Chapter 85
Haven Hospital
The hallway stretched out endlessly before her, sterile and polished to perfection. Its white floors reflected the soft overhead lights, and its walls were lined with pale cream panels, broken occasionally by framed paintings of serene landscapes and wildflowers. The occasional scent of antiseptic drifted through the air, sharp and clean. It was quiet—very quiet, even for a hospital.
A woman walked with purposeful steps, her soft pink-and-white nurse uniform fluttering slightly with each stride. She held a sleek, silver-edged tablet close to her chest. Her white cap, adorned with a barely visible silver thread pattern, sat crisply on her head, pinning back her neatly tied brown hair. Her name was Maye.
She passed by other staff—nurses, doctors, a few orderlies—and nodded politely when greeted, always keeping her pace steady. Some of the doctors she passed were discussing in hushed tones.
Patients occasionally moved through the corridor, but never alone. Each was accompanied by a personal nurse, a reflection of the immense wealth and influence required to be treated here. The presence of those escorts was not just for care—it was for protection.
Because this was no ordinary hospital.
This was Haven Hospital, one of the most elite and exclusive medical institutions in the country of Hope. Hidden in plain sight in the Higher Sector, a district reserved for the most powerful, the building bore no signage. No crest. No nameplate by the entrance. From the outside, it looked like a silent monolith of marble and steel, indistinguishable from the other towering structures in the elite district. And that was by design.
To the public, it was just another government-affiliated facility. To those who mattered—it was a fortress of healing.
It wasn't the largest hospital in Hope, but in quality, security, and secrecy, it stood unparalleled. Its staff was handpicked from a pool of thousands, and every single one of the thirty doctors on rotation were Ascenders—each one a powerful individual who had long since left ordinary human strength behind. The seventy nurses had undergone not just medical testing, but rigorous physical and psychological evaluations, many of them also experienced Ascenders in their own right.
Maye herself was a descendant of the beastman race. She had sharp eyes and a keen sense of awareness, though her gentle demeanor hid the true depth of her senses. She had served at Haven for two years—just long enough to understand the weight of her position, and short enough to still feel the awe every time she walked its quiet halls. She was pretty young at the age of twenty six.
Beyond the walls of medicine, Haven was also a citadel. Its defense system was one of the most elaborate in the entire country. Forty guards patrolled the interior and exterior at all times, most hidden, some visible—a quiet deterrent. Thirty-six of them were experienced Ascenders. The remaining four were Masters.
From rooftop snipers positioned across neighboring buildings, to hidden sentry stations within Haven itself, no one entered or left without clearance. Over the course of its sixty-year history, Haven had endured assassination attempts, terror raids, and internal espionage. Not once had an important figure died within its walls. That was the reputation Haven Hospital held.
And that was why the boy—IAM—was here.
Maye's eyes flicked to the tablet again as she neared her destination. The screen displayed the boy's profile: seventeen years old. Rank: novice. Status: sole survivor of the Hold.
Her fingers hesitated slightly as she read that again. The Hold. It still felt surreal. A military fortress—one of Hope's greatest defensive strongholds—reduced to ash, with not a single trace of life remaining.
Except for him.
IAM. A boy. Not a master. Not even experienced. A novice.
The details were sparse, heavily redacted. But what was clear was that everyone else who'd been deployed had either perished or been revealed as part of the enemy faction. The implications of that made Maye's stomach tighten. She couldn't imagine the kind of psychological trauma this boy must be carrying. Survivor's guilt. Paranoia. Possibly worse.
She stopped walking as she reached the door.
This was his private room—soundproofed, shielded, guarded. She composed herself, straightened her cap, and rehearsed her words.
His injuries had been severe—almost fatal—but he had made it through. He was healed now. Physically, at least. But in the report she'd read, the doctors noted that since regaining consciousness, he hadn't spoken a single word. His vitals were stable. Brain activity normal. But he hadn't responded to anyone. Not to questions. Not even to his own name.
That was why she was here.
To check his condition.
To feed him.
To try and speak with him. Connect with him. See if anything of the boy beneath the trauma still remained.
Maye inhaled deeply. She put on her softest, most comforting smile—the one she'd been told always made her seem warm and trustworthy. Then, gripping the tray with his meal, she opened the door and stepped inside.
"Hello, it's—"
The words died in her throat.
A sound—half gasp, half choked whimper—escaped her lips.
Her hand flew to her mouth, and her knees nearly buckled beneath her.
The tray slipped from her fingers.
Porcelain shattered against the pristine floor.
Because before her—suspended in the dim, quiet room—was the patient.
IAM.
Hanging from the metal frame of the overhead light.
His bedsheet had been twisted into a crude noose, looped tightly around his throat and tied firmly around the frame. His bare feet dangled several feet off the ground, still. His arms hung limply by his sides. His hospital gown fluttered gently from the breeze of the overhead vent, like a mockery of peace.
His head was slumped forward. His locs obscured most of his face, casting shadows across his features.
But there was no doubt.
It was him.
The survivor of the Hold.
The boy who had endured what no one else could.
Now...
Hanging in the middle of a silent room.
For a moment, the world felt frozen. The sterile hum of the hospital, the distant murmurs of staff, the gentle breeze from the vent—everything faded.
Maye couldn't breathe.
Her body refused to move. Her voice wouldn't work.
The sight was so grotesquely out of place. In this perfectly protected place, in this bastion of elite care and security.
She staggered forward. Reached up with trembling fingers.
Her voice returned in a strangled whisper.
"Help! Someone—HELP!!"
Footsteps thundered behind her as guards and doctors rushed into the room.
The light above flickered once—then steadied.
And IAM's body swayed gently in the breeze