The room was still.
Adrian stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at the box.
It was no longer the same cheap shoebox he had used two weeks ago. The material had changed completely. The surface, once flimsy paperboard and plastic, had turned solid black. Its texture now resembled aged wood dense and dry. It didn't reflect light. It absorbed it.
He crouched down and reached for it, keeping his movements slow. His palm hovered above the surface before resting gently.
A faint tone echoed in his mind.
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
Artifact Mutation Detected
Name: Box of Slumber
Rank: Mystic (Low)
Effect: Can seal the soul or ego of beings below Rank 10 when placed inside.
Adrian stayed still, reading the system text twice. The message confirmed it. The box was no longer a regular container. It had become an artifact.
He stood up and stepped back, trying to process the change. The black mist that had filled the room ever since he stored the Lost Echo inside the box had mostly cleared. What remained was faint and thinning.
He turned to the desk and looked at the Scripture resting on the surface.
He open the system and reviewed his current list.
Artifact Slots:
Slot 1 – Death Fang
Slot 2 – Scripture of Fractured Truth
Slot 3 – Scripture of the Hollow Grave
Slot 4 – Empty
Without hesitation, he selected:
Register Artifact: Box of Slumber
Slot: 4
A soft confirmation chime followed.
The moment the registration completed, the remaining mist vanished. Completely. The pressure in the air disappeared too.
He stared at the box.
"So the mist came from the box," he muttered, "not the Echo."
He hadn't expected that. The Lost Echo, being a soul fragment of a Rank 7 Realizer, was powerful. But this effect the mist, the spiritual pressure hadn't started until the box itself began to change.
Which meant something important: the box had mutated because of proximity. And the mist was its byproduct.
He picked up the box and checked its weight. It felt stable. Balanced.
He opened the Scripture again and issued a quiet command:
"Store Artifact: Box of Slumber."
The box flickered and disappeared into the Scripture's internal space.
The room settled completely.
No more haze. No more tension.
Adrian placed the Scripture down and returned to his seat. He tapped the desk lightly, thinking it through.
Two weeks of exposure to a soul fragment had caused an ordinary shoebox to transform into a sealing tool strong enough to contain Realizers below Rank 10. That wasn't a coincidence. It was a clue.
Mutation was possible. Not through spellwork or rituals, but through passive exposure.
He stood up, walked to the closet, and pulled out a fresh storage container. Identical in size and shape to the first. From his coat, he removed the handgun he'd just bought earlier that day. It was a civilian-legal model, unmodified, matte black with a polymer grip. The store clerk had offered upgrades, scopes, even a smart-link interface, but Adrian had declined everything. He wanted something standard. Something untouched.
Ten magazines came with the purchase, each one loaded and sealed. He unboxed them quickly and checked the rounds. Clean. No misfeeds. He'd asked for hollow points not because he needed stopping power, but because he wanted something reactive. If mutation occurred, it might alter the bullet design, the material, the casing. He needed every variable possible.
He laid the handgun on the bed first, then placed the magazines beside it in a neat row. Each one slotted into its place with care, not precision. This wasn't about presentation. It was about consistency. If one changed, he wanted to be able to compare it to the others.
Next came the Lost Echo.
He crossed the room to the shelf where the fragment had been resting wrapped in cloth, still dimly pulsing with pale blue light. He didn't touch it with bare hands. Instead, he lifted the bundle with a folded cleaning rag and brought it to the bed.
He opened the second container a new civilian storage box identical in size and type to the original shoebox that had mutated. Clean plastic. Standard latch. No signs of spiritual influence yet.
Adrian unwrapped the Lost Echo and placed it in the far corner of the box. The skull fragment didn't pulse any brighter. It didn't react. But that didn't mean it wasn't doing anything.
He placed the handgun next to it, followed by each of the ten magazines. The interior was a tight fit, but nothing was forced. Everything settled naturally.
Once the items were placed, he closed the lid.
No sound. No mist. No spiritual presence.
He grabbed a marker and wrote in letters on the top of the box:
TEST – 14 DAYS
Then he crouched down, slid the box under the bed, and stood.
No change. The air remained still. The room felt normal.
He knew that wouldn't last.
The first time, it had taken almost two weeks for the shoebox to begin mutating. There had been no warning signs. The material had simply changed darkened, hardened, warped. And eventually, the mist had followed.
This was the same process. Same source. Different contents.
He would wait.
He stepped back, surveyed the room one last time, and returned to his chair. The Scripture remained on the desk beside him, closed. He didn't reach for it.
He dated the page, flipped it shut, and left it beside the bed.
This wasn't a battle. It was an observation.
And now, the clock had started ticking.
The hallway light was dim. Adrian walked slowly until he stood outside Tessa's door. He hesitated a second, then raised his hand and knocked.
A pause.
Another knock.
The door opened, just slightly. Tessa stood in the gap, eyes shadowed, face pale.
"Adrian?" Her voice was quiet, unsure.
"I wanted to talk. If you're okay with that."
She didn't speak at first. Then she stepped aside. "Yeah. Come in."
Her room was tidy, but it looked lived-in tonight a blanket half-folded on the bed, a glass of water half-drunk on the desk, legal notes scattered across the chair. She sat on the edge of her bed. Adrian stayed standing.
"I won't take long," he said.
"Just say it." Her voice was soft, but it cracked a little.
He looked at her. "I tried to kill myself."
Her face didn't move. For a moment, it was like she didn't register the words. Then her eyes blinked, slow, like something broke open.
"You... what?"
"Three weeks ago. The night you were all out. I took everything in the bottle."
She sat very still. Her fingers clenched in her lap. "Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because everything that's changed about me... started that night. I didn't die. I woke up. And something in me broke. Or maybe finally settled."
Tessa leaned forward, elbows on her knees, staring at the floor. "You were alone?"
"Yes."
"And you didn't tell anyone." Her voice cracked. "Not Mom. Not Lira. Not me."
"I didn't want to scare anyone. And honestly... I didn't think I'd wake up."
She let out a sharp breath half sob, half laugh. "Adrian. Jesus."
He sat beside her.
"I'm sorry."
Tessa wiped at her face roughly. "No. Don't say sorry. I should've seen something. I should've—"
"You couldn't have known."
"But I live with you. I work with people who see this every day. I should've noticed."
"You did," Adrian said. "You just didn't know what it was."
Tessa turned to face him, tears barely held back. "You've been different since that night. You're more grounded, more calm. But now I know it wasn't some miracle... It was because you almost died."
He nodded. "It put everything in perspective. All the stress, all the guilt... none of it mattered in that moment."
She covered her mouth with one hand, voice breaking. "I thought you were getting better. I thought... we were getting our brother back."
"You are," he said gently. "Just a different version."
She shook her head, crying openly now. "Why didn't you come to me? I would've.... I would've done anything."
"I didn't want you to carry that weight," Adrian said. "You already carry too much."
"That's what big sisters are for," she whispered.
They sat in silence for a while, her shoulders shaking, his hand resting gently on her back.
Eventually, she calmed enough to speak again. "Does Mom know?"
"No," he said. "I told you first. Because I knew you'd listen without panicking."
"I'm still panicking," she said quietly. "Just... quietly."
Adrian gave a faint smile. "That's fair."
She looked at him again, eyes red but steady. "Are you okay now?"
"I'm... clearer," he said. "Not perfect. But I'm not running anymore. And I don't want to disappear."
Tessa reached over and gripped his hand tightly. "You're not allowed to. Not again. If it ever gets that dark, you tell me. No matter how late. No matter what."
"I will," he said.
A pause.
"I mean it, Adrian," she said, voice low and serious. "I don't care how different you feel. You're still my brother. And I'm not losing you."
"You won't," he said.
She nodded slowly, then wiped her eyes again and laughed bitterly. "You really dropped this on me like a bomb."
"I'm sorry," he said. "I just couldn't lie anymore."
"I don't want you to lie," she whispered. "I just want you to stay."
"I will."
They sat for a few more minutes. The air was heavy, but not hopeless.
Eventually, she let go of his hand and leaned back. "God, I need to stop crying. Lira's going to come in here and think I'm watching drama shows again."
Adrian smiled. "Tell her it was a documentary. A very emotional one."
Tessa shook her head, sniffling. "You're still a pain."
"Always."
He stood, moving toward the door. Then paused.
"Tessa?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For listening."
She looked at him with a tired, broken smile.
"Thank you for staying."
He left the room quietly, closing the door behind him. But not all the way.
Just enough for the light to slip through.