Sil — or "the little one," as they often called him — was known for being difficult, unstable, and reclusive. Most days, he kept to the shadows of his mind: a dark room where he curled up in the farthest corner, knees pressed against his chest, head buried low. The room had a single chair, mostly, reserved for Vorden or Rayten to take control of their shared body. Vorden sat there most frequently, guiding them through the real world, while Rayten loomed nearby — sometimes offering counsel, more often barking curses in frustration. Sil rarely spoke. He rarely stirred.
When the Dalki ship came crashing down onto Earth, its impact sent a shockwave of dust and vibration that toppled the military bus. Inside, a sleeping gas had kept everyone subdued — and the only person awake, Sergeant Griff was caught unprepared, unable to react in time.
But within the dark room of Sil's fractured mind, the tremor was felt differently. The chair sat empty. Then, as Quin's desperate voice pierced the fog, calling Vorden to wake, Sil stirred. For the briefest moment, he sat up, walked forward, and took the chair. Something about Quin — a strange familiarity, perhaps a resemblance to someone long forgotten named Caser — pulled at Sil. And just like that, he grew attached.
Vorden was never supposed to be here this long. He'd been granted two years at the military academy to learn how to engage with the world, to meet people, to understand society beyond the walls of Blade Island. But the Dalki invasion had cut that short. Now everything was unraveling too quickly — too soon.
His mind was a tangled mess of fear and uncertainty. Before the academy, he'd never been allowed to mix with the outside world. No public schools. No normal life. The academy had been his first real taste of freedom of connection. And the life he was about to leave behind was a sad reality.
Returning to the Blade Family meant surrendering that freedom. Everything on Blade Island was governed by a strict hierarchy, watched over by Vorden's grandfather — a cold, calculating man. Once they went back, there would be no more free movement. No more decisions of their own. Vorden would be back under a microscope, his every step weighed and measured.
Thinking of his family sent a cold shiver down his spine.
The idea of bringing Quin with them terrified him even more. The Blades were secretive, and outsiders were not welcome. Even if his grandfather was softer on Sil than the others — and that was a gamble Vorden had to take because of Sil — there was no telling what they might do to someone like Quin. Bringing him could be dangerous. For Quin. For all of them.
And yet, there was no stopping Sil now. Vorden and Rayten had always been patient with him, indulging his volatile nature. Sil had no other friends — only them — and the hope had been that the time at the academy would coax him out of his mental prison. That he might grow, even change. But with the sudden predicament, the mission was now clear: get Sil home, safely. That responsibility lay squarely on Vorden and Rayten's shoulders.
but even though it is Sil's stubbornness that would make him to bring quin along, vorden felt a little good about at least making a friend other than his family and the people in his shared body.