Minutes blurred into hours, slipping past unnoticed in the sterile glow of artificial light.
The technician barely moved from his station, his eyes fixed on the data streaming across the screen. Numbers, sequences, patterns—each line pulling him deeper, tightening his focus until the outside world ceased to exist. Even the low hum of the machines faded into the background, becoming nothing more than a distant, chanical heartbeat.
He was so consud that he failed to notice the quiet shift behind him.
The back door slid open without a sound.
No footsteps.
No warning.
Just a presence—silent and deliberate—slipping into the room like a shadow that didn’t belong.
The so-called "mini hospital" was anything but modest.
From the outside, it appeared to be nothing more than a cluster of modular housing units, hastily assembled and connected into a functional space. But inside, it told a very different story.
Cold, polished surfaces reflected the stark white lighting. Advanced diagnostic machines lined the walls—sleek, unfamiliar models bearing markings from different countries. So equipnt still had labels in foreign languages, their origins unmistakable.
This wasn’t local. This was from abroad.
Every device, every system, every piece of technology spoke of one undeniable truth:
The ruins buried beneath Isla weren’t just important—
They were world-changing.
Governnts, institutions, and powerful organizations had all extended their reach here, pouring in resources without hesitation. Whatever lay beneath the island had captured the attention of the entire world... and no one was willing to be left behind.
And yet—
Despite all that sophistication, all that investnt...
No sensor. No cara. No machine—
Not a single one registered the figure that had just entered from the back.
...
A soft cough cut through the steady hum of machinery—subtle, but deliberate.
The technician froze.
It was just enough to snap him out of the trance he’d fallen into. He turned sharply in his chair—and imdiately shot to his feet, the sudden movent sending the wheeled seat skidding backward. It wobbled dangerously, nearly toppling over before settling with a faint screech against the floor.
"G-General—!" he stamred, his voice catching in his throat. "I didn’t hear you co in. What... what can I do for you, sir?"
The man standing before him didn’t respond right away.
He remained near the doorway, still clad in full uniform, its crisp lines and insignias untouched by the long hours of the day. His presence alone seed to press down on the room, heavy and unyielding.
"The man who ca in earlier," the general said at last, his tone calm but edged with authority. "What did he ask you to do?"
The technician swallowed.
"Ah... that was Major Norse, sir." He forced a small, nervous smile, though it faltered almost imdiately. "He, um... provided so samples for analysis."
The general took a slow step forward.
"What kind of samples?"
The question landed harder this ti—sharp, precise, leaving no room to evade.
The technician’s mouth opened... then closed.
For a brief mont, the sterile room felt suffocating.
He was trapped between protocol and pressure. The orders were clear—confidentiality was absolute when it ca to genetic testing. He wasn’t authorized to disclose anything.
But the man in front of him, who dared approach?
This was the general.
And worse—
The general didn’t look like a man asking a question.
He looked like a man confirming sothing he already knew.
"I..." The technician hesitated, fingers curling slightly at his sides. "They’re just... routine checks, sir."
Silence followed.
The general’s gaze drifted—not to the technician, but to the workstation.
To the samples. To the label.
He had seen it earlier, if only for a fleeting second.
But that was enough.
Jane Marcelo.
The na lingered in his mind, sharp and unfamiliar.
His brows drew together, the lines on his forehead deepening as sothing colder settled behind his eyes.
Who... was that?
And why would Major Norse be interested in her blood?
The general rolled the na over in his thoughts, testing it, weighing it.
It ant nothing.
And that, in itself, was the problem.
He had spent decades in service—long enough to know that nothing tied to n like Major Norse was ever aningless.
Especially not sothing as precise... as deliberate... as a DNA test.
Major Liam Norse was not careless.
Not impulsive.
If he went out of his way to obtain a sample—personally—then whatever he was looking for was not sothing he trusted to chance... or to anyone else.
Which ant—
This Jane Marcelo was not ordinary.
The general’s gaze drifted toward the softly humming machines, their screens flickering with data he didn’t need to understand to grasp the weight of what was happening.
DNA testing.
Identity verification.
Bloodline confirmation.
There were only a handful of reasons soone would go this far.
To prove a suspicion.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
The island had already beco a convergence point for too many forces—political, scientific, and... hidden.
The ruins beneath Isla were enough to draw the attention of the world.
Ancient structures buried beneath layers of earth and ti, untouched, sealed—waiting.
Waiting for the right hands.
Or the wrong ones.
And now, layered on top of that, a quiet, almost invisible move from the Norse family.
The general exhaled slowly.
He did not believe in coincidences.
Not after everything he had seen.
The Belmonts.
The Zuvels.
The Nades.
The Norses.
Old families. Old money. Older secrets.
Their alliances went beyond appearances.
If Major Norse was testing blood, then it was tied to sothing deeper than curiosity.
Sothing buried. Just like the ruins.
His mind circled back to the girl.
There was always soone at the center of these things—soone unaware, soone unprepared.
Jane Marcelo.
The na sounded... civilian.
Unremarkable.
Almost deliberately so.
A na that could disappear in a crowd.
Which made it even more suspicious.
Who are you?
The question surfaced unbidden, quiet but persistent.
And why does your blood matter?
Behind him, the technician shifted slightly, still waiting, still unsure if he was dismissed.
The general didn’t turn.
"Run the test," he said calmly, his voice once again stripped of any trace of inner tension. "And when the results co out..."
He paused.
Just for a fraction of a second.
"...I want a copy."
The technician stiffened. "S-Sir, I—those results are—"
"Confidential?" the general finished, finally glancing over his shoulder.
There was no anger in his expression. Only certainty.
"They are now a matter of security."
The words settled like a verdict.
As he stepped toward the door, the general’s thoughts sharpened, aligning into sothing colder. More focused.
If this was about bloodlines, then it was about power.
And if it was about power... then it was already too late to ignore.
...
Outside, the air was hot, carrying the distant sounds of activity from across the island.
Lights flickered in the distance—teams still working, still digging, still chasing whatever secrets lay beneath the earth.
The general paused briefly, his gaze lifting toward the horizon.
Sowhere out there—
Pieces were being set into place.
Not just by him. Not just by the military.
But by families who had been playing this ga long before he ever stepped onto the board.
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