You're telling me… it worked?

Kael slipped into a quieter corner of the palace hall, away from the lively chatter and laughter of the celebration. He pulled out his communicator, his thumb hovering over Theron's name on the screen. For the fifth time that evening, he pressed "call."

And, for the fifth time, it rang endlessly before going to voicemail.

Kael frowned, the unease in his chest growing. This wasn't like Theron. Sure, the gnome wasn't the most social guy—he often buried himself in his tech projects or books—but he never outright ignored Kael's calls.

Something wasn't right.

Kael muttered under his breath as he scrolled through his contacts. He tapped on Lirien's name, waiting impatiently as the line connected.

"Kael?" Lirien's voice came through, soft and melodic as always, but there was a hint of curiosity in her tone. "What's going on? Shouldn't you be enjoying your celebration?"

"Lirien," Kael began, his voice tight with worry. "Have you seen Theron? Or heard from him?"

There was a brief pause on the other end. "Theron? No, I haven't seen him in a few days. Why?"

Kael's heart sank further. "He's not answering my calls. I've tried all week, and he hasn't called me back either. It's... it's weird, Lirien. He never does this."

Lirien's voice softened, the concern in her tone mirroring Kael's. "That is strange. He's been missing lectures too. I thought maybe he was working on one of his projects, but now..."

"Now I'm worried something's wrong," Kael said, pacing back and forth. "You know how Theron gets. He doesn't always ask for help when he needs it. What if something's happened? What if—"

"Kael," Lirien interrupted gently, though her own worry was evident. "Let's not jump to conclusions. I'll go check on him. He might just be caught up in one of his experiments and lost track of time."

Kael sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, maybe. But... Lirien, if you find him, let me know immediately. Okay? And make sure he's okay. Please."

"I will," Lirien promised. "Don't worry, Kael. I'll take care of it."

"Thanks," Kael said, his voice soft. "I don't know why, but I've got a bad feeling about this."

Lirien didn't respond right away, but when she did, her voice was steady. "We'll find him. Don't let this ruin your night. I'll call you as soon as I have news."

Kael nodded, though she couldn't see it. "Okay. Thanks, Lirien."

As the call ended, Kael leaned against the wall, his mind racing with all the worst-case scenarios. Theron might have been a genius with technology, but he wasn't invincible. And if something had happened to his best friend...

Kael shook his head, refusing to let his thoughts spiral further. He trusted Lirien. If anyone could find Theron and make sure he was safe, it was her.

Still, as he rejoined the celebration, the worry lingered like a shadow over his heart. Something wasn't right.

The celebration had started to blur into a haze of forced smiles and half-hearted laughter for Kael. The congratulatory pats on his back, the toasts raised in his honor—none of it felt right.

He kept glancing at his communicator, hoping for some word from Lirien. Every passing minute felt heavier than the last, the nagging feeling in his chest growing stronger.

Finally, hours after their call, the communicator buzzed in his hand. Lirien's name flashed on the screen. Kael's heart leapt into his throat as he quickly answered.

"Lirien? Did you find him?"

"Lirien, what's wrong?" He repeated

There was a pause on the other end, and Kael could hear the faint sound of rustling, as if Lirien were pacing.

"It's Theron," she said without preamble.

"He's… not okay. We don't know what's going on, but you need to come. Now."

There was a pause on the other end, and when Kael spoke again, his tone was low and urgent. "I'm on my way."

he said, already heading toward the palace gates.

_________

Theron stirred, his eyes fluttering open to the dim light filtering through his room. His body felt heavy, his brain sluggish and disgruntled, as though it hadn't yet caught up with the hours of restless sleep it had stolen. Blinking groggily, he noticed the faint hum of Rex standing by his bedside, its sleek, polished frame casting a faint blue glow across the room.

"Subject: Theron," Rex's monotone voice filled the quiet room, "Vitals within acceptable parameters. Pulse: steady. Oxygen saturation: optimal. Cortisol levels: elevated but decreasing. Current condition: stable."

Theron groaned, sitting up slowly. "Rex," he mumbled, his voice raspy from disuse, "how long was I out?"

"Duration: thirteen hours and twenty-two minutes," Rex replied promptly. Its glowing eyes flickered for a moment before adding, "Sleep quality: suboptimal. Multiple instances of restlessness and rapid eye movement detected. Recommend additional rest."

Theron rubbed his temples. "Yeah, well, I don't think my brain got the memo." He swung his legs over the side of the bed, staring at the mess still scattered around his workspace.

"Physical recovery: underway," Rex continued, "but mental and emotional distress detected. Inquiry: Do you wish to discuss the emotional breakdown observed prior to sleep?"

Theron flinched at the blunt phrasing. "No," he muttered, averting his gaze. "Just… give me a status update on everything else."

Rex hesitated—a pause so faint it might have gone unnoticed by anyone but Theron. Then, its tone shifted slightly, laced with something that could almost be called concern. "Project: Bond Nullifier has reached completion."

Theron froze, his blood running cold. "What did you say?"

"Project: Bond Nullifier has achieved a successful prototype," Rex repeated. "The serum has been synthesized during your rest cycle. Analysis: One hundred and forty-seven failed trials. Successful outcome achieved after integration of previously unconsidered catalyst."

Theron's heart pounded as he leaned forward, staring at Rex in disbelief. "You're telling me… it worked?"

"Affirmative." Rex's tone remained clinical, though there was a faint undercurrent of accomplishment. "Finalized composition includes base compound combinations from trials eighty-two, ninety-three, and one hundred and thirty-four. Successful integration achieved via molecular stabilization utilizing catalyst: serisian ore extract."

Theron's mind raced, piecing together the scattered fragments of his frantic work. The serisian ore… Of course. He had overlooked its unique properties—a mineral known for its energy-conductive attributes, capable of harmonizing volatile compounds. He'd dismissed it early on due to its scarcity and instability, but clearly, Rex had taken the initiative to incorporate it during one of his later, desperate attempts.

"How did you manage the instability of the ore?" he asked, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief.

"Solution: Cryo-distillation and plasma filtering," Rex replied. "Ore treated at subzero temperatures to isolate stable isotopes. Plasma filtering neutralized reactive byproducts. Outcome: serum capable of temporarily disrupting bond signals at a neurochemical level."

Theron swallowed hard, the enormity of what Rex was saying settling over him. "So… it can hide the bond?"

"Functionality confirmed," Rex answered. "Injection will suppress mate bond pheromonal and psychic signaling for a duration of twenty-four to forty-eight hours per dose. Warning: Long-term usage untested. Potential side effects: unknown."

Theron's breath caught. This was it. The culmination of days of sleepless nights, countless failures, and spiraling emotions. A way to shield himself—shield Kael—from the truth.

But at what cost?

"Why didn't it work before?" he asked, almost to himself.

"Previous failures attributed to improper stabilization of active compounds," Rex explained. "Key realization during Trial One-Forty-Six: Lack of harmonizing agent resulted in cellular degradation. Catalyst addition rectified molecular instability, resulting in final synthesis during automated process while you were unconscious."

Theron let out a shaky breath. He felt a strange mix of triumph and dread. The serum worked, but it also felt like a Pandora's box—one he wasn't sure he was ready to open.

"Rex," he said softly, his hands trembling as he leaned forward, "store it. Securely. No one can know about this yet."

"Directive acknowledged," Rex replied. "Storage initiated. Access restricted to authorized user: Theron."

Theron leaned back against the bedframe, staring blankly at the ceiling. The room felt heavier now, as though the weight of his decision was pressing down on him.

"I don't even know if I can use it," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rex tilted its head, its glowing eyes flickering. "Clarification: Uncertainty about serum application? Or concern regarding its purpose?"

Theron didn't answer immediately. Instead, he closed his eyes, his thoughts spiraling. The serum might give him the time and space he needed to figure out what to do about Kael, but it also felt like a betrayal—of himself, of his bond, and maybe even of Kael.

"Both," he finally said, his voice thick with emotion.

For once, Rex didn't respond. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the faint hum of machinery and the weight of unspoken fears.