The cough was a hammer blow, each ragged expulsion from Mira’s small chest echoing through the thin walls of their ramshackle apartment, striking Manuel deeper than any physical punch. It was worse this morning, the sound wetter, more desperate. He pressed a hand against his own ribs, as if the dull ache there could somehow soothe hers. Sleep, a luxury he rarely afforded himself, had been ripped away by the sound, replaced by the familiar knot of dread that had become his constant companion.
He had seen the cost of the Ether Smog antitoxin at the apothecarion’s stall yesterday: four thousand cultivation stones. Four thousand. A sum that felt as distant as the stars. He’d spent years to scrape together a mere fraction of that, pennies earned from hauling rotten monster carcasses at the docks, from meticulously sifting through the dregs for a few overlooked shards. The thought of it made his stomach clench.
Then there was Thorne. The memory of the Awakener’s arrogant sneer, the glint of his bladed gauntlet, and the impossible *nothingness* that had swallowed it. A cold sweat prickled Manuel’s skin. He didn’t understand what had happened. One moment, the weapon was there, threatening to carve him open; the next, it was gone, vanished into a ripple of distorted air. His heart hammered just thinking about it. A nascent power, the System had called it, ‘Reality,’ locked behind an impossible paywall of 100,000 stones. Yet, for a brief, terrifying instant, it had flickered. He’d felt it, a profound emptiness in his gut, a wrenching pull at his very essence.
That flicker was a double-edged sword. It proved his ability was real, a nascent, terrifying potential. But it also proved how little control he had, how dangerous it was. He couldn't afford to draw attention, not with Thorne still out there, possibly wondering what had happened to his expensive weapon. He couldn't afford to be weak, either, not with Mira struggling to breathe.
“Four thousand stones,” he whispered to the stale air, the number a heavy weight on his tongue. He traced the lines of his scarred palm. Docks work wouldn't yield that in months, maybe even a year, and Mira didn't have that long. He needed to risk it all. He needed to go to the Sunken Markets.
The Sunken Markets were a myth, a legend whispered among the desperate scavengers. Once a bustling underground bazaar, they had been swallowed by the rising waters of a forgotten river after an early Cataclysmic Event, long before the Ether Smog became a daily torment. Now, the area was a flooded labyrinth of decaying stalls and collapsed tunnels, reeking of stagnant water and something far more ancient. The Guild had long ago written it off as 'unprofitable' due to the danger and instability. But rumors persisted: certain monsters, adapted to the perpetual gloom and water, bred there, and their remains yielded purer, more numerous cultivation stones than any surface beast.
Manuel pulled on his scavenged gear: a worn rebreather with a cracked viewport that made the world a watery blur, patched-up waders that barely reached his waist, and a thick, oil-stained coat for protection against the cold, polluted water. His crowbar, a trusty extension of his arm, felt heavier than usual. He checked the crude waterproof pouch strapped to his thigh, ensuring the few empty cultivation stone sacks were secure. His mother was still at her triple shift, and Mira was still asleep, a thin wheeze accompanying her breaths. He left a half-eaten nutrient bar on her bedside table.
The journey to the Sunken Markets was a descent into the forgotten underbelly of Neo-Kyoto. He navigated crumbling stairwells, squeezing through rusted grates, the air growing thick and heavy, laden with the metallic tang of stagnant water and the cloying sweetness of rot. Eventually, he reached the primary entrance – a gaping, jagged hole where a subway tunnel had once been. The water level was waist-high, dark and impenetrable.
He activated his rebreather, the recycled air tasting like stale metal, and plunged into the murky depths. The light from his handheld lamp struggled against the gloom, revealing only distorted shapes of submerged debris. Old vendor stalls, their wooden frames long rotted, leaned precariously. The water was unnaturally still, the silence broken only by his own ragged breathing and the faint slosh of his movements. His Stone Resonance, a dull thrumming in his chest, grew stronger here, a faint tremor guiding him deeper, toward something large and dangerous.
Suddenly, the water ahead of him shimmered, an unnatural, ethereal glow pulsating from the darkness. A Glimmer Eel. They were rare, notoriously territorial, and infused with potent Ether. Their electrical discharges could fry a man's nervous system in seconds. Their bodies, however, were rumored to hold hundreds of stones.
The eel was massive, at least ten feet long, its sinuous body coiling through the submerged market square. Its bioluminescent patterns pulsed with an angry violet, illuminating the debris around it like a monstrous, distorted lamp. Two smaller, adolescent eels darted around its larger form, their movements quick and predatory. Manuel’s heart leaped into his throat. He hadn't anticipated a whole nest.
The large eel sensed him, its glowing eyes fixing on his lamp. It uncoiled with terrifying speed, a silent, deadly torpedo. Manuel barely had time to react. He brought his crowbar up, a desperate, clumsy guard. The eel’s head struck it with bone-jarring force, sending vibrations up his arms.
Then came the discharge. A searing pain shot through his arm, his muscles locking, his body convulsing. He cried out, the sound muffled and distorted by the rebreather. He was momentarily paralyzed, unable to move. The smaller eels closed in, their jaws snapping.
Desperation clawed at him. Mira. He couldn't fail. He wouldn't. A raw, visceral scream tore through him, unvoiced but potent. And in that instant, as a smaller eel darted towards his chest, the water around him *warped*. It wasn't just a splash; it was a momentary *absence*. The water in front of him, for a split second, simply *wasn't there*. The eel hit an invisible wall of nothing, its charge dissipating harmlessly against the void, momentarily disoriented.
Manuel didn’t understand, but he felt the same profound emptiness in his gut, a draining sensation that left him weak. But it bought him a moment. He shook off the lingering paralysis, the pain a dull throb. He spotted an old, submerged steel beam – part of a collapsed awning. With a surge of adrenaline, he pushed off the ground, using the crowbar as leverage, and swung himself onto the beam, narrowly avoiding the main eel's second lunge.
He watched the eel circle, its glowing eyes radiating pure aggression. He had to be smarter. He noticed a cluster of rusted rebar poking out from a collapsed ceiling support further into the market. A trap. Using the eel’s own aggression against it. He shouted, a desperate, raw sound that bounced off the submerged walls, taunting it. The eel, enraged, charged again.
Manuel waited. He waited until the last possible second, then pushed off the beam, diving deeper, barely scraping past the eel’s massive head. The creature, caught in its own momentum, slammed head-first into the rusted rebar, impaling itself with a sickening crunch. Its bioluminescence flickered wildly, then dimmed, its body thrashing violently as the electricity discharged, harmlessly absorbed by the water and the rebar.
The smaller eels, unnerved by the death of their alpha, scattered into the gloom. Manuel, breathless and trembling, swam towards the massive corpse. The water around it glowed faintly with residual Ether. His Stone Resonance thrummed, a loud, insistent buzz. He worked quickly, hacking away at the thick hide with his crowbar, his fingers numb with cold and exertion. He found the stones, embedded deep within the eel’s flesh, larger and more numerous than any he’d ever seen.
He filled his sacks, the heavy stones weighing him down. As he turned to leave, he noticed a faint, unnatural glint deeper in the murk. He swam towards it, his rebreather struggling. It was a small, ornate chest, wedged beneath a fallen stall. Not ancient, but old. He forced it open, and inside, nestled among decaying fabric, were more cultivation stones, smaller than the eel’s, but perfectly formed, hinting at a long-forgotten supply cache.
Surfacing was a victory in itself. Manuel coughed, ripping off his rebreather, sucking in the cool, toxic air of the undercity. He was soaked, shivering, and bruised, but he was alive. And his sacks were heavy. He stumbled back through the labyrinth, the weight of the stones a welcome burden.
At the apothecarion’s, the old woman behind the counter raised a single, skeptical eyebrow at his bedraggled state, but her eyes widened at the sight of his overflowing sacks. He counted them out, the stones clinking on the worn counter. Four thousand two hundred. More than enough. He bought two doses of the antitoxin, tucking the vials into his coat with trembling hands.
He ran home, his legs burning. Mira was still coughing, a rattling sound that tore at his heart. He gently woke her, propping her up. “Here, Mira,” he said, his voice hoarse, “Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.” She looked at the clear liquid, her eyes wide and trusting, then swallowed it down. Within minutes, her breathing seemed to ease, the rattling subsiding to a gentler wheeze. He watched her drift back to sleep, a small, fragile hand clutching his own.
Manuel sat there, the remaining two hundred stones in his pouch feeling like pebbles. Four thousand had felt like an insurmountable mountain, and he had scaled it, but the peak of Level 1, 100,000 stones, remained a distant, terrifying Everest. The instinctive flicker of his power, the momentary void, replayed in his mind. It had saved him. It was dangerous, uncontrolled, but it was *his*. He couldn’t rely on luck and desperation forever. He needed to understand it. He needed to master it. For Mira.