Chapter 25
Prairie Fire
The infirmary sat in the first stretch of the old mine. Two Crystone lamps were set into the rock wall. Lin Ce's wounds had already been treated; they'd put him in the farthest bay to rest.
He sat at a low table.
Under it were a pair of climbing boots worn nearly white, the uppers wrapped in old cloth, mud still clinging to the soles. On the table lay a multi-pocket outdoor vest missing one button. His sleeves were rolled to the forearms; fine scars crossed the exposed wrists—not knife cuts so much as scrapes from something hard to name.
A tuft of hair stuck up at his brow. Dark brows, dark hair, that clean East Asian cut of face. His color was poor, sockets shadowed, but when he looked up his eyes were still bright.
"You're here." Lin Ce stood. He was nearly a head shorter than Eren and tipped his chin up a little. "Sit."
Eren took the low stool. A notebook lay open on the table, stuffed with slips, the writing dense, some pages sketched.
"I won't waste time on thanks. Straight to it—left hand. Let me see." Lin Ce washed and dried his hands, pulled a scratched magnifier from a vest pocket. "Sleeve up."
Eren bared his left arm. Pale gray lines climbed from the base of the fingers to the wrist, then up the inner forearm. Above the upper arm the sleeve hid them, but under the collarbone a dark thread showed if you looked close.
Lin Ce leaned in with the magnifier and traced the lines section by section. Then he pressed with his fingers, careful.
"How long?"
"Less than a month."
"How?"
"Hit it in a rock seam. It came in through a cut on the left hand."
Lin Ce nodded and moved the glass to the thickest line on the inner wrist. "Main trunk's clear… radial side up, along the biceps belly, around the scapula, under the collarbone toward the neck…" He glanced up. "Ends at the outer corner of the eye."
He paused, fingertip hovering just outside that corner, not quite touching. "Wound here. Slight swelling. You treated it?"
"Mm." Eren did not pull away—only shut one eye on instinct.
Lin Ce looked at him, brow tightening a fraction. "How?"
"Cut it open with a knife. Took the leading tip of the shoot off. Packed the hole with ground Crystone slag."
"Slag?" Lin Ce's voice went up. "Why? Weren't you afraid of complications?"
"No choice. Out in the field, nothing else on hand."
"In the field? You did the surgery yourself?"
"Mm."
Lin Ce sucked in a breath and stared at him two full seconds, as if making sure he wasn't raving.
"That's insane…"
Once the shock passed, he went on. "This is rare. I've studied Crystone seven years and only handled a dozen or so parasite cases." His speech slowed; he weighed the next words. "…Most of them, from discovery to death, lasted under two months."
He leaned in again, turned Eren's left hand, and followed the lines upward.
"You're in much better shape, though. Maybe that surgery of yours helped. Any discomfort now?"
"Usually nothing. Now and then it jumps under the skin. Doesn't hurt."
Lin Ce nodded; his pen tip paused on the page. "Lila said you've got that odd strength in the left hand. When did it start?"
"After the parasite…" Eren walked him through the bursts of strength and the times the shoot had surged ahead.
Lin Ce's eyes lit. "Incredible!"
He pushed the magnifier aside, flipped the notebook to a page dense with diagrams, tapped the sketch twice, and spoke faster. "That lines up with what I'd guessed. Working theory—you've formed a symbiosis with it."
"Symbiosis." Eren repeated it.
Lin Ce did not hedge. "Crystone grows along rock strata and pulls inorganics out of them. The shoot does the same trick—except it parasitizes organic tissue."
"But if Crystone stops growing? To the rock it's just a stone. Almost no effect. Same logic—if the shoot's growth is checked, it can live with the host and do little harm. Like you right now."
He scribbled a few lines, the tip barely pausing.
"And the strength! Two parts, I think. First, the silicon crystal lattice in the shoot gives high mechanical support—like built-in bone bracing. At the same time, the bits that work into the muscle fibers stimulate nerve and contraction with a weak current, so your power spikes for a short window."
"It burns your body's nutrients, though. Afterward you'd be tired, drained—like a low-blood-sugar crash…"
Eren nodded. "Right."
"Then it fits!" Lin Ce laughed and clapped Eren's shoulder. "Not bad news. Short term, you shouldn't be in mortal danger—but stay sharp. The shoot could start growing again anytime."
He reined the excitement in a notch. "I'd like a sample from under the skin. Dig into this further."
He looked at Eren, saw he hadn't moved, and added, "I'm not treating you like a lab animal. This helps you too. Slag powder left in the wound can keep the edge tissue inflamed for a long time. We can clear the residue, see if we can deactivate more of the shoot's tip while we're in there, and take a bit of edge tissue."
Eren hesitated.
"There's a doctor next door. I'll bring him in for a proper look." Lin Ce rose and went out, still a little unsteady on his feet, but the urgency was plain.
Eren leaned back in the chair and said nothing.
Before long an older army surgeon came in with a cloth kit. He washed his hands, bent to the old scar at the outer corner of Eren's eye, pressed the skin around it with a fingertip, asked a few questions about the history and his vision, then huddled with Lin Ce for a short exchange.
The surgeon straightened and faced Eren. "We can do it. Small procedure. Doesn't look deep—open and debride should be fine. The rest I'd leave to Scientist Lin."
"There is risk. The site sits close to fine facial nerves. Very small chance of numbness at the eye or the mouth—usually temporary, but I won't swear to that." He didn't soft-pedal it.
Eren held his gaze. "And if I don't?"
"I wouldn't." The surgeon was blunt. "Given your case, infection can spread. Worst case, it hits the vision. You know what medicine looks like out here—it can kill you. Treat it now, and the risk is smallest."
Eren's gaze rested a beat on the stone wall of the infirmary, then came back. He let out a breath and gave a slight nod.
"All right. Thanks."
After a short prep, the surgery began.
A nurse gave the anesthetic. Numbness crept across Eren's left cheek; he shut his eyes, lay still, and thought of nothing.
The surgeon opened a few centimeters along the old cut at the eye corner. Lin Ce recorded beside him, intent, checking the next move with the doctor now and then.
Forceps moved fast. Before long the powdered slag was clear, and the necrotic edge tissue scraped clean.
Lin Ce checked the shoot's seat and state. "We need another cut on the tip," he told the doctor, "and deactivate it with heat—cut the chance it spreads later."
The doctor did as Lin Ce said—took more from the shoot's end and seared the cut.
Lin Ce lifted the pieces from the tray into a small vial and marked it.
Soon Eren was sutured and sat up. He worked his mouth. "Now… all protested clean?" The anesthetic had muddled the words.
"More or less. Wound's clear. You won't go blind anytime soon. The shoot ought to be more stable than before. The rest is my research." Lin Ce tipped the vial.
"Rest." He closed the notebook. "Results come in, you're first to know."
At the door he looked back. "Thank you. If you hadn't found that note I left, I wouldn't have made it back."
Eren tried a smile with half a face—caught how wrong it looked, shut it down, and only nodded.
The walk from the infirmary to the guest room felt longer than the way there.
A nurse kept pace with Eren, ran through diet and dressing changes, and told him to call if the swelling and pain got bad at night.
At the guest-room door he pushed it open. Nova rose from the bedside to meet him, clearly worried.
"How was it? Lila said you had surgery?"
Lila was there too—she'd carved out a few minutes, water still cool in a coarse clay cup. She gave the fresh gauze on Eren's cheek an extra look and did not make a fuss.
Eren sat on the bed edge and gave them the short version, but the anesthetic still held; half his face was wooden, the words thick.
"Relax," Lila told Nova. "Small job. And Scientist Lin knows Crystone cold. If he says it's fine, it's fine."
Nova hummed an answer.
Lila glanced at the light outside, stood, and brushed off her pant legs. "All right—won't keep you. I've still got work."
"Thanks," Eren said.
"No sweat. I'll come keep you company next time, kid." She waved at Nova, shut the door, and left.
Dusk settled. Someone brought supper. Eren and Nova ate and turned in early.
Next morning Eren slept late. When they changed the dressing, the army surgeon looked in—swelling wasn't bad; he could walk, but no hard exercise.
Before noon someone came for them: Mr. Shen wanted to see them.