Crack in the Mirror

Kael being accused of this brutal attack didn’t sit well with me.

The Kael I knew was gentle—an old soul who found beauty in simplicity, who clung to tradition and authenticity like lifelines in a sea of digital illusions. He wasn’t the kind of man who’d raise a fist in anger, let alone leave someone battered and broken in an alley.

Besides, he hadn’t stepped out of his quarters in months. Society had shoved him aside as he carried all the blame for the Biocore incident.

After calming the distraught woman and convincing her of my identity—Zehn Talos, former Wood Hunter—I assured her I would handle things from here.

I managed to get the injured man to the hospital. His breathing was ragged, and his pale face was twisted with agony. Inside, a medical drone scanned his vitals while an attendant administered a small dose of Kyslicium mixed with sedatives—a temporary balm to dull the edge of his suffering.

The man's condition stabilized, and for now, his life was no longer in danger.

Despite the decay of pharmaceutical industries—an inevitable collapse when diseases became relics of a forgotten age—hospitals still produced essential medications: painkillers, antiseptics, and trauma stabilizers. Accidents, after all, still happened, and injuries still demanded care.

I hovered near the edge of the sterile ward; my arms crossed as the faint hum of bio-screens and automated beds created a muted rhythm around me.

Curious, I accessed the hospital’s public news stream on my wrist interface. The woman from the alley had already shared her claims—bold, unfiltered, and damning: Kael Sylas was responsible for the attack.

The news thread flickered with growing traction. Kael’s name stood out in bright letters amidst a sea of concerned emojis and speculative comments.

It didn’t take long for the police to arrive. Their crisp uniforms and polished boots felt almost performative in a city where crime was little more than a theoretical concern. A tall officer with angular features and tired eyes approached me with a holotablet in hand.

“Mr. Talos, we’d like to get your statement.”

I nodded, pulling my focus away from the digital murmur of the news thread.

“Tell me what you saw.”

I relayed the events as clearly as I could. The scream. The injured man. The figure fleeing into the shadows. But the truth was, I never got a good look at them—just a silhouette vanishing into the dim alleyways.

“So, you can’t confirm the suspect's identity?”

“No,” I admitted. “Whoever it was, they moved fast, and I didn’t see their face.”

The officer’s brows furrowed, and his fingers tapped rhythmically against the edge of his holotablet.

“I think,” the officer began slowly, trying to recall a term from the past, “people used to have a name for cases like this. When someone physically attacked another person, what’s the word…”

“Do you mean… ‘battery’?”

“Yes, that! What a funny word, haha.”

The officer’s humor was dry, almost uncomfortable. But I didn’t blame him. In a world where peace was engineered into every facet of society, crime had become an anomaly.

And even though people still respected policemen’s profession, everybody knew they became a little… redundant.

***

Because of the woman's testimony, the police had no choice but to pursue Kael for questioning.

But they couldn’t find him.

In Worlderia, if someone wished to disappear—truly disappear—they could do so legally, their privacy protected by ironclad laws. Kael had already exercised this right long before this violent incident. His house had become a fortress of solitude, guarded not just by walls and gates, but by an unspoken agreement between him and the world: Leave me alone.

Yet, I couldn’t shake the thought from my mind. Could it all trace back to the oxygen exposure? The timeline aligned too perfectly.

But then… what was Kael’s condition? He had been even stabbed by the splinter during our mission. And yet, outwardly, he seemed unchanged.

At least, for now.

My mind raced as I glided toward his house, the heavy iron gate looming in front of me like the mouth of a giant steel beast. I pressed the buzzer. Once. Twice. A third time. Silence answered me.

I was about to leave when movement caught my eye.

There he was, walking toward the gate with slow, deliberate steps.

“Kael!” I called out, relief mixing with apprehension in my voice.

His sharp gaze met mine, the faintest flicker of annoyance glinting in his eyes.

“What are you doing here, Zehn?” he asked, his voice steady but cold.

“How come you’re outside?”

“It’s not illegal to take a walk, even for an outcast like me, is it?” he said flatly.

There was bitterness in his words, an edge I wasn’t used to hearing from him.

“But… does it mean that—”

“Let’s take this inside,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The gate creaked open, and I followed him into his home.

Kael’s study was filled with the scent of old paper and faint traces of melted wax. The candles flickered unevenly, casting jagged shadows across the bookshelves and furniture. Towering stacks of books lay scattered across the floor like ruins of a forgotten civilization.

Some were toppled over, others carefully marked. My eyes scanned their spines: Military Strategy, World War IV, War and Peace.

In the far corner, a cracked mirror leaned against the wall, the fracture slicing its reflection like a jagged wound.

“Sit,” Kael said, gesturing to an old armchair opposite his desk.

I sat, the leather creaking faintly beneath my weight. Kael remained standing, his gloved hands resting on the edge of his metallic desk. The surface was polished, but dents and faint scratches marred its edges.

“I know about the rumors that woman is spreading about me, I’ve seen the news streams,” Kael said abruptly, his voice low and measured.

“Kael, why didn’t you answer the police when they tried to contact you?”

“What would I say to them?” he asked, his lips curling into a humorless smile. “The police of this era are nothing more than glorified traffic wardens. They wouldn’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

He didn’t answer.

“Kael… did you do it?”

His head snapped up, and he slammed one of his gloved hands against the metal desk. The sharp sound cracked through the air, making me flinch.

“Did what, Zehn?!” His voice rose, a sharp edge slicing through his normally composed tone. “Are you asking if I beat that man into unconsciousness? And what if I did, huh?”

His eyes - red, bloodshot - locked onto mine.

“Kael, please—calm down,” I said softly, trying to keep my voice steady.

“How could I be calm? And how can you be calm?!” He gestured wildly in my direction, his gloved hand trembling slightly. “Your hair, your face… you look like you’ve lived two lifetimes in the span of weeks!”

I sat in silence, watching him as he gripped the edge of the cracked mirror with both hands. His reflection stared back at him.

Come to think of it, Kael was one of the few people who still recognized me despite my aged appearance.

As his burst of emotions slowly faded, I began to understand where all of this was coming from.

“Kael…” I started carefully, my voice barely above a whisper. “You know something we don’t, don’t you?”

Chapter 8: END