Chapter 59: The Weight of the Past

The old man stood among the armed guards on the upper landing, seemingly unbothered by the bodies scattered around him. His eyes remained fixed on Zarek.

A few paces away, Zarek stared back.

For several long seconds, neither man moved.

Then, Zarek broke the stillness. He stepped forward without waiting for an invitation, his boots crunching softly underfoot.

The upper-floor guards instantly tightened their grips on their weapons, their rifles shifting downward to cover his approach.

One took a half-step forward, his finger resting tensely near the trigger.

The old man raised a single hand, halting his men with a subtle flick of his fingers.

As Zarek continued to close the distance, stepping past the line of corpses with casual indifference, a flicker of surprise crossed the old man’s lined face.

Then, the surprise melted away, replaced by a low chuckle that echoed softly off the concrete walls.

"So," the old man said. "You’ve decided you’re ready for the deal after all."

Zarek stopped just at the base of the stairwell, tilting his head slightly as he looked up at the man.

A grin touched the corners of his mouth.

"Let’s talk first," he replied.

The old man’s smile widened just a fraction. He lowered his hand and turned smoothly on his heel, offering no further remarks.

"Follow me," he said simply.

The transition away from the slaughter was swift. Neither Zarek nor the old man wasted breath on the dead; the carnage was already history, its utility spent. The guards parted, clearing a path as the old man led the way deeper into the upper levels.

Elsa, Ayesha, and Mara fell in step behind Zarek, their expressions tight and guarded.

Elsa kept her hand resting casually near the hilt of her sword, her eyes sweeping the perimeter. Ayesha walked with a tense focus, while Mara kept her gaze fixed on the floor.

They moved past fortified checkpoints, heavy iron grates, and armed patrols until they reached the 30th floor.

The 30th floor was quieter and more orderly than the levels below. The old man led them down a carpeted corridor into a spacious, well-lit room furnished for private meetings.

The heavy door closed behind them, shutting out the noise from the floors below.

The old man walked over to the head of the table and took a seat, gesturing smoothly toward the chairs opposite him. "Please. Sit."

Zarek didn’t hesitate. He pulled out a heavy chair and sat down. Elsa and Ayesha stationed themselves slightly behind him, while Mara lingered near the corner, watching the exchange with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.

For a moment, neither man spoke.

Then Zarek leaned forward, resting his forearms on the polished wood.

"You’ve been watching the lower floors tear themselves apart," Zarek said. "And your people have those unnatural black veins running across their necks and arms. I want to know what they are."

The old man didn’t flinch. He clasped his hands together on the table, his pale eyes studying Zarek with intensity.

"You go straight to the rot," the old man said, a note of approval in his tone.

"Then you should understand that you cannot simply look at those veins as a symptom of today, or even a consequence of the past few months," the old man replied, leaning back slightly as his gaze drifted toward the windows overlooking the ruined expanse of the city outside.

"If you want to understand what those veins mean—what my men carry beneath their skin—you have to go back to the exact moment the world broke."

Zarek remained silent, his eyes narrowing slightly. He didn’t interrupt.

"The evening the apocalypse began," the old man continued,

"it wasn’t just a sudden outbreak of violence. The earth itself shifted. The air changed. That very first night, long before anyone understood what was happening, some plants began mutating wildly, growing and twisting on their own in the dark. But the flora wasn’t the only thing the change touched."

A heavy stillness settled over the room. Elsa and Ayesha exchanged a subtle glance, listening closely.

"Some humans began to mutate as well," the old man said, turning his gaze back from the window to lock eyes with Zarek.

"It wasn’t a plague that spread through contact. It wasn’t a disease you caught from a bite. It was spontaneous, violent, and utterly random. Only a microscopic fraction of the population was affected—roughly one person out of every ten thousand."

The old man raised a single finger, emphasizing the scale.

"One in ten thousand. Without warning, without exposure to monsters, their bodies simply began to rewrite themselves from the inside out. A sudden, vicious restructuring of flesh, bone, and blood."

"And nobody knew why," the old man continued, his expression darkening.

"Governments were falling apart within hours, communication lines were dying, and science was already dead before the sun came up the next day. There was no explanation, only the bloody consequence. The vast majority of those people didn’t survive that first night. Their bodies couldn’t handle the violence of the change. They tore themselves apart from the inside out, screaming in the dark until their hearts gave out or their bones shattered under the pressure."

He paused, letting the grim reality of that night hang in the air before leaning forward once more, resting his palms flat against the polished wood of the table.

"Except for a very few," the old man whispered.

"A handful endured the agony. They survived the night, and in doing so, they became something else entirely."

Zarek’s jaw tightened slightly.

"And?" He prompted, his voice low and dangerous. "What does that have to do with this building?"

"Because," the old man said softly, "one of those rare individuals—one of the few who underwent that spontaneous mutation on the very first night and survived—wasn’t some stranger out in the wasteland."

"They came from this building. From the fortieth floor."

"And that person," the old man added quietly, "is still up there."

For a heartbeat, nobody breathed. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air growing thick and heavy as the implication settled over them.

The old man leaned back in his chair, a faint smile touching his lips as he looked across the table at Zarek.