Friday — The World Finally Loosens Its Grip
Friday always tasted different.
Not sweeter. Not happier. Just… lighter. Like the city itself exhaled when the week stopped chasing everyone. Kādali moved slower today, prāṇa lamps humming softer over the roads, public screens rolling news and ads with that same lazy glow. Even the air felt less aggressive — less like it wanted to test how much weight my lungs could carry.
No NNM shift today.
That thought alone settled something inside my ribs. My shoulders dropped without permission, the kind of relief that doesn't make noise. Yesterday still sat in the back of my mind like a splinter — fire, void, the orange gate, the screen blooming out of my own chest like my body was a projector now. But today didn't ask me to bleed for understanding.
Today asked for dinner.
Kaali padded beside my feet, small paws tapping the pavement like tiny metronomes. She wasn't a pet. She wasn't a mascot. She was… a presence that made silence feel like something warm instead of something empty. Her ears twitched at every passing motor-drone and prāṇa-bus overhead, but her eyes stayed on me like I was the only thing in the street worth tracking.
"Home?" she asked.
"Home," I said.
She blinked once, satisfied, and continued walking like she owned the path.
Pranalicious — Meat That Still Breathes
The butcher shop sat half a block away from the transit lane, wedged between a pharmacy that sold prāṇa-supplements in glass tubes and a stall that repaired broken mantra-circuits for cheap. Its sign glowed in bright letters that looked too cheerful for what it was selling.
PRANALICIOUS.
The smell hit first — iron and spice and something faintly electric, like storm air trapped in flesh. The display cases were cold and clean, but what lay inside didn't feel dead. Mutant meats never did. Prāṇa-rich organisms held onto their "life" longer, like the energy refused to leave its home even after the heart stopped.
Kaali's pupils widened. Her whiskers angled forward. She went still in that intense way animals do when instinct takes the steering wheel.
"Big eyes," I muttered, almost smiling. "Dayumm."
She didn't even pretend to hear me. Her gaze was locked on a slab of dark meat branded with a small orange stamp: EAGLE—MUTANT GRADE B.
The butcher leaned on the counter, arms thick, apron stained like he'd been wrestling the week itself. He looked at me once, then looked away like I was just another hungry face.
"Half kilo?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said. "Half."
The man's blade moved fast — clean, confident. Meat hit the wrap. A sharp press. A seal. The packet slid across the counter toward me with a weight that felt more expensive than it should.
I paid without flinching.
New year bonus from last week.
It wasn't a lot. But it was enough to make today feel like I was choosing something for myself instead of surviving whatever the world dropped into my hands.
Kaali sniffed the air and made a small sound that wasn't a word but somehow meant mine.
"Treat?" she asked, eyes huge.
"Later," I said, and her tail swayed like she accepted the promise as a contract.
Home — The Door That Only Knows My Name
The apartment welcomed me the same way it always did.
With nothing.
No voices. No footsteps. No smell of someone else's day lingering in the room. The silence was old here. Loyal. It had memorized every corner of my life, every routine, every breath I tried to keep quiet so the loneliness wouldn't hear it too clearly.
Still… today didn't feel like a punishment.
Today felt like rest.
I kicked my shoes off, bag sliding down the wall. Kaali hopped onto the couch like she was checking territory. The packet of meat sat in my hands like potential.
I went straight to the bathroom.
Shower water hit my skin and the tension melted in layers — first shoulders, then spine, then the deep ache sitting behind my eyes. For a few minutes I wasn't Vicky-the-weird or Victor-the-ghost or whatever version the world decided to see today. Just a body under warm water. Just breath. Just heat.
I dried off fast, pulled on house clothes — loose, worn, comfortable in that "I live here alone" way. The mirror caught my face for a second. Dead eyes, but not empty. Not today.
The triangle scar on my chest sat there like always. Quiet. Patient.
Like it knew dinner was coming too.
Coffee — The Flame
Coffee first.
Not even negotiable.
I poured it slow, letting the smell fill the kitchen like a ritual. Bitter warmth slid down my throat and anchored me deeper into myself. Not power. Not authority. Just… grounding. Like the world couldn't pull me into another dimension if caffeine had already claimed my blood.
Kaali hopped onto the counter and stared at the meat packet again like it was an enemy she respected.
"You're not cooking it," I told her.
She blinked.
"Cook… now," she said, voice small, stubborn. Her tail flicked once in approval.
Cooking — Vicky Style
I didn't follow recipes the way normal people did. I followed instinct and hunger and whatever felt right in the moment. And today? Today felt like spice.
Knife hit the board.
Two onions. Chop-chop. Clean slices. The smell rose sharp and honest.
Two green chilies. Cut them thin, fast. Enough to hurt a little. Enough to wake up everything inside.
Tomatoes next. Rough chunks. The juice stained my fingers red like evidence.
I set everything aside.
Pan on the stove. Oil poured in. The shimmer of heat rose like invisible breath. Onions and chilies dropped first — that instant sizzle, that sound like the kitchen itself applauding.
I stirred for a few minutes until the onions softened and turned glassy at the edges.
Then tomatoes.
A lot of tomatoes.
The pan hissed louder. Steam rose. The smell changed from sharp to rich, from raw to promising.
Spices went in — The mix darkened, thickened, turned into something that looked like comfort disguised as chaos.
Kaali leaned forward, nose twitching.
"Hot?" she asked.
"Hot," I confirmed.
She made a pleased sound.
Mutant eagle meat next.
The moment it hit the pan, everything changed.
It wasn't like normal meat. It didn't just cook — it reacted. The prāṇa trapped in it flared subtly, a low pulse under the surface, like the flesh was remembering flight even while dying.
Salt to taste.
Stir.
Let it sit. Let it fight the heat. Let the prāṇa bleed out into the spices until the whole thing smelled like something wild being tamed.
A few minutes later, it was done.
Fried eagle.
Vicky style.
I grabbed a carb source — simple rice on the side, nothing fancy. The kind of meal that holds you together without asking for applause.
Plate down. Steam rising. Kaali already vibrating with impatience.
Dinner — Heaven After a Thin Slice of Hell
We ate on the floor, backs against the couch like we were two criminals hiding from a world that didn't know we existed. Kaali had her own small portion — chopped fine so she wouldn't choke. She devoured it like she'd been starving for a hundred lifetimes, tiny mouth working fast, eyes half-closed in pure animal bliss.
I took the first bite.
And my entire body went quiet.
The flavor hit warm and deep, spicy enough to sting, rich enough to fill the hollowness behind my ribs. For one long second I forgot about gates and screens and authority and being watched by something older than time.
Eyes closed by themselves.
Relief spilled through me so hard it almost hurt.
Dayumm.
This was what living was supposed to feel like.
Kaali looked up at me mid-chew, meat on her whiskers.
"Good," she said.
"Good," I echoed, voice low.
We ate until the plate was clean, until the room smelled like cooked spice and the faint wildness of mutant flesh. The kind of smell that tells your brain: you survived today.
I leaned back, exhaling slowly.
That's when it happened.
The Scan — Food Under Judgment
The triangle scar on my chest warmed.
Not like heat from the pan. Not like embarrassment. Not like fire.
It warmed like a lens focusing.
For a few seconds, lavender light bled out from beneath the skin — faint lines like it was tracing invisible geometry over my ribs. It didn't hurt. It didn't burn. It wasn't violent.
It was clinical.
Kaali froze mid-lick, ears snapping upright.
"What?" I murmured, hand pressing over the scar. "What now?"
Something rippled outward.
A screen appeared — not floating in the air.
Projected from me.
Right from the triangle itself.
"Huh?" I blinked hard. "What? Where'd this screen—"
My fingers brushed the scar.
The screen didn't flicker. Didn't vanish.
It was real.
Kaali's eyes tracked the glow like she could see it too.
"See," she said softly.
And the panel spoke.
[ VOID IMPRINT ]
[ Mutant Eagle DNA Found ]
[ Ability Available: Eyes of the Eagle ]
[ Apply? ]
Cost:
-50 Prāṇa
-75% Vision (3 hours)
I stared at it. Slow blink. Then another.
My throat tightened like my body had decided this was too much truth for one day.
"Void imprint…?" I whispered.
Kaali tilted her head. "Take?"
"I guess…" The words left my mouth before logic caught up. "Yeah. Apply."
My finger moved toward the invisible button.
The panel didn't accept it.
Instead, another line formed beneath it, colder.
[ Insufficient Prāṇa ]
[ Action Denied ]
I exhaled sharply, half annoyed, half embarrassed like I'd tried to open a door that only opens for grown-ups.
"Ain't no way," I muttered.
Kaali stared at me, then at the screen.
"Empty," she said.
I swallowed and looked down.
A bar sat at the bottom of the panel — small, faint, easy to miss until you needed it.
Prāṇa.
Almost nothing inside it.
Like a battery that had barely survived last night.
And beneath it, a hint. Quiet. Like the system wasn't helping me — just watching to see if I could figure it out.
[ Prāṇa can be refilled via: Breath of the Divine ]
Breath of the Divine.
That name again.
It sat in my mind like a half-remembered prayer, heavy with meaning I didn't understand yet.
My teacher's voice returned to me, calm and merciless:
Breath begins where weight rests.
Not where sound escapes.
Not from the throat.
From inside.
I stared at the panel for another second, then let my hand drop.
No more clicking.
No more guessing.
If this was real…
Then I needed to do it properly.
Silence — Where Breath Turns Into Skill
I went to my room without speaking. Kaali followed, but quietly now, like even she knew the air had shifted into something serious. The lights were off. Street prāṇa bled in from the window in soft violet stripes, painting the floor like lazy moonlight.
I sat on the bed.
Back straight. Hands on knees. Eyes shut
Nothing dramatic.
Just a boy trying to breathe.
The first inhale stuck in my throat.
Too high. Too shallow. Like my lungs were afraid to open.
I tried again.
Shoulders relaxed. Jaw loosened. Tongue soft.
Inhale.
Down.
Deeper.
Still wrong.
My heartbeat thumped once in irritation.
Kaali hopped up onto the bed and curled near my thigh, warm like an anchor. She didn't speak. Just existed.
I remembered the feeling from class — that strange moment where breath didn't feel like pulling air, but like letting the body drink.
I tried to find the weight inside my chest.
Not the scar.
Below it.
Where the ribs cage sound. Where emotions sit when you don't let them out. Where loneliness gathers and pretends it's normal.
Inhale.
This time…
Something answered.
The surrounding air shifted — not wind, not temperature.
Energy.
It gathered gently, like dust pulled toward a magnet. It circled my skin, pressed softly against my pores, then slid inward like water soaking into cloth.
My breath didn't fight it.
My body didn't reject it.
It went through me.
Clean.
Warm.
Lavender.
I held it for a second, not forcing, just… letting it exist inside.
Then I exhaled.
Slow.
Steady.
The triangle scar warmed again — but this time it wasn't scanning.
It was opening.
Kaali's eyes narrowed, watching my chest like she could see the flow.
"Good," she whispered.
I didn't answer. If I spoke, the focus would break. The moment would flee.
So I breathed again.
And again.
Each inhale pulled more.
Each exhale smoothed the inside of me, like the air was sanding down sharp edges I didn't know were there.
For the first time since the flute entered my life…
I didn't feel like a body waiting to collapse.
I felt like a system stabilizing.
Then the screen appeared again — softer this time. Not startling.
More like a notification from a part of me that had finally stopped resisting.
[ Breath of the Divine ]
[ Lvl 0 >>> Lvl 1 ]
The words hovered for a moment.
Then sank back into the scar like ink seeping into paper.
My lungs expanded.
Not physically — emotionally.
Breathing didn't feel like surviving anymore.
It felt like control.
Kaali nudged her forehead against my knee, triangle mark faintly glowing under her fur like she was proud of me in the only way she knew how.
"Alive," she said.
I closed my eyes.
And breathed again.
End of Chapter 4