Something inside Shuyan had changed.
He didn't know what exactly—but it was there. A tension in his body, like a spring pulled too far, ready to come back to its original form while prevented from doing so. It felt stifling like he was being squeezed from all sides.
His arms felt heavier, but also stronger. His senses were sharper. He could hear small sounds now—the faint hum in the glass before the water turned red, the slight shifts in the man's movements. It felt strange.
It scared him.
Not just the changes. But the fact that he was getting used to them. Getting used to living in this desolate state. He didn't know how long how he had been here. But he absolutely hated being in this situation while his body was slowly getting used to it. He really hated it here. Hated floating in that cursed water, hated seeing the man walk in and out without ever saying a word. He hated how silent the place was. Even the sound of his own heartbeat felt loud sometimes.
He hadn't eaten since the day he woke up in this place. And yet… he didn't feel hungry.
At first, he thought maybe he was being fed through the strange tube in his mouth. But he wasn't even sure about that anymore. He didn't feel weak. If anything, his body felt like it was pulsing with energy—like something was replacing food entirely.
Still, he missed the taste of food. Just once, he wished he could bite into a roasted piece of meat, feel the warmth spread through his chest. It was a stupid thought, but it hit him sometimes when he drifted off between dreams and wakefulness. His stomach didn't grumble, but his mind still remembered the pleasure of eating something real.
But worse than hunger, worse than fear, was the waiting.
Shuyan had waited long enough. He had no idea how long it had been. Days? Weeks? He had lost count. Time didn't move the same way in here. Sometimes he slept. Sometimes he didn't. He couldn't tell anymore.
The man had never spoken to him. Never explained what he was doing. Just walked in, checked the runes or glyphs on the floor, poured something into the tanks, and left.
Always alone.
Or was he?
That thought had started to gnaw at him.
What if he wasn't working alone?
Shuyan hadn't seen anyone else—no assistants, no guards, no voices in the hallway outside—but that didn't mean they weren't there. Maybe they just didn't come into this chamber. Maybe they were watching from somewhere else. Maybe they were waiting for him to try something foolish.
What if I try to break out, and someone worse shows up?
But the longer he stayed, the less that fear mattered.
He didn't want to die like this. He didn't want to float in a glass cage until the red water finally turned him into something else.
I'll take the risk, he thought. If he has help, so be it. I'll die trying.
His body felt stronger and his mind was getting clearer too. The reason might be unknown but it served as assurance if he tried to break out of this cage. So, he began planning. He started watching everything closely even more so than he had done before. That was because of curiosity and distraction but now, he stared at everything with purpose. Every time the man came in, Shuyan studied him. Looked for patterns in his movements.
He always did the same thing—came in, moved around, did something to the glyphs, then left without giving Shuyan a chance to act. He had to catch him off guard. But to do that, Shuyan had to be near him. He could escape when that man was away but it would give him time to prepare and catch him again and put him back here. Shuyan didn't want that. So, he had to break out of this glass and try to take that man out almost at the same time without giving him time to prepare. The glass was thick but Shuyan had gotten stronger. He could probably break it if he put all his strength into it.
There might be traps or some other contingency that the man had left but Shuyan couldn't account for those. Not while caged up like this.
So, Shuyan waited and finally the chance came.
That day, something was different.
The man entered slowly, rubbing his temples. His face was pale. His movements sluggish. He looked… tired. Like he hadn't slept in a long time.
He walked past Shuyan's tube without a glance, dropped a small leather pouch onto the nearby table, and turned his back. No glowing runes today. No strange tools or jars.
Just fatigue.
Shuyan's heartbeat quickened. This was it. This might be a chance.
The glass had always held firm. But he was stronger now—he could feel it. His muscles were denser, his hands heavier with power. He hadn't asked for this strength, but if it could help him escape, he would use it.
He drew in a deep breath and leaned back, bracing his feet against the inner curve of the tube.
Then he struck.
His shoulder slammed into the glass.
Thud.
It held, but trembled faintly.
The man turned, startled. His eyes widened.
Shuyan didn't stop.
He reared back and slammed his whole body forward.
CRACK.
A spiderweb of fractures spread across the surface.
The man took a step back, fumbling in his robe for something.
Shuyan threw himself at the glass with a roar.
CRASH.
The tube shattered, and water exploded outward. Shuyan hit the ground hard, rolling onto the stone floor, coughing and gasping.
The man shouted—something sharp and guttural—and reached into his robe, eyes filled with panic.
But Shuyan was already moving.
He pushed himself up, slipping on the wet floor, and lunged forward. He tackled the man with full force, driving him to the ground. His fists struck the man in his face which was still masked—once, twice, a third time—until the man went still beneath him.
Silence.
Shuyan sat back, chest heaving. Blood smeared his knuckles. His arms ached. But he was alive. And free from that glass cage that had held him for who knows how long.
He didn't revel in his freedom any longer. His eyes darted to the table.
The pouch.
He grabbed it without thinking, tying it around his waist. He didn't know what was inside, but it didn't matter now. He would figure that out later when he was out of harms way.
He paused for just a moment, staring down the dim hallway beyond the chamber.
If there were others working with that man, they'd come running soon.
But no footsteps echoed.
No voices.
Only silence.
Maybe he really had been alone.
Or maybe he was just lucky.
Either way, he wasn't going to wait to find out.
He turned, grabbing the robe that the man had been wearing and ran—naked, soaked, bloodied—into the dark leaving a floor filled with shards of glass and an intact glass tube which seemed to vibrate every so often like someone or something was writhing within.