Part 1: The Crack That Changed Everything
The hospital room smelled sterile—clean, controlled, expensive.
Machines hummed softly. Monitors blinked in steady rhythm. Everything about the space spoke of authority and certainty.
Until the crack.
“What are you supposed to be?” the old man sneered from the bed, his voice sharp with irritation and pride.
The boy didn’t answer.
He just stepped closer.
Then swung.
The stone hit the cast with a violent crack.
White plaster exploded across the polished floor.
Doctors jumped back in shock. A nurse gasped. The silence that followed felt unnatural—like the room itself didn’t understand what had just happened.
The old man gripped the bedrails, eyes wide with rage.
“What did you do?!”
The boy stood still.
Calm.
“It wasn’t healing,” he said coldly.
The words hung in the air.
A fracture line slowly spread across the cast.
The boy raised the stone again.
“Stop!” the old man shouted, panic creeping into his voice.
Too late.
Another strike.
Another crack.
A chunk of plaster fell away.
And everything changed.
