Toronto, Ontario – August 25, 2025. 5:42 a.m. EST.
The factory's east wing still smelled of old machine oil and damp concrete, but now there was a new layer: the faint sourness of unwashed bodies, the metallic bite of blood that had dried and re-wet and dried again, the low vegetative rot that followed Kwame's vines wherever they spread.
No one pretended this was home. It was shelter. That was the only honest word left for it.
Elias stood alone on the loading dock ramp, just inside the half-open bay door. The sky outside was the color of wet slate. A thin, cold drizzle drifted sideways—less rain, more airborne condensation that clung to skin and metal alike. Temperature hovered at 7 °C. His breath made faint ghosts that disappeared almost instantly.
He hadn't slept more than two hours in the last forty-eight. His body didn't seem to need it the way it used to. Heart rate stayed low even when he moved fast. Lungs felt deeper. Small things. Accumulating.
The black vein that started in his forearm now reached the base of his neck. It didn't hurt. It simply occupied space—like a second nervous system running parallel to the first. Every few minutes it gave a slow, almost sensual throb, as if reminding him it was still mapping new territory inside his flesh.
He flexed his left hand. Watched the thin black lines shift under the skin like roots responding to gravity.
Then he looked out at the yard.
And the yard looked back.
Not metaphorically.
The faint violet threads he'd first noticed yesterday were still there—thinner in daylight, but unmistakable. They drifted from every living thing: the patchy weeds pushing through cracked asphalt, the rats he could hear moving inside the walls, the Nightclaw sentries patrolling their side of the invisible boundary two hundred meters away. Thin lines. Weak connections. Background noise.
But closer—much closer—the currents were different.
Aisha was inside, sitting beside Malik. The violet thread between her and Elias was thicker now, darker at the core, fraying slightly at the edges. Tension. Worry. Loyalty that hadn't yet decided whether it was going to become something sharper. The line pulsed unevenly, like a heartbeat that couldn't find its rhythm.
Zara's thread was brighter, almost feverish—cleaner at the center but jagged toward the outside. Hunger. Focus. A kind of devotion that felt more like possession every hour. It tugged when she moved, even when she was sitting still.
Malik's thread was new. Thin. Unstable. Not connected to Elias directly, but bleeding into Aisha's line. A secondary current. Fear. Confusion. A faint, newborn curiosity that might become something else.
Jamal's thread barely existed—dull gray, distant, functional. Kwame's was rooted, slow, vegetative—tied more to the ground than to any person. Talia's flickered like bad wiring—bright one second, almost invisible the next.
Elias blinked slowly.
The overlay faded.
He exhaled through his nose.
Melancholy.
The word still felt right. Not borrowed. Not symbolic. Just accurate.
He could see the movement of vitality itself—bioelectric gradients, thermal gradients, chemical signaling, emotional weight translated into visible flow. Not magic. Physics pushed far enough to look like sorcery. Melanin-saturated retinas acting as a new kind of sensor. A filter. A sixth sense that happened to live behind his eyes.
He didn't tell anyone yet.
He wasn't hiding it out of mistrust.
He just didn't see the point in announcing something he himself hadn't fully mapped.
7:18 a.m.
Breakfast was cold oats mixed with water and the last of the powdered milk they'd scavenged. No one complained. No one had the energy.
Malik ate slowly. His hands shook less today.
Aisha watched him eat like she was afraid the food would disappear if she looked away.
Jamal broke the quiet first.
"We need more water. Purification tablets are down to six. Filters are clogged. We're gonna start drinking mud soon."
Talia nodded without looking up from cleaning her box cutter. "There's a creek half a kilometer west. Black Creek. Water's probably shit, but we can boil it."
Kwame spoke while still chewing. "I can make the vines filter it. Slow, but cleaner than nothing."
Elias listened. Didn't interrupt.
Aisha finally spoke.
"Malik can't stay here forever. He needs real rest. Real food. Medicine if we can find any."
Malik looked up. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine," she said. Flat. No room for argument.
He looked at Elias.
Elias met his gaze.
"You're stable," Elias said. "Not good. Not bad. Stable. Moving you right now is a risk. Staying here too long is also a risk. Pick your poison."
Malik swallowed the last bite of oats.
"I don't want to be carried. I walk when we leave."
Aisha's jaw tightened.
Elias nodded once.
"Then you walk when we leave."
Zara spoke—quiet, almost hesitant.
"There's a pharmacy two streets over. I used to go there for my mom's insulin. Shelves were half-empty before everything fell apart, but the back room might still have something."
Jamal glanced at her. "You didn't mention that yesterday."
"I didn't think we'd still be here yesterday."
Fair point.
Elias looked around the circle.
"Pharmacy run. Four people. Rest stay and hold the building."
Jamal immediately stood. "I'm in."
Talia sheathed her blade. "Me too."
Kwame looked at Malik, then at Aisha. "I'll stay. Vines can seal the place tighter if I'm here."
Aisha looked at Elias.
"I'm going," she said.
He didn't argue.
Zara stood last. "I know the layout. I can guide."
Elias nodded.
"Five then. We leave in twenty."
No speeches. No pep talk.
Just movement.
9:03 a.m.
The pharmacy was a Rexall two blocks west of Jane Street.
Windows smashed. Front door propped open with a cinder block.
Inside smelled of spilled antiseptic, mold, and the faint sweetness of rotting fruit someone had left in a lunch bag months ago.
They moved in loose formation—Elias first, Jamal on the left flank, Talia on the right, Aisha and Zara behind.
No talking.
Only the crunch of glass under boots.
They cleared the front aisles quickly—painkillers, bandages, antiseptic wipes, electrolyte packets. Things that mattered.
The pharmacy counter had been looted, but the gate to the back was still down—half bent, but not breached.
Jamal wedged his pipe under the bottom edge.
"Gonna take both of us."
Elias stepped up beside him.
They lifted together.
Metal screamed.
The gate rose half a meter—enough to crawl under.
Elias went first.
The back room was dim. Emergency lighting had died long ago. He flicked on a scavenged flashlight.
Shelves were still mostly full.
Insulin pens. Antibiotics. Antivirals. Epinephrine auto-injectors. Inhalers. Things people had died trying to reach in the first days.
Zara crawled in next. Eyes wide.
"Jesus," she whispered. "It's all still here."
Aisha came through last.
She started scanning labels immediately.
Elias let them work.
He stepped deeper into the room.
And froze.
Violet threads—dozens of them—converged on a single point behind the last shelf.
Not human.
Not animal.
Something in between.
He raised a hand—stop.
Jamal saw it. Froze mid-reach.
A shape unfolded from the shadow.
Tall. Thin. Gray skin. Long ears. Silver eyes.
One of the Ashen Veil elves.
Alone.
Bleeding from a gash across the ribs.
The elf looked at Elias.
Not angry.
Not afraid.
Tired.
"You," it said. Voice thin. "The devourer."
Elias didn't move.
The elf coughed once—wet, dark.
"I am not here to fight. I am here to die."
Aisha stepped forward.
Elias put an arm out—blocking her.
The elf laughed—short, painful.
"I was sent to watch you. To report when you left the Nightclaw territory. I failed. They will punish my kin for my failure."
It slid down the wall. Sat in its own blood.
"I have no more use for my eyes. Take them if you want. Or leave me to rot. Either way… the Hollowed already know where you sleep."
Elias looked down at the dying creature.
Violet threads were fading fast—life leaking out in slow violet pulses.
He crouched.
Not to kill.
To see.
The elf met his gaze.
And for the first time since the ability woke, Elias felt something new in the currents.
Not fear. Not hate.
Regret.
Deep. Heavy. Final.
He reached out.
Not to take.
To close the elf's eyes.
The silver glow dimmed.
The threads dissolved.
The elf exhaled once.
Gone.
Elias stood.
Aisha was staring at him.
"You didn't take anything."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because some things aren't worth keeping."
She looked at the body.
Then back at him.
"You're changing," she said quietly.
"I know."
Jamal spoke from the doorway.
"We got what we came for. Let's go before more show up."
They moved.
Zara lingered a second longer—looking at the dead elf, then at Elias.
She didn't speak.
But the violet thread between them thickened.
Just a little.
(End of Chapter 10)