The Hollow had returned to silence.
Not peace.
Just stillness.
Kael moved through it like a shadow. He brewed salves. Sorted herbs. Answered no one.
Not even Elric, who'd returned from his latest trip with dark circles under his eyes and no questions in his mouth.
That night, Kael sat alone in his chamber, a single oil lamp flickering at his side.
He held the leather pouch in both hands.
It was warm.
Softer than before.
As if something inside had relaxed.
Carefully, he unfastened the clasp and reached in.
The bottle.
Still cold.
Still sealed.
But it had moved.
It was no longer on the shelf.
He hadn't put it here.
Or had he?
He couldn't remember.
He unwrapped it and held it beneath the lamplight.
The green drop inside had changed.
It wasn't floating anymore.
It clung to the side of the glass—viscous, pulsing slightly.
Alive.
Or something like it.
Kael didn't speak.
Didn't think in full words.
Just watched.
Then a thought crept in—quiet, uninvited, but persistent.
If it was alive, or held some dormant will...
Could it act on another body? Could it change something besides itself?
It wasn't reasoned out. More instinct than science.
But Kael had been raised around herbs, tinctures, poisons.
If a substance defied observation—
You tested it.
Then he rose.
In the back of the herb barn, behind a row of withered fungi samples, sat a small cage.
Inside, a thin-necked chicken blinked at him, drowsy from evening feed.
Kael opened the bottle.
Not fully.
Just enough for a single droplet to cling to a carved splinter of root.
He dipped it once.
Then extended it toward the bird.
The chicken sniffed, pecked—
Swallowed.
For a moment, nothing.
Then—
It shivered.
Feathers twitched. Its wings jerked open, body convulsing.
Kael stepped back.
The bird staggered.
Then stilled.
Its eyes, once cloudy with age, now glowed faintly green.
It pecked the metal bars. Once. Twice. Harder.
Then stopped.
Sat perfectly still.
Kael stared.
The reaction had stopped.
The bird was breathing.
But its chest rose in strange rhythm.
Its feathers no longer dull.
He looked back at the bottle.
The drop was smaller now.
Not gone.
But diminished.
He sealed it.
Tucked it back into the pouch.
This time, gently.
And sat down in the straw beside the cage, arms folded, eyes unfocused.
Not frightened.
Not excited.
Just quiet.
The bird blinked at him.Its breathing matched his own.
Kael froze.A dull throb echoed in his chest—then in the bird's.Inhale. Exhale. Again. Again.The timing was perfect. Too perfect.
His throat tightened.A bead of sweat gathered on his back, though the room was cool.
He told himself it was a coincidence.That the drop had shocked its nerves.That he was imagining things.
But it didn't blink randomly.It blinked when he did.
His mind grasped for an answer, some herb-born side effect, some pattern of hallucination.None came.
So he just sat.
Not closer.Not farther.
Eyes on the cage.Trying to breathe differently.And when he did—the bird's chest still rose with his.
Something primitive and ancient stirred in him.Not fear.But a sense that something had reached across the gap between bodies... and touched him.
He stood slowly.
Didn't open the bottle again.Didn't try another test.
He wrapped it.
Put it away.
This was no longer about science.
And whatever this was—
It wasn't something he was ready to understand.
Not tonight.