THE SYSTEM IS NOT MINE

Yan did not hesitate. He reached out, his fingers steady, and lifted the glass. The liquid was thick, bubbling with an unnatural, restless energy. He tilted his head back and gulped it down in a single breath.

​He set the glass back on the stone table. Clack.

​The silence in the Main Hall became absolute. Elder Chao leaned forward, his eyes narrowed, searching for a flare of light, a convulsion, or even a bead of sweat.

​Nothing happened.

​Yan stood like a statue. No green glow ignited his meridian. No tremors shook his frame. He looked as empty as the glass he had just set down.

​Chao’s voice was a low rasp of disbelief. “Nothing?”

​“It was bitter,” Yan said flatly.

​Chao stared at him for a long time, the air in the room turning brittle. Finally, he waved a hand in dismissal, the intrigue in his eyes replaced by a cold, unsettling confusion.

​“Go. Return to your duties.”

The mask did not break until the storehouse door latched shut.

The moment the lock clicked, Yan’s legs gave way. He hit the floor, his fingers clawing at the stone. The ”nothing” that had happened in the Hall was a lie. The liquid was a storm, and he was a house with no foundation.

The night was not sleep. It was a full of agony. His body screamed with heat.

But he did not scream, clenched his fists tightly, did not open them.

Morning brought a grey, flat light and the creak of the door.

Ren entered, his footsteps heavy with a rare, frantic urgency. He saw Yan, drenched in cold sweat, his skin the color of ash, shivering on the wooden slats of the cot.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

”Yan!”

Ren was at his side in a heartbeat. He didn’t ask what happened.

He went out for a minute.

Ren’s hands moved with a quiet, desperate grace. He dipped a cloth into the basin, the water sloshing over the sides, and pressed it to Yan’s forehead.

”You’re burning,” Ren whispered, his voice tight with a mixture of fear and fury. ”Is it a fever?.”

Yan nodded

For the rest of the day, Ren became Yan’s only link to the living world. When the tremors returned that violent, bone-shaking shudders that threatened to snap Yan’s ribs, Ren didn’t pull away. He sat behind Yan on the cot, wrapping his arms around his friend’s shoulders, using his own steady weight to pin Yan to the earth.

”Breathe,” Ren commanded, his chin pressed against Yan’s damp hair. ”Just breathe. Focus on my heartbeat, not the fire.”

He stayed until his own limbs grew numb. When the fever peaked at midday, Ren tore the flatbread into tiny, soft pieces, dipping them in broth until they were easy to swallow. He fed Yan slowly, patiently, blowing on each spoonful.

By evening, the fire in Yan’s veins finally cooled into a dull, throbbing ache. He sat up, the strength returning, The White text gathered in front of his eyes.

Compatibility 1% --> 1.005%

Yan controlled his breath, but his mind felt something else, it finally increased.

Ren sat on the edge of the cot, his eyes rimmed with red from exhaustion, watching Yan with a wary intensity.

“Ren,” Yan said, his voice raspy but firm.

Ren looked up, clutching the empty broth bowl.

“The High-Crag girl,” Yan continued. “ Keep an eye on her”

Ren nodded.

And ”I am fine, you must be tired, you can leave.”

gripping Ren’s forearm in a silent acknowledgment that carried more weight than any thanks.

”Please leave”

Ren hesitated, still stood up and walked towards the door.

He watched Ren exit, the door clicking shut, before he turned toward the moonlit courtyard.

When Ren left the store house he clenched his fists ”So, it’s her.”

The moon was a sliver of bone. Yan stood by the livestock pens, his eyes scanning the animals with a cold, predatory focus. The scent of wool and damp earth grounded him.

A shadow detached itself from the stone wall. Lin.

She carried the same glass vessel. The green liquid bubbled within, more violent than the last. She placed it on the table, her eyes searching Yan’s face for the weakness Ren had spent all day trying to heal.

“Elder Chao’s orders,” she said, her voice wavering for the first time.

Yan did not hesitate. He picked up the glass and drank it in three long, rhythmic gulps. The fire returned, licking at his ribs, but he did not flinch. He set the empty glass down and looked Lin directly in the eye.

“One more,” Yan said.

Lin’s mask finally shattered. She looked at the empty vessel, then at the pale, unwavering boy standing before her.

“You... it hasn’t even settled,” she whispered.

Yan did not blink.

“One more glass.”