Many hours have been passed measured by the rhythmic, unyielding beep... beep... beep... of the heart monitor.
Deep inside the patient's skull, the tumor was a nightmare of tangled blood vessels and invasive tissue, pressed dangerously against the delicate structures of the brainstem. One microscopic slip of the wrist, a single millimeter off-course, and the patient would cease to exist.
But Vane wasn't slipping.
Up in the gallery, the skeptical whispers of the veteran doctors had completely died out. Replacing the scowls was a collective, stunned silence. They leaned forward against the glass, their eyes wide in shock.
The seventeen-year-old boy they had written off as an arrogant child was no longer moving like a novice. His hands flew with a supernatural precision.
He swapped instruments effortlessly, his fingers dancing through the crimson field of the incision with great precision.
He had entered a state of absolute, unbreakable focus. The world outside the surgical site ceased to exist.
Closer, Vane whispered in his mind, his vision narrowing down to a cellular level.
Just a fraction to the left. Isolate the arterial feed. Sever it. Now.
As his concentration broke past human limits, a sudden, inexplicable warmth flared to life at the core of his chest. It wasn't physical heat, but a dense, vibrant energy. Like a dam bursting, the pressure rolled outward through his shoulders, rushing down his arms, and pooling directly into his fingertips.
To Vane, it felt as though the air around his hands had suddenly turned thick and heavy, vibrating with a silent power.
Up in the dark viewing gallery, Vane's father stiffened. His stoic, unyielding posture shattered in an instant. His eyes widened, his pupils dilating as he stared down at his son. Where the ordinary doctors saw only incredible skill, the One-Star Medical Hunter saw something entirely different and was shocked but for an entirely different reason
A pale, shimmering shroud of pure life force was erupting from Vane's body, enveloping his hands in a brilliant, instinctual glow.
He's awakening, the father realized, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead.
He wasn't supposed to, he thought.
But the danger was immediate. A chaotic awakening usually meant a violent, uncontrolled leak of life force. If Vane's aura drained completely while his mind was exhausted by the surgery, the boy would collapse, or worse, die of sudden exhaustion.
Close it, Vane, his father thought desperately, his hand slamming against the glass.
Control it. Contain the flow.
As if hearing the silent plea, Vane felt the drain of the energy escaping his skin. His medical training had always been about containment, precision, and stopping blood loss.
On pure survival instinct, Vane applied that exact same logic to the invisible warmth bleeding from his pores.
He visualized pulling the loose, wild energy back toward his skin, tightening it, molding it like a second layer of clothing.
Instinctively, without a single lesson or word of guidance, Vane used Ten.
The wild, leaking aura snapped tight against his body, stabilizing into a smooth, silent, and perfectly contained shroud. The terrifying drain stopped. His hands became dead steady.
With a final, flawless movement, Vane lifted the last piece of the malignant tumor free from the brain.