The early hours in Iron Hearth always possessed a unique way of chilling one to the bone.
Whooosh... The relentless North wind howled, slipping through the ventilation shafts of Facility Alpha's underground laboratory. Amidst the suffocating silence—occupied only by a sea of hanging cables, scattered metal plates, and blueprints strewn across the floor—a sharp hiss echoed.
Bzzzt! A mana welding torch flared a brilliant blue. The pungent scent of ozone mixed with the sharp sting of scorched metal instantly permeated the air, clinging to the low ceiling of the room.
Rianor Sudrath sat alone at his workbench. Beside him, an oval mirror stood tilted. Before him, the thick medical bandages wrapping his left arm had been forcibly removed, lying dull and discarded on the tiled floor.
The sight of the arm was horrifying. The flesh had hardened and died. The skin was shriveled, carrying a sickly, blackened-red hue.
"Seventy percent nerve damage. Total muscular necrosis."
