulsed with a stark, unsettling rhythm, casting a pallid light across her face. “Vang… knows?” Her voice, usually steady, wavered. She reached for the screen, her fingers hovering, as if the words themselves might scorch her. A persistent ache dug into Wanchen's ribs where the bone met hardening tissue, the warning colder than any vacuum of space. “It means I need to visit him,” Wanchen said, his gaze fixed on the glowing text. “Sooner than later.” He straightened, masking the slight tremor in his fingers. He did not want to leave Qingyi alone, not after the attack, but the message was a summons that could not be ignored. Qingyi’s expression was a tangle of fear and frustration. “But… what if it’s a trap? He’s a Master Gene-Architect, Wanchen. Their reach is…” She pointed toward the orbital ring visible through a fractured pane. “I’ll be careful.” It was a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. He gave her a reassuring nod, then moved towards the hangar’s damaged entrance. “Lock this place down. No more visitors.” The ascent to the high spire was a journey through the stratified layers of Aegis. The transit tube hummed with a different energy here, cleaner, quieter. Lower levels buzzed with the frantic commerce of salvaged mecha parts and nutrient paste. The upper redoubt, however, was a monument to bio-engineered pedigree and silent power. Its exterior shimmered with crystalline facets, reflecting the distant starfield, while inside, polished obsidian floors stretched between towering, translucent walls. Security drones, silent and unblinking, vectored his path, their optical sensors a constant, cool scrutiny. Each step Wanchen took felt heavy, calcified fibers grating against his ribs. He felt the Qi within him, a river of subtle energy, flowing against a growing resistance—the crystallization spreading like a frost. He entered a terrarium chamber of bioluminescent moss that smelled of synthetic ozone. Arch-Splicer Vang stood among the pale foliage, hands clasped behind his back. His robes, woven with threads that seemed to absorb and re-emit light, draped gracefully over his slender frame. His face, etched with lines that spoke of both wisdom and weariness, held a gentle smile. “Lu Wanchen,” Vang’s voice was a low resonance, like wind chimes in a still garden. “It is good to finally meet you in person. Your… performance… in the Star Network has caused quite a stir.” His eyes, the color of ancient jade, held an unnerving depth. Wanchen bowed, hands clasped in the martial greeting of his past. “Arch-Splicer Vang. It is an honor.” He kept his features slack while his meridians extended outward, probing. Beneath the elder's polished aura lay a discordant hum—a slow, relentless rot burrowing through ancient wood. Vang gestured to a low, floating cushion. “Please, sit. I gather you have been experiencing some… discomfort.” He produced a silver capsule from his sleeve. “A targeted neuro-inhibitor. It will soothe the tremors that have plagued you since your… incident.” His eyes lingered on Wanchen’s chest for a fraction too long. Wanchen took the pill. His fingers brushed Vang’s, meeting unnatural cold beneath the elder's synthetic epidermis—the telltale micro-spasm of advanced cellular collapse. As Wanchen palmed the capsule, his Qi probed its chemical lattice. It was no sedative. The compound was an aggressive bio-catalyst engineered to violently expand a subject's energetic pathways, forcing hidden reserves into the open. “Thank you, Arch-Splicer,” Wanchen said, tone level as he grasped the trap. He slipped the pill into his pocket, feigning compliance. “Your foresight is truly unmatched.” Vang’s smile widened, but his eyes remained sharp. “Indeed. Now, if you would permit me, I’d like to take a reading of your current physiological state. A simple pulse scan, purely for academic curiosity, of course.” He extended a hand, palm up, revealing a small, glowing sensor embedded in his wrist. Wanchen hesitated for a beat, then placed his wrist lightly on Vang’s. He felt the cold pressure of the sensor, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to the thrumming of his own crystallizing heart and the subtle, sickening decay he sensed within Vang. As the sensor hummed, Wanchen deliberately modulated his Qi, keeping it contained, appearing as a dying ember rather than a hidden inferno. Vang’s brow furrowed slightly as he watched the data stream across a holographic display that flickered to life from his palm. “Remarkable,” he murmured, a hint of something unreadable in his tone. “A unique bio-signature, truly. Fading, yet… resilient.” He looked up, his gaze piercing. “You possess a certain… antiquated strength, Lu Wanchen. A dangerous one, in this era.” “I merely wish to survive, Arch-Splicer,” Wanchen replied, pulling his hand back smoothly. He could feel Vang's calculating gaze, a predator observing its prey. “Survival requires adaptation,” Vang said, his tone sharpening. “And calibration. The academy must evaluate the limits of… anomalies like yourself. To that end, I have registered you for the Zenith Tournament.” The tournament was his sole path to the Genesis Pod, yet Vang's personal intervention heralded an ambush. “However,” Vang continued, a glint in his jade eyes, “your unique parameters necessitate a unique challenge. Your registration has been moved to the lethal-tier bracket. Safety protocols will be… disabled for your matches. We need to observe your full capabilities without digital interference.” Lethal-tier. That meant permanent damage, even death, was a real possibility. Vang wasn’t testing him; he was pushing him into a forge, hoping to extract something precious from the crucible. As if on cue, a holographic projection shimmered into existence beside Vang, displaying the Zenith Tournament brackets. Wanchen’s designation, ‘Cadet L. Wanchen,’ glowed starkly against the dark background. The system audibly chimed, updating his first opponent. The name flashed: ‘Iron Butcher, Xylos Krenn’. Below it, a chilling highlight reel began to play, showing a hulking Goliath-class mech tearing through a smaller model, its pilot’s screams abruptly cut off as the mech’s cockpit was crushed. The Iron Butcher, Xylos Krenn, had just crippled a student to death on live broadcast.

The Arch-Splicer's Prescription