[Proceed?]
I ignored, scanning for more possibilities
Then I choose the Method line and edited-
I erased [Concentrate] and just let it remain at [Think], making the process easier
[Net Expenditure: 600 Karmic Coins, Proceed?]
I saw the Limitations part
I changed [Unstable] to [Stable]
[Net Expenditure: 810 Karmic coins, Proceed?]
I bit my lower lip in frustration.
Should I undo one of my modifications?
But each one of them is crucial.
if unstable space Bursts inside my body then?
Then a detail clicked on me.
"If I tighten the existing limitations or add the new ones, will I get a discount?" I asked
[....Yes] the Archive confirmed
Silence stretched between both of us...
"You hid this on purpose didn't you?" I whispered holding back my rage.
[I have no recollection of such events] the screen held its ground
I held its gaze for a while and then sighed.
"Fuck you" I grunted while swearing to take revenge one day.
[Love you too host]
I switched my attention back to the editing panel, then my thought moved
I decreased the time limit from 20 to 12 seconds
[Net Expenditure: 707 Karmic Coins] the updated gross expenditure appeared.
Tch, Almost had it
I decreased the time limit from 12 seconds to 11 seconds. The gross updated once again.
[Net Expenditure: 700 Karmic Coins, Proceed?]
I let out a breath I didn't knew I was holding.
"Proceed" I said to the window hovering in front of me.
[Are you sure? The Transaction is Non- Refundable]
"Proceed" I delivered the final decision.
[Transaction Successful] simultaneously with the message the edited window appeared.
{Null Craft}
Description: A Method to craft empty spaces in external and internal environments, Temporary enclosed geometric spaces.
Limitations: Spaces crafted are stable and only remain 11 seconds at max before vanishing.
Method: Think of space before you, mold it with your intent into the shape you want
Mastery: 0%
(1 / 5)
[Total Balance: 300 Karmic Coins]
It wasn't a healing art.
Temporary spatial constructs.
Temporary internal support frames reinforcing existing organ structure. Limited external constructs permitted.
Nothing exploded.
[You have 300 more coins left] the archive reminded
"I am trying to save" I defended
[Noted in quotable Non-Sense which sounds wise #1] Archive window pulsed slightly
"Okay, Now" I sat straight in the lotus position
[You are not attempting this unsupervised] the Archive said.
"I am literally supervised by an omnipresent sarcastic rectangle," I replied
[....]
Archive was at a loss of words
I adjusted myself on the bed. My ribs protested. My lungs made their opinion known. I closed my eyes.
Visualization. UPSC guides had entire sections on it for stress reduction before exam day — imagine the hall, imagine your seat, imagine the paper. This was not that, but the mechanics weren't so different.
I pictured my left lung.
Not anatomically correct; just feeling of a missing part in my chest.
A damaged, frayed balloon inside my chest.
Around it, I imagined a structure similar to lungs starting from the damaged part.
Not solid. Not metal. Lines in space, tracing a cage that did not squeeze but held. A cradle made of absence and a network of bronchioles and alveolis.
Inhale.
The air scraped in. Pain flared, familiar and ignored. I tried to feel where the breath went — down, spreading, catching at the bottom.
Around that trajectory, I imagined the frame. Four lines. Eight. A structure same as lungs.
Three breaths, the instructions had said.
One.
The first breath was always the hardest. My body did not trust that there would be enough air.
Two.
On the second breath, something changed.
It was not dramatic. No glowing aura, no shiver of power. Just a faint sense of… a place, where there had been only pain and emptiness before. Like running your hand along a wall in the dark and finding an edge you didn't know was there.
Three.
On the third breath, my chest tightened, as if the frame I'd imagined had briefly become.
The blood as if finding a new passage to go rushed
Exhale.
The sensation snapped. The faint contour vanished. My lungs returned to their previous status: underperforming and upset about it.
I opened my eyes.
"Anything?" I asked.
[One successful initiation. No measurable change to Vital Capacity.] the Archive logged.
I let my head fall back against the wall.
"How many repetitions before anything shifts?"
[For a healthy trainee, perhaps several weeks.] The Archive paused. [For you, data is insufficient. Your body is … atypical.]
"Inspiring."
I closed my eyes again.
Frame. Breath. Count.
After ten cycles, my chest burned in a new way. Not the tearing, panicked burn of overexertion, but a deep ache, as if muscles that had never been used properly were being asked to remember they existed.
[You will pass out.]
"Then I'll pass out," I said.
The world had already taken my first attempt at a future halfway across a zebra crossing in the rain. A few practice breaths were not going to scare me.
I kept going.
Somewhere around the twentieth cycle, my arms started trembling. By thirty, sweat had broken out along my spine. I lost count once, almost inhaled too sharply, had to cough it out and start again. Each time, I rebuilt the frame in my mind, the lines a little clearer.
The ache spread. My ribcage felt like it had been used as an exam hall bench for fifty years — worn, but still here.
[Idiot] the Archive said.
There was a reluctant pause.
[Vital Capacity: 31% → 32%.] Another beat. [Temporary. The effect may not hold.]
I smiled, small and mean.
"One percent," I said.
[One percent,] the Archive agreed. [You have also increased local strain markers. Your body will demand compensation later.]
"Later problem," I said. "Current problem just became fractionally less fatal."
The Null Frame panel pulsed.
Warning: Do not exceed safe repetition count.
"Let me guess," I said. "Rest?"
[Rest,] the Archive confirmed. [Ideally, under the supervision of competent medical staff.]
"I have a chair," I said. "And a sarcastic archive. That will have to do."
I let the window fade back to the edge of my vision. The room settled into focus again. The stove. The empty bowl. The note.
Eat before anything.
I had eaten.
Then I had edited an art and poked holes in the boundary between space and my lungs.
Close enough.
The light outside the window had shifted to evening. The city noises changed register: worker shifts swapping, vendors closing, hoverbikes whining a little more desperately as the first drops of rain started to tick against the glass.
My eyelids felt heavy. Sleep tugged at the edges of my thoughts, the way it had on the bridge, but less violently this time. More like a professor tapping the desk with a pen.
"Stay awake until she comes back," I told myself.
[Your mother is scheduled to return between 8 PM and 9 PM, based on previous patterns,] the Archive said. [If you collapse before then, I will wake you.]
"You can do that?"
[I can be annoying at will.]
"Comforting."
I drifted. Not fully asleep. The way you doze during boring coaching lectures — the words washing over you while some stubborn part of your brain keeps scribbling notes.
Time passed. The fan ticked. Somewhere in the building, someone argued with someone else about unpaid bills. A baby cried, then quieted. Rain thickened, turned the city into a muffled, wetly glowing thing.
and then, the lock clicked-