The woman's golden hair cascaded over her shoulders as she took in her surroundings—towering shelves of books, the faint shimmer of arcane sketches on the note board, and the dim light casting long shadows against the cold stone walls. The heavy scent of rot still lingered, making her wrinkle her nose, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
She lifted her hands, staring at them in disbelief. Her skin was smooth, unblemished—nothing like the decayed flesh she remembered. She touched her face, tracing the high cheekbones, the fullness of her lips. Healthy. Alive. Perfect.
Her voice wavered as she spoke. "This… isn't possible. I was dying. My body was failing. But now… I look as though I was never sick." Her eyes, clear and striking, darted to Arthur, searching for answers.
Arthur, however, paid her little mind. He turned his back to her, cleaning the remnants of his experiment—discarding ruined parchment, wiping his instruments, and adjusting the vials that lined the table. He worked with practiced ease, as if bringing someone back from the edge of death was routine.
The woman took a hesitant step forward. "Who… are you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Arthur didn't look at her. "The only name that matters to you now is mine."
Something about his tone sent a shiver down her spine. She bowed her head slightly, her voice raw with desperation. "Then allow me to serve you."
That made him pause. Slowly, he turned to face her, arms crossing as he studied her expression.
She swallowed hard, lowering herself to her knees. "When I first showed signs of the illness, they threw me out. I had nothing—no home, no hope. I should have died. I don't even know how I ended up here. But you…" Her fingers curled against the cold floor. "You saved me. I have nothing else—no one else. Let me dedicate my life to the one who gave me a second chance."
Arthur exhaled in amusement, tilting his head. "How poetic."
He studied her golden hair, the way it shimmered under the dim light like pure energy, raw and untamed. It reminded him of radiation—of the invisible forces that could either kill or create life. Then, a smirk formed on his lips.
"Radon."
The woman blinked. "Radon?"
Arthur nodded, pleased with himself. "An element of decay. An unseen force, powerful yet forgotten by most—just like you were. And yet, with the right conditions, it lingers, spreads, and reshapes the world in ways no one can predict." His smirk deepened. "Yes. Radon suits you."
For a moment, she hesitated, then slowly bowed her head. "Then from this day forward, I am Radon."
Arthur chuckled, turning back to his work. "Good. Now, let's see what else can be reconstructed from ruin."
A worn-out sack landed with a dull thud against the cracked pavement. The boy stood still for a moment, wiping sweat from his brow as he watched the sun dip below the jagged rooftops. The sky burned with hues of orange and red, casting long shadows through the narrow alleys.
I should get back home before it gets dark, he thought.
Just as he turned, a voice called out from behind.
"Ren!"
The boy stiffened before glancing over his shoulder. An old woman, wrapped in layers of patched cloth, shuffled toward him. Deep lines creased her face, but her eyes held a warmth that hadn't yet been extinguished by hardship.
"Ren, child, was that you at the market today?" she asked, her voice rough yet kind.
He gave a small nod.
The old woman smiled and pressed a small, wrapped bundle into his hands. "Thank you for helping me carry those bags earlier. Here, take this."
Ren unwrapped it slightly—a piece of flatbread, still warm. His stomach clenched at the sight, but he hesitated.
"But—"
"Ah, no arguments," she chided gently. "Eat, boy. You'll need your strength."
Reluctantly, Ren bowed his head in gratitude. "Thank you, Granny."
As he turned to leave, his steps grew heavier. The streets were filthy, the buildings leaning as if exhausted. Everywhere, the signs of the Black Curse lingered—windows shut tight, hushed whispers behind closed doors, the distant wails of those too far gone to be saved.
Ren clenched his fists. This curse… it's destroying us.
It had stolen too many lives already, turning once-proud families into beggars, leaving entire districts to rot in sickness and despair. The Black Seat's new ruler had just been crowned, but Ren had no hope that anything would change.
His own home was no exception.
As he stepped inside, the stench hit him like a wall—thick, rancid, suffocating. He swallowed hard, forcing himself forward.
In the dim candlelight, his mother lay on the cot, her body barely recognizable. Her once-soft features were now swollen, her skin stretched tight over bulging flesh. Her eyes, barely open, flickered toward him, but she made no sound.
Ren forced a smile. "I made some tea, Ma."
He poured the warm liquid into a small cup and brought it to her lips. But when he tried to help her drink, she couldn't—her throat too swollen, her body too far gone.
A lump formed in his throat.
A sudden knock at the door made him jump.
He hesitated, then walked over, pulling it open just enough to see outside. A group of villagers stood there, their faces grim.
"The smell is getting worse," one of them spat. "It's sickening. You can't keep her here."
"She's my mother," Ren said, his voice quiet but firm.
"We don't care," another snapped. "If the disease spreads, it'll be on your hands!"
"I just need a little more time," Ren pleaded. "Please—"
"No. She's done for."
A heavy silence settled over them. Ren could feel their fear, their disgust. He wanted to scream at them, but what could he say? He knew they were afraid—he was afraid too.
Then, a single man stepped forward.
"Enough."
The villagers turned, startled. He wasn't much older than Ren, his clothes just as worn, but there was something different in his eyes—understanding.
"You all know damn well what it's like to lose family," the man said, his voice steady. "Let him have his time. Let him care for her as best he can."
The others shifted uncomfortably, but no one dared to argue. One by one, they turned away, leaving in silence.
Ren stared at the man, disbelief flickering in his tired eyes. "Why…?"
The man simply sighed. "Because I've been where you are." Then, without another word, he walked away.
Ren stood there for a long moment before slowly closing the door.
His mother hadn't moved.
He sat beside her, taking her cold hand in his.
"I'll take care of you, Ma," he whispered. "I promise."
The candlelight flickered. The night deepened. And in the distance, the city groaned under the weight of its suffering.