"Our survival, written in our own blood… is our seal!"
Lina's words echoed in my mind.
Ever since that moment…
when she slammed the café table and clenched her fist like a politician giving a speech.
At the time, I thought it was just a dramatic line.
But now…
It wasn't.
Not at all.
---
The doctor mixed a sample of my blood with a drop of a strange purple liquid…
thick… like ink.
Just looking at it was enough to make my stomach turn.
He stirred the mixture with a glass rod inside a small dish.
There was nothing scientific about what he was doing.
He didn't look like a licensed doctor…
He looked more like… a fraud.
A fortune-teller preparing some unsettling ritual—
with blood as an ingredient.
…He's not going to make me drink that, right?
I pulled out my spinner and kept it turning as I waited.
After a long time of mixing, it felt like it was taking longer than it should.
He lifted his glasses onto his head and leaned closer to the dish.
Raised an eyebrow…
Then lowered them again.
Then looked at me.
Then back at the dish.
Again… and again…
Until finally, he grabbed the dish and headed for the door.
"Stay here for a moment."
I followed him with my eyes until he disappeared.
"…What is that even supposed to be?"
Should I be worried?
Should I just leave?
---
"Sorry for the delay!"
"You weren't late."
"…Really?"
He opened his drawer, took out the same bottle of thick purple ink, added a few more drops, and started mixing again.
"Ugh… just as I expected."
"What?"
"It needed a slightly higher concentration to bind."
"What is that thing?"
I pointed at the bottle.
"This is ink. Specially made for sealing documents."
He paused.
"It acts as an identity marker… something like fingerprints."
"I see…"
I nodded.
I was about to ask why they didn't just use fingerprints—
But then I remembered the kind of world I was in.
I remembered Lina's face…
melting like wax…
turning into someone else.
Maybe there were abilities that could even change fingerprints.
---
"Is it bad if it doesn't mix?"
"Not necessarily bad… but it's never happened before."
"Even blood of—… that's strange."
He muttered the last part too quietly.
"…Sorry, blood of what?"
"Nothing. I'm almost done."
---
He took out a large stamp from the same open drawer.
Dipped it into the mixture…
Twisted it slightly…
Then slammed it onto the document with mechanical precision.
He placed the stamp back, picked up the paper, and blew on it until it dried.
Then handed it back to me.
"Give this to your team leader."
---
The moment I took the paper…
My eyes were drawn to the seal.
Dark blue.
Completely normal at first glance.
No one would ever suspect it was made from blood… and that strange purple ink.
But the symbol…
It wasn't normal.
A large circle—
Inside it, a twisted pentagonal shape looping endlessly,
as if it existed both inside and outside the circle at the same time.
And across it—
A diagonal slash.
Like it was sealing the circle…
Or…
Preventing something inside from escaping.
Null ∅
That was the mark sealed in blood.
'…Is this some kind of cult?'
But…
The ability and level fields were still empty.
---
I left the room.
And just as he promised…
The captain was still waiting.
"Done?"
"Yes… here."
Just like the doctor said—
I handed the file to Suleiman.
He quickly scanned the information.
Then, with his good hand, he pulled out a pen and wrote in the ability field:
Manifestation Type
Elemental Trait
Sea Water
His handwriting trembled slightly—
Like a child's.
I hoped no one would question that.
But he didn't seem to care.
"There's only one thing left. Your level."
"How do you determine that?"
"Estimation."
"…What?"
"You determine it yourself.
Once you adapt to your ability and understand its limits… you assign your level."
"That's… not objective at all."
"It isn't."
He paused.
"That's an advanced lesson.
For now, we'll submit the documents.
Next, you'll learn control. That's the most important part.
After that… you can ask your teammates about levels."
---
Submitting the papers meant…
Everything was now official.
"Will I have to take on those missions in the lobby?"
"Every team of five must complete at least one orange-rank mission per month… or three red ones."
He paused.
"We were three for a long time…
we barely handled one red mission."
There was regret in his voice.
'…So that's why he looked bitter when the new member was mentioned.'
"Is it difficult?"
He stopped so suddenly I almost ran into him.
"If you want to master control, you'll need to take on missions.
Or do them for the rewards."
He hesitated.
Then—
"…No. Better not."
He turned slightly.
"While you're here… just train your ability.
Leave everything else to me."
"Isn't that like covering for an absent employee?
Does management know?
Won't that cause problems?"
He looked at me, annoyed—
But said nothing.
And continued walking toward the reception desk.
---
*****
Wearing a black tracksuit,
Sarah lowered her cap to hide as much of her face as possible.
Then slowly raised her head…
Looking at the name of the building in front of her.
"…This is it."
She opened her notebook and checked again.
The name matched.
[Dar Al-Hayat (Life Care Home)]
She pulled the cap lower… and walked inside.
---
"Hello, how can I help you?"
At first, Sarah ignored the receptionist and kept walking.
But the woman stopped her.
So she had no choice.
"I'm here to visit my grandmother. I already have an appointment."
"Your name… and your grandmother's?"
The receptionist wouldn't normally ask—
But everything about this woman was suspicious.
Her clothes… didn't match a place like this.
'Ungrateful children…
They wear expensive clothes and dump their families in cheap homes.'
She glanced at Sarah while checking the system.
Sarah lowered her cap further.
"Sarah Farid. I'm here to see Grandma Asaad."
She sighed internally.
Good thing she had arranged a fake appointment—just in case.
"Yes… it's here. Sorry for the inconvenience.
Third floor, room five."
"Thank you."
---
She moved quickly—
Almost running.
On the third floor…
She spotted a nurse.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for someone named Nagwa Mohamed. The receptionist told me, but I forgot."
The nurse looked her up and down.
"Are you her granddaughter?"
"…Yes."
"Tch. Fourth floor. Third room on the left."
"Thank you."
---
She hurried to her target.
Didn't even look back.
"Third… third… here."
Knock. Knock.
No response.
Knock.
Harder this time.
Still nothing.
"I'm coming in."
She looked around.
No one nearby.
She turned the old handle… and slipped inside.
---
She froze.
She hadn't expected anyone inside.
Or at least… someone asleep.
But instead—
An old woman sat in a wheelchair.
Alone.
Staring at the barred window…
At the sky beyond.
With dead eyes.
As if she had grown tired of living.
Waiting to leave.
---
"Mrs. Nagwa?"
No response.
Not even a glance.
"Ma'am…"
Sarah approached, removed her cap, and sat in front of her.
The old woman slowly turned her head.
Her empty gaze landed on Sarah—
Then lost interest.
And drifted back to the sky.
---
"Are you the mother of the late Ahmed Emad?"
No response.
'That look…'
It felt familiar.
Sarah took her hand.
Cold… despite the sun outside.
She leaned closer.
"I can help you. No… I will help you."
---
The old woman turned.
A wide smile spread across her face—
Revealing the gaps where her teeth were gone.
"Tell me… what happened?"
"I'm just a senile old woman…
why remind me of things I chose to forget?
Is it too much to ask… to die in peace?"
Sarah tightened her grip.
"I know grief doesn't fade with time.
That's just something people say to comfort themselves.
Please… tell me. What happened?"
---
The smile vanished.
Her face went blank again.
She looked at the window—
But something had changed.
There was anger now.
Buried deep inside.
---
"Everyone who came said they could help…
and in the end…"
"I'm still here. Waiting to die."
"Maybe after I die… I can ask my son what really happened."
"They said he killed himself."
"Heh…"
She smiled again.
Not mockery.
Not sarcasm.
Pain.
A tear slipped down her left eye…
And didn't disappear.
"He would never do that."
"…But no one believes me."