Rin adjusted the basket in her arms and knocked again, louder this time.
"Felix? Are you there? It's Rin."
Only silence answered.
The alley was quiet, a rare stillness even for this early hour. A light breeze passed through the cramped street, lifting specks of dust and carrying the faint scent of ink and parchment—the kind that usually spilled from Felix's open windows. But now, the shutters were sealed tight. The front door, often creaking with visitors or customers, remained shut for an entire week.
And that wasn't normal.
Rin glanced at the marketplace behind her. Several familiar faces—hunters, soldiers, even two merchants—lingered nearby, whispering. They glanced at Felix's door, then at her.
"Still nothing?" a tall mercenary asked.
Rin shook her head. "He's not answering."
"Tch. That Ghost Ink Scholar better not be dead. Those talismans of his kept my crew alive last hunt."
Rin gave a tight smile. "He's not dead." She hoped.
She'd already tried visiting three times this week. Each time, she found the place silent. She had dismissed it at first—maybe Felix was resting, or traveling, or shut away in one of his intense talisman-making sessions. But now, something felt wrong. It was in the air, in the silence.
In the stench.
Today, for the first time, Rin smelled something. Faint, but metallic and sour. Not ink. Not food.
Blood.
Her stomach clenched. She set the basket down and reached for the door. "Felix, I'm coming in."
It was locked.
She hesitated, then muttered a prayer to whatever spirits protected fools and stubborn friends.
One kick. Two. The third slammed the door open.
And then she screamed.
Felix lay on the floor.
Ink-stained parchment littered the ground. Half-finished talismans, shattered bowls, spilled powder—his entire workshop was chaos. But none of that mattered.
His body was curled near the talisman altar, pale and soaked in blood. His robes clung to him, stained black-red and stiff. One leg was twisted wrong. His fingers were burned. Lines of dried blood crusted his ears, lips, and nose.
But what stopped her breath—what nearly broke her—was the look on his face.
He was still.
Silent.
Eyes half-open.
But alive.
Barely.
"HELP!" Rin screamed out the door. "SOMEONE GET AN ALCHEMIST! NOW!"
Lina arrived half an hour later, her robes billowing behind her, flanked by two assistants carrying satchels of herbs and vials.
The moment she stepped into the room, her breath caught. The smell of burnt energy, blood, and spiritual backlash filled the air.
Her eyes immediately found Felix.
"Clear a space. Put out the candles. Bring clean water," she ordered, kneeling beside him.
Rin knelt nearby, her hands trembling.
"I-I don't know what happened," Rin stammered. "He was trying to break through, I think. There's talismans everywhere, and pills—"
Lina held up a hand. "Let me see."
She pressed her palm lightly to Felix's chest and closed her eyes.
Her expression darkened.
His body was mangled. Internally, there were ruptures across multiple organs. His spiritual veins were damaged, almost shredded. His heartbeat was shallow, and his breath faint.
But then—
A pulse.
Not from the heart.
From the dantian.
Lina's eyes flew open.
"What the...?"
His core was glowing.
Not brightly, but steadily. His meridians—though fractured—were pulsing with a low hum. His entire system was stabilizing. Not regenerating, but... adapting.
"I've never seen this," Lina murmured.
"What do you mean?" Rin asked, voice choked.
"He's not in a coma. He's not dying." Lina looked closer. "He's in a... frozen state. As if his body halted itself at the edge of death to preserve what remained."
"Can you heal him?"
"I can try. But not with standard treatments."
Lina rummaged through her bag. Her hand paused on a jade container, then hesitated.
"This isn't supposed to be used casually," she muttered.
"What is it?" Rin asked.
"Starpetal Elixir. One of the last I have. Rare, incredibly expensive. It's meant for peak Awakening Realm cultivators who've suffered backlash from forbidden arts. But if I don't use it, he might not wake."
She hesitated only a second longer, then snapped the seal.
The vial opened with a hiss of silver vapor. The scent was like moonlight and mint.
She poured three drops into Felix's mouth.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then his chest convulsed.
Lina held him down gently. Spiritual energy flared around her hands, weaving into Felix's system, guiding the elixir into the right channels.
The glow in Felix's core pulsed once.
Twice.
Then surged.
Lina pulled back. "It's working."
His color began to return, ever so slowly.
Sweat poured from Lina's forehead. "He's stabilizing, but he'll be unconscious for days. His cultivation core is strong—far stronger than I expected—but his body's still too weak to sustain it fully."
She looked at Rin, breathless. "Who is he?"
Rin smiled weakly. "Just... Felix."
"No," Lina said. "There's nothing ordinary about him."
That evening, word spread fast. The Ghost Ink Scholar had been found.
Unconscious.
Barely alive.
But still burning with spiritual vitality.
The soldiers who used his fireball talismans spoke in awe of how those burning scrolls turned the tide of battle. One squad claimed that when surrounded by three beasts in a night raid, they lit one of his talismans and the resulting explosion vaporized the lead creature and scared the others off. Another swore it punched through reinforced carapace hides like a bolt from the heavens.
Mercenaries described his talismans as eerie. They noted how the ink never smudged even in humid conditions, and how each talisman flared in perfect symmetry. Unlike the sloppy designs from common scribes, his bore a unique pattern that glowed steadily under pressure—never misfiring, never fading.
Hunters brought stories of battling beasts far above their tier—monsters normally requiring elite teams—but surviving because of a single ward from his hand. Some told tales of barriers that shimmered like layered glass, holding back claw swipes that should have torn bone from muscle. Others recounted seals that burned into the ground and momentarily froze charging predators.
Even mid-tier guild representatives began circling the market, asking quietly about him. One was seen offering gold to any child who could tell them when the shop would reopen. Another sought to commission a batch of fifty scrolls, regardless of price. More than one guild was reportedly considering formal recruitment offers—with talk of rank and land.
But Rin answered them all with the same words:
"He's alive. He needs rest. Come back later."
And behind the closed door of the workshop, Felix slept.
He was alive.
Broken in body.
Unconscious.
But stabilizing.
Each breath drawn with difficulty.
Every heartbeat measured, yet steady.
And in that quiet sleep, the lines of light he once saw danced again beneath closed eyelids.