The dorm was quiet.
Not the tense, bitter kind of quiet that came after a fight…
This was different.
Still.
Gentle.
Jack blinked awake.
He didn't know what time it was. The lights were off, the vents hummed low, and the cold steel room around him was painted in blue-gray shadows. But something had pulled him out of sleep.
A sound.
Soft. Faint.
Humming.
At first, he thought it was a dream. But no — it was real.
A fragile little melody drifting through the hallway like it didn't want to be caught.
Not haunting.
Not sorrowful.
Just… peaceful.
Jack's body, still aching from the earlier battle, relaxed more than it had in days. The tightness in his chest loosened. The buzzing in his skull dimmed.
He sat up slowly, bare feet touching the floor. The voices in his head stirred slightly, but not with hunger or madness—just confusion.
> What is that...?
It's soft… warm… foreign…
Jack stood and walked to his door.
The humming grew clearer with every step.
He followed the sound down the short hall of their dorm section, past the food slot and the old vents. The sound led him to a cracked door—Ruin's room. Barely open.
The melody floated through like warm air.
Jack pushed the door open gently.
Ruin sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes closed, arms wrapped around his knees. He was humming—the same melody Jack had heard. Soft and wordless. No magic surging from it. No agony or collapse.
Just a voice.
And it was beautiful.
Ruin's eyes shot open the second Jack stepped inside.
He flinched hard and nearly fell off the bed. "S-sorry—! I didn't mean to—I thought—!"
Jack raised a hand quickly. "Hey, hey. It's me. Don't worry."
Ruin stared at him wide-eyed, chest rising and falling.
Jack stepped into the room slowly. "Your door was cracked… I heard you humming."
"I didn't mean to wake you," Ruin said quietly. "I… couldn't sleep. The battle keeps replaying in my head."
Jack sat down across from him, on the edge of the opposite bed.
"You didn't wake me," Jack said. "I think it… helped me. Actually."
Ruin blinked. "Helped you?"
Jack nodded, rubbing his arms slowly. "When I heard it, I felt calm. Relaxed. The voices in my head didn't scream. My chest didn't burn. It was… peaceful."
Ruin stared down at his knees.
Jack looked at him more carefully. "That's different from what you did in the arena. That… broke people. This calmed me. Does your power work different depending on how you sing?"
Ruin hesitated. Then nodded.
"It's all part of the same thing," he whispered. "But the intent matters. The words. The emotion behind it. If I sing from pain… people feel pain. If I sing from grief… they drown in it."
He looked up, just a little. "But when I hum… or sing from peace… it spreads too. Like... like a ripple in still water."
Jack listened carefully, his brows drawn. "So it's not just a weapon."
"No," Ruin said. "It never was. People just made it one."
Jack nodded slowly. "It's beautiful."
Ruin's cheeks flushed slightly, and he looked away. "You really think so?"
"I know so," Jack said. "You're the only person I've met in this place who can calm people. That's not just rare. That's powerful."
Silence filled the room again—but it wasn't awkward.
It was soft.
Comfortable.
Jack leaned back on his hands, eyes half closed. "You can keep humming, if you want."
Ruin glanced at him shyly. "You… won't think it's weird?"
Jack chuckled. "I live with a monster jellyfish that screams and eats people. I think I'm past 'weird.'"
Ruin smiled—just a little—and started to hum again.
And Jack stayed.
Not because he was watching him.
Ruin hummed again—softer this time.
The tune flowed like water, rising and falling with a strange natural rhythm.
But this time… it changed.
The sound wasn't just a melody anymore. It shaped itself.
It swirled through the air like wind between wheat fields.
Jack's eyes widened slightly as the room seemed to breathe with the music. Not magically—not violently. But like it was remembering something too.
He closed his eyes.
And suddenly… he was home.
He heard the wind brushing over golden grass.
The chirp of small birds in the rafters.
The soft creak of the farmhouse door as it opened just enough to let the breeze in.
For a moment, he could smell the dirt again. Hear the groan of old wood under his grandfather's footsteps. See the sun breaking through the slats of the barn roof in perfect, glowing beams.
Ruin kept humming.
And Jack… felt like a child again.
Not the broken weapon they made him into.
Just Jack.
The wind in the sound shifted slightly, mimicking the howl of distant trees swaying gently. There was no power flaring, no screaming magic—but the emotion that poured from Ruin's chest was raw. Honest. Healing.
Jack didn't speak.
He couldn't.
A tightness in his throat locked the words away.
He just listened.
And with every note… he let a little bit of the pain go.
When the humming finally faded, silence returned—but not the kind that hurt.
This one wrapped around them like a blanket.
Ruin looked up, unsure.
Jack was still staring at the ceiling, blinking slowly.
"…That sounded like home," he whispered.
Ruin tilted his head. "Home?"
Jack nodded once, still dazed. "The wind… the birds… the quiet… You made me remember the farm."
Ruin's lips parted in surprise. "I—I didn't mean to. I just… was thinking about mine."
Jack looked at him. "Where was your home?"
Ruin hesitated. "A little place outside the city. We had a trailer. My sister and I used to climb on the roof when we couldn't sleep. She'd hum like that. Said it helped her hear the birds, even in the dark."
Jack smiled softly. "You sound like her when you do it."
Ruin lowered his gaze. "She protected me. She stood in front of me when they came. She didn't run. She didn't even scream."
There was a long pause.
Jack sat up.
He reached over and, gently, without saying anything, rubbed his hand through Ruin's hair—soft and slow,
Ruin tensed at first.
But then melted, letting his eyes fall shut.
Jack leaned closer and whispered:
"I'll be your big brother now."
Ruin's breath hitched. His hands clenched the edge of the mattress—but he didn't cry.
He just nodded.
And whispered back:
"Okay."