Chapter 11: Simple Warning
The soft rays of dawn filtered through the frosted glass of the infirmary windows, streaking pale golden lines across the quiet room. Dust particles floated in the still air, catching the light like fragments of sleep not yet shaken from the world. On the bed at the center, he stirred—eyes twitching under heavy lids, a breath finally drawn deeper than before.
His consciousness rose slowly, pulling him from the depths of blackout silence. The pain came first—dull throbs radiating through both his arms, pulsing beneath the tightly bound bandages where the bullets had passed cleanly through. Every muscle in his body felt like it had been stretched to its breaking point and then forced back into place. He grimaced faintly, blinking as the white ceiling above swam into view.
There was a sudden hush of movement beside him.
"You're awake…"
The voice that reached him was gentle—fragile in tone, but rich with a quiet warmth that carried deeper meaning than the words themselves. His eyes shifted slowly to the side.
She stood beside the bed, her posture poised yet tense, as if she had spent hours rooted there but still hadn't decided how close was too close. Her long hair fell in gentle waves, slightly disheveled, her eyes shimmering with layered emotions—relief, concern, and something more elusive… more guarded.
He tried to sit up, but immediately hissed at the pain shooting through his shoulders. Her hand moved instinctively to stop him, not touching him directly but hovering near enough to ground him.
"You shouldn't move yet. You passed out last night from exhaustion. Your body's still trying to catch up."
His head turned slightly, sinking back against the pillow. His voice was hoarse, dry. "...How long?"
"Just the night." She allowed herself the smallest of smiles. "You've only been out for a few hours. But you scared everyone."
He let out a soft breath. "I'm fine. It's nothing serious."
Her smile faded slightly, replaced by a careful stillness. "You say that like it's supposed to make everything okay."
Silence lingered in the room again. The kind that sits between two people when too many words remain unsaid. Eventually, the tension broke as others entered—each greeting him in turn, one by one. They spoke words of relief, encouragement, jokes, or quiet approval. Every person checked on him separately, their expressions carrying the unspoken gratitude that he had returned to them—conscious, stable, and present.
But it was her presence—subtle and unmoving beside the bed—that stood apart from the rest.
When all had said their words, and the room had begun to feel warm with the energy of reunion, he heard the firm click of boots approaching.
The instructor entered, his posture straight and voice level. He addressed the room in his usual composed tone, but even he couldn't completely mask the undertone of reassurance in his words.
"The Sub-X Mastery classes were scheduled to begin today," he began, scanning the room. "They were intended for all students, not just him. However, due to last night's incident and his current condition, those sessions will be postponed until he has fully recovered. We proceed as one, or not at all."
There were no objections. Only nods. Understanding.
And then, one by one, they left.
She was the last to go. She looked at him once more—longer than she had all morning—but said nothing. Her eyes, however, held volumes. As if she wanted to say that she was glad he was alright. That she had stayed longer than anyone because she couldn't stand the thought of leaving until she was sure he'd wake up.
And then she was gone, letting the door close softly behind her.
The air outside was calm, though the weight of the previous night still hung faintly over the academy grounds. She walked down the corridor in thoughtful silence. Her expression was calm, but there was an underlying current of tension in the way her hands remained clenched within her coat pockets. The world around her buzzed as usual, but she was tuned out—walking more through memory than space.
She was nearly at the southern edge of the academy grounds when three familiar figures approached her.
They were known to many, often seen together in the field and equally praised for their near-perfect team dynamics. Their presence was sharp and confident, and though this meeting wasn't planned, it didn't surprise her.
One of them, the most extroverted of the three, was the first to speak. His words, as usual, laced with playful bravado and flirtatious edge.
"There she is," he said, grinning. "Still the academy's coldest flame, walking like she's got secrets trailing behind her."
She stopped, half-turned toward him, offering a smirk so faint it was nearly an exhale. "Don't start."
"Come on," he said, leaning a bit too close, voice playful. "Don't tell me you weren't waiting to run into us. Especially me."
Her reply was a small chuckle—but not the kind born from amusement. It was colder. Polished. The type of laughter used to dismiss, not entertain.
"If that's what helps you sleep," she said with a shrug, her tone perfectly sweet and utterly distant.
She kept walking. The others offered small nods, no real words beyond a brief check-in. The atmosphere between them was one of familiarity, but it was thin. Polite at best.
She didn't mind them. Not really. But in this moment—after what had happened, after what she had seen—she had no patience for games, and even less for hollow flirtations. Her mood was restrained, her thoughts still tied to the quiet bed where someone was slowly recovering after nearly collapsing under the weight of something even he didn't understand.
As she passed further through the open gates and stepped beyond the academy's perimeter, she couldn't help but notice how many people had shown up earlier. All for him.
It made something stir in her. Something quiet but proud. He had always felt like an outsider—even when surrounded by others—but today proved otherwise. People cared. They truly did. He mattered more than he thought.
The southern district of Solkarion City was bathed in soft gold, the late afternoon sun painting the stone walls and narrow alleys in hues of orange and amber. The streets here were older, quieter. A wind brushed past gently, tugging at her coat and the hem of her long hair as she made her way toward home.
But as she turned into the final alley that led to her street, she saw someone.
A man.
He stood alone in the center of the path, tall and poised. Dressed entirely in a black suit, the kind too formal for this part of town, too deliberate. His face was partially hidden beneath the edge of his collar, and his posture radiated a sense of calm menace.
He held out a flower—dark violet, almost black in color, with petals curled inward like secrets being whispered.
She stopped.
He extended the flower further. "For you."
She eyed him warily, her voice cold. "I don't take flowers from people who appear out of nowhere."
Without waiting for a response, she moved to walk past him. But then his voice followed her—smooth and low.
"You're a friend of him… aren't you?"
She halted. The weight of the words fell on her spine like frost.
She turned sharply. "Who?"
The man didn't answer. He only smiled faintly, as though the question had been rhetorical.
"You don't need to know everything," he said. "But know this—his life is in danger. Not the kind you expect. Something simpler. Simpler, yet far more permanent."
Her expression darkened. She stepped forward, fury laced behind her gaze.
"What are you talking about?" she demanded. "What do you mean by that?"
The man didn't flinch. Instead, his hand moved subtly beneath the folds of his cloak.
Her muscles tensed. She prepared to react—but then the man hesitated.
His eyes shifted—glancing behind her, sensing something.
And then, with an unsettling calm, he turned.
"No need for drama," he muttered.
He took a step away and, within a second, vanished into the air—his form unraveling like smoke dissipating into the wind.
She rushed forward, eyes darting across the empty alley. He was gone.
And then, from behind her, a voice called out.
Cool. Casual. Effortless.
"Hey," said the voice. "What's up with those little sweats?"
She turned sharply.
Her heart still racing. Her thoughts still spiraling.
But something had shifted.
Something was coming.
And the city would never sleep quietly again.