I could have been a star.

No, not like some giant ball of gas hanging in the endless expanse of space, but someone people look up to—someone others admire, aspire to be. I could have been a model with my slim physique and poised demeanor, an actor on screen, or even a dancer, my limbs long and graceful.

But no.

I became a doctor. Sort of.

In Velorion, a nation where technology and science stretch beyond imagination, it’s customary for every child to undergo an assessment by the Great Eye—a gleaming, sentient orb at the heart of our capital city, Thalethis. The Eye’s purpose is to determine each child’s future path, their role in the grand machinery of our society.

After the decision, the child is sent to a facility for body and brain alterations—an operation meant to optimize them, to make them the best version of themselves. We’re hooked up to machines, put under for what feels like a moment, and then transformed. The process is brief, but the recovery can take months. Our very DNA is restructured—our bodies, minds, and even our heights altered to perfection.

I was nine when it happened to me. I stepped onto the silver plate before the Great Eye, located in the center of Thalethis. The plate parted slowly to reveal the golden orb within. It studied me for a long time, its unfathomable gaze sweeping over every inch of me.

I stood still, doing my best to keep my breath steady, but it was impossible to remain calm in the face of something so immense, so mysterious. A loud boom broke the silence.

“Elara Tetherbane,” the Eye declared in its deep, mechanical voice. “Your future is decided. Doctor.”

My mother gasped in delight below me, embracing my father, while he patted her back in response. I should have smiled, I should have been happy—after all, I was destined for a respectable career—but instead, I felt a strange emptiness. I had expected something more, something a child dreams of—maybe an astronaut, or a ballerina. But no, a doctor.

I was about to step down when the Eye’s voice returned, this time with an unsettling hesitation.

“Elara-a-a—“

The Eye faltered, its usual clarity replaced with an odd sputter. I couldn’t explain it, but something had gone wrong. The orb seemed to hesitate, as if unsure of me. A spark shot from it, and for a moment, everything felt… off. But before I could process it further, soldiers ushered me away to make room for the next child, as if the moment had never occurred.

The rest of the day was a blur. The trip to the factory. A boy with black hair handing me a lollipop and wishing me a successful operation. The surgery itself. I don’t remember much—only that the drugs made everything feel distant, like I was floating through it all.

Current Day

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I clicked my pen against the clipboard as I walked through the sterile halls of Sector 1’s Central Hospital. In a city of flying cars and instant teleportation, many might find it strange that I prefer the feel of paper to digital data, but I find something comforting about it. Paper can’t be hacked or altered by some glitch or malfunction.

I massaged my temples as I walked, reviewing patient notes. My tired eyes flicked over each file, noting the conditions of my patients. The list grew longer as I passed by the bright white walls of the hallway:

‘Jayne Tettra. 23. Pulmonary Embolism.’

Flip.

‘Hamish Ledorré. 65. Congestive Heart Failure.’

Flip.

‘Roddrick Sashe. 48. Urinary Tract Infection.’

Flip.

‘Lucy Gray. 8. Intracranial Hemorrhage.’

I stopped on this one. Lucy’s picture caught my eye—a smiling child with brown pigtails. Her condition was serious, rare for someone her age. She was my priority this morning. I made my way toward her room, the hum of the hospital around me.

As I neared her room, a scuffle caught my attention. I paused, narrowing my eyes as I retraced my steps, following the noise.

At a pair of reinforced iron doors, five guards struggled to contain a large, thrashing figure. My heart skipped. While it wasn’t uncommon for patients to be agitated, this situation felt different.

A dark figure, scales glinting along his face and neck, struggled against his restraints, hissing angrily at the guards. His slitted amber eyes locked onto me, and I froze.

An Altered Predacine.

These creatures, once human, are subjects of the most dangerous and inhumane experiments—humans whose DNA has been fused with that of various animals, transforming them into grotesque soldiers of the state. They give up their humanity in service of Velorion.

The creature’s face twisted in a snarl, showing elongated canines. Soldiers injected him with suppressors, dragging him behind the doors, which sealed with a loud thunk.

I blinked, forcing myself to focus. That was a danger I’d have to deal with later. For now, I needed to attend to Lucy. I knocked softly on her door and entered.

She lay on the bed, eyes unfocused, looking fragile. I smiled softly, sitting beside her.

“Hi, Lucy. I’m Dr. Elara. I hear you’re not feeling well.”

She nodded faintly, her little body still.

“Can I take a look?”

Another small nod, and I began my quick scan, confirming what I suspected—brain bleed, near the brainstem. I immediately sent a message for the OR to be prepped. Time was critical.

“Good news, Lucy,” I said, offering her a reassuring smile. “We know what’s going on, and we’re going to help you feel better.”

She smiled weakly as I gently squeezed her hand.

“You’re in good hands,” I promised her, before noticing the fear in her eyes. She barely whispered, her lip trembling.

“I-I’m… afraid…”

My heart tightened. I knelt beside her, speaking softly. “It’s okay, Lucy. I understand. It’s scary, but you don’t have to do it alone. We’re all here for you.”

I glanced around, spotting a shelf of stuffed animals. “How about you pick a friend to come with you?” I suggested. “One of these little guys can go with you to the room.”

Her eyes lingered on the shelf, and after a pause, she pointed to a soft, white bear. I gently placed it in her arms.

“This one’s perfect,” I said, smoothing its fur. “You can hold onto it whenever you need to, okay?”

She clutched the bear tightly, the tension in her face easing slightly.

“Thank you, Dr. Elara…” she whispered.

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” I replied, standing up. “You’re going to be just fine.”

As the nurses arrived to take her to the operating room, I felt a quiet relief. It wasn’t just the surgery or the machines—it was the small things, like the bear, the kind words—that made all the difference.

The door clicked shut, and I exhaled, turning to check on the preparations. Just then, my phone buzzed.

I read the message, and my stomach twisted.

Dr. Elara, we need you in the lower levels. Serpent Class Level 4 AP in need of medical attention. Report immediately.

My heart skipped. The same kind of creature I’d just seen—volatile, dangerous.

I hurried to the elevator, feeling the weight of the situation settle over me.

“Let’s see what kind of trouble we’re in.”