The city of Aurealis never slept. Neon lights reflected off glass towers and rain-slicked streets, casting long, distorted shadows. In this metropolis where bodies could be modified and minds meticulously tracked, Lysandre walked alone, his medical bag slung over his shoulder. He had always trusted science and logic, but today, the air itself felt… wrong.
A sudden gust of cold wind blew through the alleys, carrying with it a subtle, almost imperceptible fog. Lysandre paused, instinctively sensing the disturbance. It wasn't just pollution—it was alive.
He adjusted his medical mask, checking the flow of his instruments. His sensors detected an abnormal respiratory pattern in the area. People were coughing, panicking, and yet there was no clear cause. The fog seemed to move with purpose, weaving through the streets like it had a mind of its own.
— This… this isn't ordinary, he muttered.
From the corner of his eye, Lysandre noticed a small child clutching his mother, both struggling to breathe. His medical instincts kicked in instantly. He knelt, assessing their condition, while the fog seemed to swirl closer, almost curious.
— Stay calm, he whispered, applying a rapid stabilizing treatment.
The child's breathing steadied, but the mother's condition worsened, as though the fog was drawing the life from her. Lysandre's heart pounded, realizing this was no ordinary disease. It reacted, it adapted.
— A sentient pathogen…?
His thoughts raced. There had been rumors, theories, and simulations, but nothing prepared him for this. Every breath the fog took seemed to mimic human respiration, learning, adapting.
He pulled out a vial of experimental medicine, carefully injecting it while chanting minor runes of purification, a combination of science and magic he had meticulously perfected. The fog recoiled slightly, almost in protest, as the mother's breathing finally stabilized.
— So, it's alive, he muttered, standing amidst the chaos. And if it's alive… then it can learn.
From above, neon advertisements flickered in the haze. Somewhere, a crow cawed, watching him silently. Lysandre looked up and realized that this was only the beginning. The Breath had made its first move, and he would have to match its intelligence, its cunning, and its speed if anyone in Aurealis was to survive.
He took a deep breath, steadying his own pulse.
— Let's begin.