The quarantine lasted seventy-two hours. Seventy-two hours of sterile white walls, the constant hum of air scrubbers, and the prickling sensation of bio-scans probing his body for any trace of Vex's engineered plagues. For Arthur, it was a special kind of hell.
The physical confinement was nothing compared to the mental prison. Trapped in the medbay, he was alone with the memories of Prometheus Labs. The images of the twisted Chimeras, the silent, floating victims in their pods, and Golem's scream as his fire-whip found its mark played behind his eyes every time he closed them.
The medical staff were efficient and silent, their faces unreadable behind clear visors. He was a specimen, a potential carrier. The only voice from the outside was Marcellus Gears, who appeared on the comms screen in his room, his expression grim.
"The scans are clean," Gears reported, his voice tinny through the speaker. "No biological or nanite contaminants detected. Vex appears to be focused on genetic splicing, not infectious agents. A small mercy."
"And the team?" Arthur asked, his voice hoarse from disuse.
"The same. All clear. The psychological debriefs are ongoing." Gears paused, his gaze intensifying. "The data you retrieved, however fragmented, is invaluable. It confirms our worst fears about Vex's progress. Your... performance... against the advanced Chimeras has been noted. We will need to adjust our training regimens accordingly."
There it was. Serena was right. He was now a data point, a variable in an escalating arms race. The memory was no longer just his own; it was a file in Gears' database.
When the quarantine was finally lifted, the door to his room hissed open. The air of the Aerie felt different—colder, heavier. He walked into the common area to find the team scattered around, but the usual dynamic was shattered.
Warner was trying to joke with Merrill, but the laughter was forced, brittle. Josefa was staring blankly at a wall, her tail lying limp on the floor. Henry was obsessively cleaning his equipment, his movements sharp and anxious. Carrie was absent, likely in the training sector, trying to punch her frustrations into a holographic dummy.
Serena was waiting for him. She stood by the viewscreen, her arms crossed. She looked as impeccable as ever, but the shadows under her eyes were darker.
"Caldera," she greeted him, her tone formal. "The mission analysis is complete. We will review it as a team in one hour."
"No 'welcome back'?" Arthur asked, the words coming out harsher than he intended.
"Back to what?" she replied, her pink eyes meeting his. "The world where we almost died in a pit of discarded experiments? We are not 'back.' We are regrouping." She turned to leave, then paused. "Your new abilities saved lives. But they also increased our threat profile exponentially. Remember that."
Her words were a cold splash of reality. There was no comfort here, only the relentless pressure of the mission.
Retreating to his room, Arthur did the only thing he could think of. He activated the private, encrypted channel. He typed a message to Kirche, a simple, desperate line.
> I'm safe. Back at base. Can't talk long. I'm ok.
He stared at the screen, waiting for the typing bubbles to appear, for any sign of life. Seconds stretched into a minute. Nothing. The silence from her end was a void more terrifying than any Chimera.
Just as despair began to claw at his insides, a single, glowing word appeared in response.
> Breathe.
Followed a moment later by another.
> Anchor.
A sob caught in Arthur's throat. She was there. She had felt his turmoil across the distance. She couldn't send a long message, couldn't risk a call, but she had sent the two words he needed most. A command to steady himself. A reminder of what he was fighting for.
He closed his eyes, following her order. He breathed in, and for the first time in days, the coiling heat in his core settled not into a weapon, but into a warm, steady glow. The anchor held.
He was out of quarantine. But the real healing, for him and for his team, had only just begun. The battle had left scars that no medbay could scan for, and the path forward was darker and more complex than any of them had imagined. But he was not alone. He had an anchor, and for now, that was enough.