Brun had a new home—a house everyone called the Dunker, hidden within the Canyon Cliff. This place had a forest and was always warm, the opposite of his old home in Columdia, where it was always cold and snow rained down.

  Here, too, there were doctors and nurses, but unlike the old doctors who were friends with Bernardo, these ones treated him kindly and took good care of him.

  Broga fed him, shaved him, and bathed him; his brother even let him tag along to work, unlike Bernardo, who had always kept him locked up.

  Broga’s office was the Dunker’s operatin’ room, and there, Brun, sitting on the floor, often watched as his brother built a massive computer out of parts from smaller computers he occasionally brought in from the outside.

  Broga spent hours moving back and forth in silence, carrying equipment, laying wires, and organizing boxes.

  The only one who came by often was Clemente, a young doctor with glasses who was real good friends with his brother. Clemente had really pale, almost pinkish skin, super white hair—even his eyebrows were white—because he was what people called an albine, or something like that. Clemente was alright; every time he came by, he brought coffee for Broga and cookies for him.

  “How’s the Totem coming along?” Clemente would ask, sipping from his cup.

  “Not much left to do,” Broga would reply, drinking from his own.

  “That’s what you always say,” Clemente would tease. “If you keep adding machines, we’ll need a taller roof soon.”

  Brun listened to their conversations, and it made him very happy.

  Until one day, he felt them coming. A change in the air, a chill that made his skin feel… strange.

  Brun looked up, and just like he had once seen them appear and then vanish, leaving him behind, now he saw them return.

  “Well, look who’s back…” he said, though with no trace of joy and a hint of suspicion.

  Rising from the depths of the Nocturnal Nebulae, the Duplicate Children walked toward him, slowly, more ghostlike than ever.

  “You feel it too, don’t you, Brun?” they asked.

  He said nothing. Surrounded, he avoided looking them in the eyes; he didn’t want to fall under their spell and let them take advantage of his good intentions.

  “There’s no point in pretending you don’t hear us,” said one of them, as always, without moving his mouth. “We know you’ve felt it too.”

  “Yes, Brun,” said another. “There’s one last potion out there, and you know it.”

  It was true. He used to sneak out of the house in search of the potion, though he never found it. He’d catch its trail, certain it was close, but just when it seemed he’d pinpoint its source, it would vanish.

  ---------------

  “Brun, you must not leave the bunker,” Broga scolded him once. “It’s very dangerous for you to wander alone in the forest, understood?”

  “Don’t listen to him, Brun,” one of the Duplicate Children whispered. “Your brother just doesn’t want you to have fun with us, that’s all.”

  “He doesn’t want you to find the potion,” said another. “That’s why he wants to keep you locked up here. Don’t you remember how happy you were when we went on adventures together, looking for the other potions, playing as we searched? Why not go back to that?”

  “I’m sorry,” Brun said. “I was happy with you guys, but now that I’m with my brother, I’m even happier.”

  The Children didn’t like that answer, and over time, Brun started to realize they didn’t like Broga either.

  “Brun, wake up!” the Duplicate Children called to him.

  When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was… nothing. Absolute darkness.

  He was lying down… on a cold bed.

  Startled awake, he stood up.

  Looking down at himself, he realized he was barefoot and wearing one of those loose hospital gowns that left his back exposed.

  What the hell?! Had they taken him back to Bernardo’s cold lab? Impossible! His brother would never have allowed that!

  He felt a slight burning sensation high up on his forehead. Reaching up to touch it, he discovered his head was as smooth as a ball. They had completely shaved it!

  Confused, he touched the spot that stung and looked at his fingers. There was a little blood. Someone had made one of those cuts that left a supture scar, as Hugo—the old ever-smiling nurse—called them. A scar like the one he already had on his forehead, just a bit lower.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  This new scar, however, felt small compared to the old one, which encircled his entire head. Without hair, that old scar was probably now plainly visible.

  Dr. Lucy had left that supture scar the time she went digging around in his brain, or so Hugo and Dimitri—the old nurses—had said. Maybe someone had tried to do it again.

  “Brun, move,” the children said. “Don’t you smell it?”

  Then he caught it: a familiar scent drifting through the air. Something delicious and yet maddening. It smelled like fire and wet earth, an aroma so irresistible it made his stomach ache with longing. The scent of a radiant potion.

  He turned, following the smell, and found its source: the only thing that existed in that deep darkness—a massive machine stretching up to the ceiling. The potion was hidden inside his brother’s Totem.

  “Drink it, Brun!”

  “Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head. “The Totem belongs to Broga. If the potion’s in there, it’s because my brother needs it. Maybe he’s saving it to drink later. My brother is one of us—the potions belong to him, too!”

  “Yeah, yeah. We know, Brun. But your brother doesn’t need this potion anymore. He left it there for you to drink.”

  Brun looked at the children, hesitant. The urge to drink the potion was strong, but he resisted. Something didn’t feel right.

  “Where’s my brother?” he asked, a hint of worry slipping into his voice despite his efforts to stay calm. All this nothingness around him couldn’t be a good sign.

  “Brun, we’re sorry, but Broga has left,” the children said gravely. “He’s abandoned the bunker in the canyon.”

  “It’s not true! I can feel my brother nearby! Broga!” called out Brun, and, immersed in the Nocturnal Nebulae, he navigated that darkness in search of his brother. “I know Broga hasn’t gone far!” he told the children. “Where are you hiding him?! Where are you hiding my brother?!”

  “Brun, Broga has abandoned you.”

  “No! That’s a lie… I don’t believe you,” he said, though his expression betrayed him. If old Bernardo had forgotten about him, leaving him in that cold lab with people who didn’t care for him—and even the children had left him at one point—why wouldn’t his brother do the same?

  No, Broga would never leave him.

  “Let your light out, Brun. That way, you’ll light your path and see that Broga really is gone.”

  “No. My light is dangerous—it destroys things. I might hurt—”

  “Brun, you know your light can’t hurt your brother,” the children said.

  “Really? Since when…?”

  “You know it, Brun. You just don’t remember. Go ahead! Let your light expand. It’s the only way to clear this darkness.”

  “Yes, then you’ll see your brother has left this place.”

  Brun took a deep breath and let his white light spread. The darkness slowly lifted, revealing the place where he had woken up.

  There was Broga’s Totem, at the far end of the room. Beside it stood the operating table—the cold bed where he had awakened—and the machines the doctors used.

  He was in Broga’s operatin’ room, which meant he hadn’t left their home in the canyon Dunker.

  He looked for the exit, but the door dissolved into light.

  “You don’t need to leave, Brun. You can see anything if you just close your eyes,” one of the children said.

  He closed his eyes and saw the long corridors of the Dunker—empty. The hangar—empty. Dr. Clemente’s office—empty. The kitchen—empty.

  Aside from him and the children, no one else was there.

  Where had his brother gone? Where had everyone gone?

  “Brun, if you drink that last potion, you’ll be able to find your brother,” one of the children said.

  Was it true? He turned to the Totem that concealed the potion, and suddenly, he heard it:

  “Brun, stop!” a distant voice pleading with him to stop.

  That voice—it was his brother’s voice!

  “Drink the potion, Brun!” the children demanded. “Go on, do it!”

  “I won’t!”

  Something was wrong. These damn children were trying to trick him. Something deep inside him told him he couldn’t trust what he was seeing—that the children were somehow erasing things from his sight. Maybe Broga and the other doctors were still there, just invisible to him.

  But… what if they weren’t? What if they really had left him behind?

  “Brun, go back to sleep!” he heard Broga’s voice again, clearer this time than before.

  Focusing on the children, he tried to figure out their game, but it was useless. Their gazes were steady and inscrutable.

  “That potion belongs to my brother, and it’s staying where it is—in the Totem’s belly,” he told them. “I know Broga hasn’t left me behind. He’ll return for me—and I’ll be right here, waiting.”

  And, wrapping himself in the Nocturnal Nebulae, he made a bed of stars, closed his eyes, and went back to sleep.

  

  Adam woke up, waited for his senses to place him in time and space, and got out of bed.

  He went to pee again without closing the bathroom door and then stood in front of the mirror.

  There were parts of his body that refused to forget what Kitty’s monstrous fists had done to him—parts like the left side of his hip that still hurt if he bumped it against the bathroom doorframe, stumbling in, dizzy. But to his vanity’s relief, only one trace remained on his face: a tiny, wedge-shaped dark spot under his left eye.

  He touched his face; it was damp, cold, and smelled like… chamomile tea? Vicky had put damp chamomile tea cloths on his face—when had that happened?

  But no, the tea compresses didn’t have much to do with this sudden improvement.

  “It’s the black pill, isn’t it?” he said.

  “Come again?” Vicky called from afar.

  “That my recovery is thanks to those pills you gave me.”

  “Uh-huh. It’s a drug developed by the Empire. I brought two packs.”

  Adam saw her through the mirror as she peeked into the bathroom. Vicky had a dishcloth in her hands—she was making breakfast.

  “They call it the Black Pill,” she said. “Very original, as you can see. It speeds up the healing process. You’ll heal three or four times faster than you would under normal circumstances, though it depends on your body. It’s the best thing to erase those horrendous scars from war wounds. How do you think I got rid of the burns Simon etched into my back?”

  Amazed, Adam turned back to his reflection, searching for other marks on his body that had begun to fade. The bruise on his ribs, the one on his arm, the one on his pelvis—all of them had reduced to faint traces. His dislocated finger no longer hurt. What a pill!

  “Hey…” he said while brushing his teeth. “Do you still have no idea what they’ll tell us tomorrow? I mean, the Satellites.”

  “No clue,” Vicky said. “Although if you want, we could make up reasons just to take our anxiety down a few notches—like we did yesterday… and the day before.”

  Adam paused. Yesterday? Had they talked about it yesterday? And the day before?

  “Still,” she added, “we’d come to the same conclusion: time will tell—What a revelation, right?!”

  Adam smiled. “Did you know nine out of ten doctors recommend cutting back on sarcasm? They say it’s bad for your health.”

  “Really? And here I thought you liked having sarcasm for breakfast with toast and cheese.”

  “I love it, but it tends to give me heartburn,” Adam joked, and as he turned toward the bathroom door, he accidentally knocked over the deodorant from the medicine cabinet.

  The small steel canister fell to the floor, making a metallic clink-clink sound that echoed throughout the bathroom before fading into a weak reverberation.

  Clink, clink…