The rain continued its solemn dirge, the air thick with the coppery tang of blood and ozone. Oswin lay broken amidst the wreckage, his world reduced to a symphony of pain. Each ragged breath was a knife twisting in his ribs. The fractured bone in his arm screamed a white-hot protest with even the slightest twitch. Darkness flickered at the edges of his vision, a tempting void promising an end to the agony.
The man who came to his rescue, moved with a languid, impossible grace. His hands remained buried in his pockets as he used his foot to casually flick the massive monster's inert form into the air as if it were a child's toy. A single, surgical kick sent the creature flying, shattering concrete in its wake. A fragment of stone shot towards his face. His eyes widened a fraction, a mere flicker of surpris, before he vanished in a silver shimmer, reappearing instantly in the same spot.
"Almost hit me," he murmured to himself, brushing non-existent dust from his immaculate sleeve.
Oswin's hazy gaze took in the man's refined, almost aristocratic bearing. The tailored coat, the leather vest, the hair tied back in a semi-loose knot—it all spoke of a world far removed from bloody streets and monstrous fights.
The offered a slight bow, a relaxed smile gracing his lips.
"You handled the first one quite well. You're making quite a name for yourself on the news."
The words, spoken so lightly, sent a jolt of confused pride through Oswin's battered body, momentarily overshadowing the pain.
Then, the bizarre interlude continued. The stranger produced a phone, knelt beside the stunned Oswin, and began taking photos from various angles, posing cheerfully beside him as if they were tourists. The flash was a stark, surreal contrast to the surrounding carnage. Oswin, too dazed to react, simply let it happen.
He finally turned his attention back to the recovering Véracité. It rose, enraged and unharmed.
"Interesting," the man mused, a sarcastic smirk playing on his lips after his incinerating flames proved useless. "That's usually sufficient."
The monster lunged, a blur of lethal intent. The man didn't flinch. In a motion too fast to follow, he intercepted the attack, using the very pipe Oswin still clutched to parry the blow. He countered with a dry, powerful kick that sent the creature soaring in an ascending arc.
He then turned back to Oswin, his tone conversational.
"Sorry for the delay, kid. I'm a professor at the 'InstitutumPrimusSolis'. Aeron Gwyn, at your service."
Without waiting for a response, he waved and vanished.
Aeron reappeared in the air above the hovering Véracité. His hands still in his pockets, he descended, his foot connecting with the creature's skull with a contained thunderclap. The monster's head exploded in a spray of dark blue blood.
Aeron sighed with theatrical disdain, eyeing the droplets that stained his coat. In a flash of smoke, both the corpse and the stains vanished, leaving him pristine. A wide, triumphant smile spread across his face.
He approached Oswin, who now lay with eyes closed, his breathing shallow and face pale. For a moment, Aeron feared he was too late. He knelt calmly, his fingers finding the faint pulse at Oswin's wrist. A deep sigh of relief escaped him. He leaned back for a moment, then gently brushed his fingertips against the boy's forehead in a fleeting, almost paternal gesture. The immediate danger was gone, but the storm within Oswin was just beginning to settle.
* * *
The sterile quiet of the hospital room was broken only by the soft, rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor and the frantic button-mashing from a handheld console. The air smelled of antiseptic and clean linen.
Oswin's consciousness returned not with a jolt, but as a slow, painful tide. He became aware of the stiff sheets against his skin, the dull ache radiating from his ribs, and the tightness of bandages wrapping his torso and his left arm, which was secured in a sling. Blinking against the fluorescent light, he turned his head.
Slouched in a chair beside the bed, the man from the battle—Aeron—was utterly focused on a video game, his brow furrowed in mock-serious concentration.
Oswin frowned, pushing himself up with a grunt. Every muscle protested the movement.
Aeron didn't look away from the screen. "Glad you're awake. You've been asleep for three years."
Oswin's breath hitched, a fresh pang of alarm cutting through the grogginess. "Three years?!"
Aeron let out a low, polished laugh, finally pausing the game.
"No. Just three days. You should see your face."
Relief washed over Oswin, so potent it made him lightheaded. He sank back into the pillows. With a magician's deftness, Aeron snatched an apple from the bedside table and tossed it underhand to Oswin, who caught it on instinct.
"How do you feel?" Aeron asked, leaning forward with an almost paternal curiosity.
Oswin rolled the cool, smooth apple in his palm, then took stock of his own body. The deep, grinding pain was gone, replaced by a pervasive soreness.
"For someone who slept so long, I feel... surprisingly intact. My ribs, my arm... it feels like a bad dream."
Aeron smiled, satisfied.
"Good. I paid for the most expensive treatment they had."
Oswin's eyebrows shot up.
"Mr. Gwyn... you didn't have to. Why such expense?"
Aeron placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, a gesture mixing affection with mild reproach.
"Don't worry about it. I'll admit, I felt guilty. I was the nearest Kardeyn when it started. I assumed other colleagues would intervene, so I... took my time. By the time I realized no one was coming, I had to pause my gaming session." He gestured with the console. "And so, here I am."
The term clicked in Oswin's memory.
"Mr. Gwyn... What is a 'Kardeyn'?"
Aeron studied him, steepling his fingers as he searched for the right words.
"A Kardeyn," he began, his tone becoming naturally scholarly, "is the needle that stitches chaos back into order. While most beings are dragged by the current of the Primordial Essence, a Kardeyn learns to swim with the cosmic tide. We do not force the energy; we persuade it. Our body becomes the conduit, our will the conducting wire, and our final gesture the signature that authenticates a new fragment of reality."
He paused, seeing the genuine confusion and intrigue on Oswin's face. The professor raised a single eyebrow.
"Don't tell me you didn't understand a word of that."
Oswin simply gave a slow, bewildered nod.
Aeron sighed, the intellectual energy deflating from him.
"Okay. Let me simplify. A Kardeyn is an elite specialist in using the Primordial Essence. We are warrior-scholars who master PE for practical, efficient application in combat and beyond. We're not just brutes; we study how the energy and the power works to use it as a precision tool. In simple terms, we're specialized operatives for powers. It's a respected title because it represents the highest level of practical proficiency."
Oswin let out a long breath, still trying to piece it together.
"I can barely understand how you manage to be a professor..."
Aeron deflected, leaning his chin against the bed's metal railing.
"You were exemplary against that first monster."
Frustration flickered across Oswin's features.
"Don't change the subject, Mr. Gwyn."
The Kardeyn raised his eyebrows in surrender, a conspiratorial smile playing on his lips. He opened his mouth to explain further, but then seemed to think better of it.
Aeron studied the young man in the bed, his expression thoughtful.
"Why don't you become a Kardeyn?" he asked, his voice cutting through the quiet. "After that fight with the Véracité, I saw a latent potential in you, kid."
Oswin fell silent. Kardeyn? Him? Of all people. Surely there were better candidates, worthier souls.
He offered a modest, humble smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"I'm sorry, but I'll have to refuse."
Aeron's face initially broke into a grin,
"An excellent choice you've—" before his brain caught up with his ears. His head tilted. "Ahn?!"
In a flash of movement, he was out of his chair, his hands gripping Oswin's shoulders, giving him a light shake. Oswin winced, a flicker of pain crossing his features as his injuries protested.
"Have you lost your mind?" Aeron demanded, his voice a mixture of disbelief and frustration. "Simply refusing an offer from a master like me? A professor! You could use your gifts for good!"
That made Oswin's eyes widen for a moment. But then he smiled again—a weak, melancholy shadow of a smile. He looked away, his gaze drifting to the white ceiling of the hospital as if searching for answers in the acoustic tiles. He slowly lifted his hands, staring at his own palms.
"My Primordial Essence isn't a gift," he whispered, his voice rough. "It's a weapon I never asked to carry."
Aeron watched him, his own argument dying on his lips as he truly listened.
"It's like... having a venomous snake living inside you," Oswin continued, his voice gaining a fragile, raw intensity. "Sometimes it sleeps, and you almost forget it's there. But then anything... A scare, a moment of anger, a weakness... and it strikes. And it doesn't matter who's in front of you. It bites everyone."
"I don't 'control' anything. I just try to keep the cage locked. And every day I pray that no one gets close enough to the bars."
"Becoming a Kardeyn? Learning to 'use' this?" He let out a hollow, breathy sound that was nowhere near a laugh. "That's like teaching a murderer how to aim better. It's not about control. It's about not being anyone's monster. And I already have to deal with one every single day, in the mirror."
Aeron opened his mouth to speak, but Oswin cut him off, his gaze finally meeting the professor's.
"Thank you. Seriously. For the first time, someone looked at this... at me... and didn't see a monster. They saw potential." He offered a genuine, brief smile. "And thank you for handling my hospital bills."
The smile vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by that profound melancholy.
"But that's exactly why I have to say no." The exhaustion in his voice was a physical weight. "Every time I use this, it feels like I'm moving further away from the person I was supposed to be. From the normal, boring, safe life I should be living. Studying, getting a normal job, having normal problems."
"I don't want to be some kind of do-gooder, or a 'Kardeyn' as you call it. I just want to sleep through a single night without dreaming that I'm destroying everything again. I want to be able to walk past someone on the street without holding my breath, terrified that a wrong sigh might... well, you know."
He let his hands fall back onto the stiff sheets, the effort of the confession seeming to drain the last of his energy.
"So, thank you. But I'm going to refuse. I'm going to try and just be... Oswin. If there's even anything left of him under all this rubble."
He turned his head away on the pillow, his eyes closing.
"So, I'd appreciate it if you left... You've already done more than enough for me... Don't waste your time."
His breathing evened out, not in sleep, but in a retreat from the conversation. The emotional toll was even more draining than his physical injuries.
Aeron simply observed in silence, the words he had prepared crumbling to dust. He didn't know what to say. With a soft sigh, he stood and calmly walked out, his hands sliding into his pockets.
Outside the hospital, the city air was cold and carried the grime of the streets. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his coat, lit one with a sharp flick of his wrist, and took a long drag. He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl and dissipate into the twilight.
'Oswin Thornwell, huh?' he thought, the name echoing in his mind. 'What did you go through to become like this?' The question hung in the air, unanswered, as ephemeral as the smoke.
* * *
The hospital courtyard was an island of artificial peace. The air was cool and carried the damp scent of recently watered grass, a stark contrast to the sterile, antiseptic smell that clung to the interior halls. Oswin moved through a series of basic stretches, his body a canvas of dull aches and tightness.
Each motion was careful, measured, a deliberate effort to reconnect with a physique that felt both foreign and broken. A fine layer of sweat coated his brow despite the mild exertion. He finally sank onto a wooden bench, the slats cool through his thin hospital pants. He uncapped a water bottle, taking a long, slow drink as he closed his eyes against the weak sun.
The bench creaked as someone sat beside him. Oswin paid it no mind until he opened his eyes and found Aeron Gwyn smiling placidly next to him.
He choked, spraying water onto the lawn.
"What are you doing here!?"
Aeron took a slow drag from a cigarette, the smoke a grey curl in the clean air.
"Is it a crime to visit a dear student?"
Oswin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, confusion warring with irritation.
"Dear... student?"
"Indeed, a dear student," Aeron affirmed, exhaling a plume of smoke. "So, have you reconsidered my offer? Will you become a Kardeyn?"
Oswin just stared at him, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched, punctuated only by distant traffic and the chirping of sparrows. Aeron waited, his posture relaxed, but his eyes were keenly observant. After a long moment, Oswin simply stood up and walked away without a single word.
Aeron was left, cigarette frozen halfway to his lips, genuinely perplexed. He had expected a refusal, an argument, perhaps even anger. But this quiet, utter dismissal was a new, and unsettling, tactic.
It was only the beginning.
Days bled into one another, a monotony of healing and quiet dread. Aeron's visits became a sporadic siege, designed to catch Oswin off-guard.
Leaning against a urinal in the men's room, Oswin focused on the white-tiled wall ahead, willing the mundane act to be over. The space next to him was occupied by a tall figure. Oswin kept his gaze fixed forward, making the situation neither comfortable nor awkward, just… existent. He finished quickly, moving to the sinks, the sound of running water loud in the tiled room.
"And so, you still don't wish to become a Kardeyn?" came the familiar, velvety voice from the sink beside him.
Oswin flinched, water dripping from his fingers. He snatched a paper towel.
"Sir! You again?" he said, a sharp edge of irritation in his voice. "With all due respect, I said no!"
He didn't wait for a reply, tossing the crumpled towel into the bin and striding out, leaving Aeron to contemplate another failure.
A few days later, with his discharge looming, Oswin was walking back to his room, his mind on the fragile concept of freedom. Turning a corner, he bumped squarely into someone, sending them stumbling.
It was a girl, perhaps his age, also clad in hospital garb. What caught his eye was her hair: a stunning, pure white with the subtlest undertone of pastel pink, like the first blush of dawn on snow. A jolt of apology shot through him.
"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice soft with genuine chagrin. He bent down to help gather her fallen things.
Her hand snapped out, not to accept his help, but to slap his away. The contact was sharp and stinging. She didn't speak, didn't even look at him, simply collected her belongings and walked off without a backward glance.
Oswin stared at the reddening mark on his hand. His expression remained serene, not a flicker of surprise. He simply sighed, the sound heavy with a familiar resignation. This was nothing new. He was accustomed to being treated this way.
He continued down the corridor, and his heart sank. There, lounging on a bench as if he owned the wing, was Aeron. Oswin immediately averted his gaze, hoping to go unnoticed.
Too late. Aeron's face lit up with a fond, almost paternal smile. He waved, a cheerful, welcoming gesture.
Oswin didn't wave back. He broke into a brisk walk, then a full-on jog towards the elevators. He slid inside just as the doors were closing, ignoring the annoyed grunt of a woman who had been heading for it. He frantically pressed the 'close' button, hearing her muffled curse as the doors sealed shut.
Back in the relative safety of his room, he let out a long breath, collapsing onto the bed. He just wanted to be left alone. He wanted a life where no one asked anything of him, especially not the man who saw a potential he himself feared.
"Hey... Greetings!"
Oswin's eyes flew wide open. He slowly turned his head to find Aeron Gwyn standing by the window, smiling as if his presence was the most natural thing in the world.
"How are you feeling?" Aeron asked, holding up a brown paper bag. "I brought a homemade sandwich..."
Oswin pushed himself up on his elbows.
"How did you get in here before me?!"
Aeron had the decency to look slightly abashed.
"I can teleport." He shrugged, then quickly steered back to his mission. "Okay, let's get to the point. How about becoming a Kardeyn?"
Oswin didn't yell. He didn't argue. A wave of sheer, bone-deep frustration and exhaustion washed over him. He simply let out a long, shuddering sigh, and buried his face deep into the thin hospital pillow, as if he could smother the entire conversation, and the persistent, puzzling man who refused to give up on him.