Anika leaned forward slightly, studying Nero with mild curiosity.
"What about the marks?" she asked. "Are they tattoos?"
Nero shook his head. "They aren't tattoos. They're cracks."
Her gaze traced one faint line along his face. She frowned.
"Cracks… interesting. Do they hurt?"
"No," Nero said. "They don't feel like anything."
Anika tilted her head. "Nothing at all?"
He hesitated. "I don't really feel much. Hot, cold—any of it."
Her brow furrowed. "Wait. What do you mean? Is it total numbness, or just dulled sensation?"
"I can tell when something's hot," Nero said. "Like the coffee—it feels warm when I drink it. I feel the warmth inside me. But…"
Without warning, he dipped his finger straight into the steaming mug.
Anika's eyes widened. "You just—put your finger in the coffee like it's nothing?! That thing's piping hot!"
Nero looked at her, unfazed. "It just feels warm."
Dorne raised an eyebrow. "Watch this."
He mimicked Nero, lowering his own finger toward his cup. The instant it touched the surface, he flinched and yanked it back.
"See?" he said, shaking his hand. "That's how a normal person reacts. It's burning."
Nero looked from Dorne's reddening finger to his own—still submerged in the drink.
"It really doesn't feel that hot," he muttered.
Anika leaned forward sharply. "Take your finger out. You'll burn yourself."
Nero pulled it out.
Steam curled off his skin.
But the finger was fine. No burns. Not even redness.
Anika stared at it, stunned. Nothing should've come out of that unscathed.
Nero calmly took a sip of his coffee and glanced at her.
"So… what's wrong with me?"
Anika rubbed her forehead. "You both just stuck your fingers into your coffee, and now you're drinking it like nothing happened. Did either of you even wash your hands?"
"I always wash my hands," Nero said, sipping again.
Dorne hesitated. "I…" He sighed. "I forgot."
He kept drinking anyway.
Anika and Nero stared at him.
Dorne met their gaze with a shrug. "What? It's good coffee. I'm not wasting it."
They finished their cups in silence.
Afterward, Anika brought over her equipment and began examining Nero. Reflexes. Temperature. Eyes. Ears. Mouth. Everything she could check without heavy instruments.
After a while, she leaned back.
"Everything looks fine. I don't see anything wrong with your body."
Nero swallowed. "What about the cracks?"
Anika reached out and gently touched the dark fissure running along his face. Her brow furrowed.
"Odd… it feels like a real crack. Not a scar. Not a tattoo."
She placed her fingers on either side of it and gently pulled the skin outward. The flesh stretched—but the crack didn't widen. It stayed exactly the same.
"There's an actual gap in your skin," she murmured. "But it's like… the crack isn't part of the flesh at all."
She let go slowly. His skin returned to place. The line remained untouched.
"That's not normal," she said, quieter now.
Nero blinked, shaken. "Told you it was a crack. But how is that even possible? Shouldn't I feel pain if my skin's split open like that?"
Still examining the fissure, Anika nodded faintly.
"Yeah. You should. But you didn't even react to hot coffee. Could be something wrong with your pain receptors."
She picked up a small flashlight and leaned in, angling the beam toward the crack on his cheek.
Nero sat perfectly still, eyes fixed on her face, searching for any sign of reassurance.
"So?" he asked softly. "What do you see?"
Anika hesitated.
"I… don't see anything. No muscle. No veins. Nothing." Her voice dropped.
"It's like the light is getting swallowed. Like there's nothing in there at all."
Nero and Dorne exchanged uneasy looks.
Anika picked up a thin needle. "Hold still for a second. I want to try something."
She carefully inserted it into the narrow crack on Nero's cheek.
The moment the tip entered, she stopped.
"There's no resistance," she said slowly. "It's like it's sliding into open air."
She pushed it in further, her brows knitting tighter.
"Still going… I don't feel the end."
Nero watched her hands—and the shift in her expression.
"How deep is it?" he murmured.
Anika swallowed. "The crack is only a few millimeters wide on the surface. But this needle's already gone in more than three centimeters." Her voice dropped. "I should've hit something by now. Flesh. Nerves. Bone."
She shook her head. "There's nothing. No resistance. No tissue. Just… emptiness."
She pulled the needle free.
It was perfectly intact. No blood. No damage.
Nero stared at it, his thoughts spiraling. What's wrong with me?
Anika glanced at Dorne. He gave a small nod.
She turned back to Nero. "Don't worry too much. Let me take a blood sample. I'll run more tests."
Nero nodded and rolled up his left sleeve—revealing more cracks.
Anika inserted a fresh needle into his vein and began drawing blood.
"Did you feel the prick?" she asked.
"I felt it touch my skin," Nero said. "But… no pain."
She withdrew the needle.
Instantly, a new dot appeared on his arm—identical to the cracks.
Nero's eyes widened.
Anika leaned in, shock tempered with caution. "You need to be careful from now on. Don't get injured."
Nero nodded stiffly.
As she stored the blood sample, she asked, "How many of these cracks do you have?"
His voice turned grim. "I'm covered in them."
"Can I… take a look?" she asked gently.
Nero exhaled, tired. "Yeah. Go ahead."
He pulled off his shirt.
Anika and Dorne stepped closer, eyes narrowing as they examined his torso. The cracks spread across his chest and shoulders, some trailing down his arms.
They looked up—his neck was clear.
Then they moved behind him.
And froze.
There it was.
The Mark.
Black, like the cracks.
Fractured.
Ancient.
Unnatural.
Wrong.
"Hey," Dorne said slowly, pointing. "You've got something on your back."
Nero twisted, trying to see over his shoulder. "What is it? I can't see anything."
"Looks like some kind of symbol," Dorne said. "A mark."
"Do you have a phone?" Nero asked. "Can you describe it?"
As the words left his mouth, something inside him shifted.
A tremor—deep in the soul.
He didn't know why.
Only that the moment felt… wrong.
Neither Anika nor Dorne noticed.
"I've got a phone," Anika said, stepping into the other room. She returned quickly. "It still works. I'll take a picture."
She snapped the photo and handed it to Nero.
He looked.
His breath caught.
The Mark filled the screen—and the room began to dissolve around him.
His skin went pale. Sweat slid down his temples. His hands trembled.
Screams echoed in his ears—distant at first, then overwhelming.
Agony.
Chaos.
Death.
"—Nero?"
"—Hey, Nero?"
Their voices couldn't reach him.
Then Dorne grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "Snap out of it, man."
Nero came back in a gasp.
Tears streamed down his face. This time, he didn't wipe them away.
He let them fall.
He cried.
Dorne's voice softened. "Hey… did something painful come back to you?"
Nero swallowed hard.
"No. Not really."
A breath, unsteady.
"There's no memory."
His voice dropped.
"Just the feeling that something important is gone—and I can't even remember losing it."