The sterile stillness of the examination chamber felt heavier than it should have.
Rin stood over the dissected corpse, the scent of bitter herbs and antiseptic trying—and failing—to mask the raw scent of flesh. The silver-threaded blood she had drawn earlier still pulsed faintly in the glass vial on her worktable, as though resisting containment.
Kael hovered near the corner, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the corpse like a hawk watching for a shift in the wind.
"This isn't alchemy," he muttered, finally breaking the silence.
Rin shot him a sideways glance. "What do you mean?"
He stepped closer, resting his hand lightly on the edge of the steel table. "Alchemy deals in transmutations, formulas, exchanges. What you're seeing—blood that shimmers and pulses—it's not just unnatural. It's impossible."
Rin pulled her goggles off with a sigh and set them beside her tools. "So is resurrection. But that hasn't stopped anyone, has it?"
She reached for a pair of tongs and delicately lifted the strip of flesh bearing the alchemical mark. The lines were intricate—etched beneath the surface of the skin, not tattooed, not burned, but woven directly into the muscle. Like something meant to stay beyond death.
Kael watched closely. "Did the other two bodies show this depth of marking?"
"The first one did, but I didn't get a proper look at the second," she said. "You arrived too soon." She met his eyes. "Still think I'm the suspect?"
Kael didn't respond. He studied the corpse instead, voice low. "Why do they all have the mark? What purpose could it serve?"
Rin frowned as she returned to her notes. "In older alchemical texts, a mark like this would serve one of two purposes—either a ward to keep something out… or an anchor to hold something in."
Kael's brow furrowed. "Like a soul?"
"Or something worse." She paused. "Have you heard of soul-binding?"
Kael nodded, reluctantly. "A theory. Forbidden since the Ninth Concord."
"Because it works," Rin said softly. "And because the results were horrifying."
She uncorked another vial—this one filled with a light green solution—and dropped a small portion of the silver-blood sample into it.
The reaction was immediate. The liquid hissed and turned dark violet. The threads inside danced, writhing like they were alive.
Kael stiffened. "That's not just blood. That's—"
"Infused," Rin said grimly. "With an unknown agent. Possibly an elixir, or… a bonded essence."
He looked at her. "And what does that mean in plain words?"
She turned toward him, expression calm but eyes burning.
"It means someone found a way to put something inside them before they died. Something designed to stay alive after."
Kael went quiet. The corpse between them looked peaceful, deceptively human. But it wasn't. Not anymore.
"Do you think they were volunteers?" he asked.
Rin laughed bitterly. "Does anyone volunteer to become a vessel?"
They stared at the mark again. The lines had begun to fade slightly, as if reacting to exposure—shrinking away like it knew it had been discovered.
Then Kael noticed something—just near the palm.
He leaned over, lifting the stiffened hand carefully.
There, carved faintly into the skin like a hidden message, was a word.
Silver Lotus.
Rin's breath caught. "It's here, too."
Kael traced it with a gloved finger. "You said that phrase before. It's a group?"
"A society," Rin said. "Or a cult. Very little is known. Some believe they were ancient alchemists who attempted to bring back a dead emperor using forbidden transmutations. Others think they were eradicated centuries ago."
Kael looked at her. "But you don't believe that."
"No," Rin said, her voice cold. "Because the Silver Lotus never died. They just went underground."
A beat of silence passed.
Kael exhaled slowly. "We need to find the person behind this. And fast."
Rin met his gaze. "Then you need to stop following palace orders."
That caught him off guard.
She continued, firm. "The empire won't want this exposed. You know that. If we get too close to the truth, they'll bury it—along with us."
Kael's jaw tensed.
"I've already been warned off once," he said. "By someone I trusted."
Rin looked up sharply. "Who?"
"Doesn't matter," he replied. "They're not on our side anymore."
Rin returned her focus to the blood sample. It had calmed now, no longer writhing, but the vial was warm. Unnaturally warm.
She placed it in a sealed box and labeled it with quick, practiced strokes.
Kael's eyes didn't leave her.
"You believe in the resurrection theory?" he asked quietly.
Rin didn't answer right away. She paused, then said, "I believe the rules of life and death are being bent. And someone with too much power is doing the bending."
Kael nodded once, thoughtfully.
"You know," Rin added, "you're surprisingly calm about all this. Most people would be losing their minds over blood that fights back and corpses with breathing warmth."
Kael's lips curled faintly. "I've seen worse."
She raised a brow. "That's concerning."
He gave a half-shrug. "I was a soldier before I was an investigator. The empire has secrets buried in its bones. This might just be one of them coming back to the surface."
Rin watched him. There was a shadow behind his eyes—something unspoken, old, and jagged. A scar not on his body, but buried somewhere deeper.
"Then you'll need someone who knows how to read the bones," she said quietly.
He held her gaze.
A moment passed between them. Not trust—not yet—but understanding.
The kind that grows slowly, like a fracture healing into something stronger.
Kael finally nodded.
"We're in this together, then."
Rin pulled off her gloves and tossed them into the bin.
"Until the next corpse shows up," she muttered.
Kael didn't smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
"Which will probably be by morning."
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