The following morning, Jane entered the chamber with a thermos of coffee in one hand and her notes in the other. Her shift had become routine—mechanical, even—but last night's anomaly clung to her thoughts like cobwebs.
Two beats.
She tried to convince herself it had been a system glitch. The monitors were old, and readings sometimes spiked when the lab's servers updated. That had to be it.
Still, when the heavy door sealed behind her with a hiss, Jane found her eyes drawn instantly to the capsule.
Levi hadn't moved. She was as still as marble, mist curling around her like a shroud. But something had changed, Jane swore it. The air was thicker, harder to breathe.
She sat next to the console and tapped a series of commands. Data streamed across the screens—heart rate steady but slightly faster, energy output fluctuating like ripples on water.
Jane's pulse quickened.
"She's…dreaming?" The word slipped out before she could stop herself.
Witches had long believed that powerful beings could bleed energy even in sleep. If Levi was stirring, her dreams might already be leaking into the world.
Jane set her thermos down and pulled a notebook from her bag. She wasn't supposed to keep a private log—everything was meant to be stored digitally for review—but she didn't trust the lab's higher-ups. Handwriting felt safer. More human.
Day 19. Subject 001 showing irregular signs of wakefulness. Possible dream activity. Heart rate increasing.
She chewed the end of her pen. Should she report it?
A memory tugged at her: her grandmother's voice, frail and certain. Demons don't die easily, Jane. They wait. They listen. And when they return, they remember every face, every voice that spoke their name.
If the scientists learned Levi was stirring, they would accelerate their experiments. Chains, probes, maybe even dissection. And if General Shax—the dragon from the legends—still lived, news of Levi's awakening would reach him eventually.
Jane tapped her pen against the page, restless. She should say nothing. Not yet.
The console beeped softly. Jane looked up to see the mist inside the capsule shifting. Levi's hand twitched, curling slightly against her chest.
Jane's breath caught.
For the first time, she noticed how delicate Levi's fingers looked. Not claws, not talons—simply a woman's hand, pale and perfect. The thought unsettled her more than horns or legends ever could.
"I don't know what you are to them," Jane whispered, voice low so the cameras wouldn't pick it up, "but to me, you're just… a sleeping woman."
The words hung in the cold air.
And for a heartbeat, Jane thought she saw Levi's lips curl—just faintly, like the ghost of a smile.
The console chimed again, breaking the spell. Heart rate spiking, then evening out. Jane scrambled to adjust the stabilizers before the system triggered an alert upstairs. She wiped her palms against her lab coat, shaking.
Something was happening. Something the others couldn't know.
She picked up her thermos and took a long drink, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. Outside the chamber, the world went on: students laughed across campus lawns, scientists held meetings about progress and funding. But in this sealed room, time felt different.
The past was reaching into the present. And Jane could feel it breathing down her neck.
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