Arielle sat by the bed with her arms folded, watching the rise and fall of Damien’s chest like it was a puzzle she couldn’t solve.
The fact that his chest was constantly rising and falling was the only thing that kept her going. He was still alive. His breathing confird it.
"I got it. The sixth one..."
That’s what he’d whispered before going limp in her arms. That faint grin, that voice on the edge of exhaustion—calm, but satisfied.
But what did he an?
Sixth what?
He didn’t explain. Just dropped it like a secret only he could understand.
And now... he was asleep. Again.
Arielle stared at him, the confusion burning behind her quiet expression.
There were a dozen things she wanted to ask.
But she had to wait.
Several hours later.
Damien stirred.
The scent of pine. Leather polish. Lavender-infused bandages.
He opened his eyes to a room with low lighting—warm, earthy, richly furnished. Oak walls, trimd carpet. Two single beds opposite each other. He blinked once, then rolled his head to the left.
The commander was sitting on the second bed, shoulder re-wrapped, shirtless and sipping sothing steaming from a bronze cup.
"Ah," the man said, "the man of the day is finally awake."
Damien squinted. "...Where am I?"
"The commander’s quarters, my quarters." The commander said simply.
Damien frowned. "You don’t strike as the roommate type."
The man smirked. "I’m not. But you earned your way in."
Damien sat up, wincing as his shoulder throbbed faintly. "aning?"
"aning you and I were the only ones dumb enough to fight what we did and live. The dics said you’d last longer here than in the public ward." He paused, glancing at Damien. "Few ever see this room. Fewer get access into it and you’re one of those very few people."
Damien ran a hand through his hair, still stiff with dried sweat. "How long was I out?"
"You’ve been out for about a day. They said you were extrely fatigued. Anymore and your body probably would have shut down in order to prevent you from going. You’d still be asleep if that truly had happened though."
Damien glanced to the window. The sun was rising again — warm amber hues spilling across the room.
"Where’s Arielle?"
The commander pointed toward the door with his chin. "She sat with you for hours. Only left recently to find a boy she said you brought in. ’Lyone,’ I believe."
Damien exhaled. "Right. I shouldn’t have left him alone in the first place."
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling for a mont.
The commander watched him.
"You said sothing before passing out," he added casually. "Sothing about a ’sixth.’"
Damien didn’t look over. "Did I?"
"You did." The commander sipped his drink. "I assu it’s so kind of code? A squad na? Or was it ant for the girl?"
Damien turned to look at him finally.
"No offense," he said, voice flat, "but I didn’t say it for you. It was just for her."
The commander chuckled. "Fair."
They sat in silence for a mont.
Until Damien’s eyes narrowed.
He sat upright slowly, senses sharpening.
The commander caught it imdiately.
"What is it?"
Damien’s voice was low. "...Nothing."
The man raised a brow. "You sure?"
"Probably my senses still recovering. Ghost sensations. Happens sotis."
The commander didn’t press.
But Damien wasn’t lying — not completely.
His eyes drifted toward the window.
Sothing had changed in the air.
Not near.
Not imdiate.
But sothing was watching.
Sothing that was most likely not human from the way his senses felt about it. It was like its presence was wrong. Like it shouldn’t be here.
A Thousand feet in the sky above Greshan, a figure drifted motionless in the clouds, wings spread wide — four massive, leathery mbranes attached to a humanoid body of shadow and bone.
Its arms were thin but taut with sinew, and its face was a hollowed mask with deep sockets and glowing white irises.
It sighed quietly.
"Failure," it murmured.
Its voice was like smoke whispered into glass.
"They’ve slain the fused test subjects. And one of them... he’s different."
The wind shifted, carrying its words into silence.
A pause.
Then it straightened.
"I’ll report back. The higher ones won’t like this. I better be prepared for their rants and probably their anger."
It glanced down one last ti toward the commander’s quarters.
Its head tilted.
"That one... his essence wasn’t stable. It slled very oddly."
The figure’s claws flexed.
"Not entirely odd but it wasn’t anything I’m already used to."
Its wings flared once.
And it vanished into the wind.
Back on the ground, in the room where Damien was currently stuck with the commander of all of Greshan’s forces, Damien’s gaze lingered on the sky for another few seconds before he finally turned back toward the commander.
"If sothing ever looks down at this place from too far above..." he said casually, "have your people move underground. Fast."
The man raised a brow. "is that your ’senses’ talking or is that you?"
Damien gave a slow nod. "Maybe it’s just survival instincts or..."
"Or sothing older." The commander added.
"That’s right, commander." Damien forced a smile.
"Call Willor." The Commander smiled back, casually introducing himself to Damien.
Having no choice but to reciprocate the man’s introduction, Damien nodded. "I’m Damien."
Just then, a knock ca at the door.
Then a familiar voice.
"Damien?"
Arielle.
He looked toward the entrance just as the commander called out, "It’s open."
The door creaked open, and Arielle stepped inside—dust on her boots, hair wind-tousled, a faint relief flashing across her face the mont she saw him awake.
"You’re up," she said softly.
"Barely."
She walked in fully now, carrying a wrapped cloth bundle in her hand.
"Lyone’s resting. I found him asleep near the outer square watching Skylar incinerate tree trunks."
Damien smirked faintly. "Sounds like him."
She walked over, set the cloth aside, and pulled up a stool beside him.
There was a pause.
Then—
"You said sothing about... ’the sixth.’"
Damien stared ahead.
"I did."
"You were half-dead."
"I wasn’t wrong."
Arielle frowned. "What does it an, Damien?"
He didn’t answer directly but he did. "I’ll show you soon."
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