CHAPTER 1

VOLUME ONE: THE CALL

This was the third heart I'd dissected this semester. The motions were routine by now; my hands steady, my breathing quiet enough to disappear into the sterile air.

The lab gleamed under clinical lights, all white tile and silver steel. Everything smelled of antiseptic and industrial sanitizer.

The blade slipped through the epidermis like silk. Bloodless. Quiet. That's what made cadavers beautiful.

They didn't scream.

They didn't twitch.

They didn't remind you that what you were doing was violent. They just offered themselves for study, for understanding. For mastery.

Someone two tables over coughed into their mask. Another student dropped a clamp with a sharp metallic clatter that echoed across the tile.

"Aria," came a voice behind me, clipped and familiar.

Dr. Halloran.

I heard her lean in, saw the flicker of movement in my periphery as she examined my progress.

"You're doing very well, but then again, I expected nothing less from you."

"Thankyou," I replied without looking up.

She chuckled and walked off to another student on my right with her heels tapping a precise rhythm on the tile.

I finished the cut and peeled back the pericardium, and there it was. The heart. Still and colorless. A thing that poets can't stop romanticizing. But stripped of blood, stripped of motion, it was just what it was. A fist-sized muscle. There's nothing romantic about a beating heart. It's just a muscle trying not to die.

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With the practicals finished, my second year at the university was done. Unfortunately, this also meant a cue to go home during the semester break. It's beyond me why other students would make a fuss about going home. I'd rather stay here in London

I walked on, letting the rhythm of my footsteps level the faint nausea coiling in my chest.

Contrary to the lab, it was quite gloomy outside. The farther I went, the more the city's mask began to slip.

Posters lined every surface: bus stops, cracked walls, alley doors. Red ink shouted warnings over real estate ads and washed-out concert flyers: "If you see an Anomaly — do not approach. Stay low. Call the line: 777-000-VALE."

I stopped at the crosswalk. The light hadn't changed yet.

Across the street, a mother held her son's hand tight as they crossed. He wore a panda-shaped air-filter mask, but what caught my eye was the sticker on his backpack. Bright yellow. Slightly peeling at the corners: "Protected by Vale."

I stopped at the crosswalk. The light hadn't changed yet.

To my right, two elderly women knelt beside the statue on an altar exquisitely made of white marble cardboard, still glistening from last night's rain. A tiny ceramic figure rested at the center, cloaked and silver. Surrounded by votive candles. Flower petals and incense.

One of the women lit a stick with shaking hands. The other leaned closer, whispering a prayer.

The traffic rolled by in slow silence, tires sighing against the wet street. The light turned. I crossed.

Farther down, outside a school, children clustered beneath a wide yellow banner that stretched across the gate: "ANOMALY DRILL ZONE — STAY ALERT. STAY LOW. TRUST VALE."

No one argued. No one even slowed down. Faith had become the new disaster kit. Just a low hum and reverence. It had become unrecognisable after three years. The life before the supernatural disasters felt too distant. This was the new adapted normal, and I sometimes wonder, will I ever be able to see the actual normal again?

I adjusted the strap of my bag, felt it press deeper into my shoulder, and kept walking.

Let them light candles. Let them whisper his name like a prayer. Let them turn him into a myth, or a miracle, or the last thread holding back the dark.

I wouldn't join them. I didn't pray. I didn't leave offerings. I didn't hang charms from my windowsill. And I didn't worship him. Not because I didn't understand. I didn't hate him. But because I couldn't afford to, I didn't have room for distractions.

I had worked hard, obeyed, and swallowed the bitter pill of pain. And I was close now...so close...

For me and ‌my mother.

I looked up at the wide expanse and affirmed I refuse to follow the tide. I survived by ignoring it

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By the time I got home, Katherine was already there, sprawled out, her legs crossed, her long auburn braid draped over one shoulder, white coat discarded in a corner with her bag, sipping on coffee and buried in her tablet.

Katherines and I had been roommates at the dorm.

She showed up late, introduced herself twice, once to me, once to the cadaver and managed to irritate the professor before we'd even finished sterilizing.

Borrowed my scalpel without asking and gave a full blown introduction about how she'd come from Boston, something about scholarship and better training. I was frankly least interested in her history, but she gave it anyway.

She talked too much, gestured when she spoke, waved her coffee around other'faces like it was part of the conversation. Most of it was nonsense.

A court trial or a celebrity scandal, or some philosophical rabbit hole she'd dragged herself into at three in the morning

I slid into the seat beside her at our dining table, still half thinking about the cadaver I'd been stitching up less than an hour ago. Most people wouldn't call cutting open a chest cavity before noon a normal day. But here I was just back after being with a corpse.

"When did you come back?" I asked.

She said without looking up, "Two hours ago I s'pose.....Did you eat?"

"I'm not hungry"

"Of course you're not; food is emotional!"

There it was, the special Katherine effect.

I was spared from replying by the sight of bouncing pink curls. Like cotton candy had come to life. Coral came in, cheeks flushed, cardigan sleeves pulled over her hands, holding a paper bag that looked filled to the brim and wafted of food. She set it down on the table.

"I know you didn't have lunch, that's why I took the liberty of getting food for you," Coral announced triumphantly as she opened the bag, taking out the contents in it. Two drinks and desserts and 3 containers; the pink marshmallow dessert had to be hers.

I met Coral through a mutual friend; Katherine and I, who didn't quite adjust to the dorms or halls, were desperately searching for housing within three months since we settled here.

An apartment felt convenient; being a vegetarian, it was always a hassle for food. I could always just cook instead of hunting down vegetarian restaurants every time I was hungry. Cherry on top, the common bathrooms and curfews were an absolute nightmare.

Coral, who was living alone in her grandmother's apartment that she had left her with, needed someone to live with. Since it was around our university, things worked out and we both shifted here together with her. We have been sharing the same roof for almost 2 years

While Katherine and I were at Med University, Coral was at a fashion university and a part-time YouTuber.

I don’t have the faintest idea as to how an anime obsessed lolicon and an energetic femme fatale, two pole opposites, are surviving under the roof without any mishap. I had been worried how a soft-spoken coral would work with something like Katherine, but all has been well.

“Since we know you don’t have demon genes and you need food OR at least the illusion of humanity,” Katherine added, sipping her espresso with the theatrics of someone who watched too many courtroom dramas.

I opened the container Coral had placed before me. Toasted rye, avocado, lemon drizzle. Just what I like for a light lunch.

“I wasn’t going to faint.”

“What’s the great plan? Joining your Cadaver friends?” Katherine muttered

I didn’t reply. I took a bite, if only to shut them up, and instantly felt so much better; I suppose I must have been hungry.

We ate in near silence for about two minutes.

Then Katherine stirred, setting her cup down with a thunk, "You missed something". Coral perked up as if she’d been waiting for this. I raised an eyebrow. This screams suspicious, truly... I knew in an instant what this was going to be about.

Katherine turned to me. “You saw it, right?”

“Saw what?” I avoided looking into her eyes.

Coral gasped softly, nearly dropping her spoon. “You didn’t?"

I blinked. “Oh…yes, the actual heart is definitely worth looking at; it’s fascinating…—”

“The Interview, Aria! The interview.” Katherine looked betrayed. Her eyes were wide: her fingers curled around her tablet. “You didn’t watch it? I thought I reminded you about it yesterday!” She demanded, “Vale! Last night!! In Frankfurt, ring any bells?!”

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