Rā'id awoke to the smell of antiseptic and iron.
Pain wrapped around his skull like barbed wire. He tried to move — thick straps pinned his wrists and ankles to a steel bed.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. His vision blurred, forming streaks of white and gray. He blinked until a face sharpened into view.
A Soviet officer.
"Good," the officer said calmly. "You're alive."
Rā'id's throat was raw. "Where… where am I?"
"Smolensk Military Hospital. You've been unconscious for three days."
The officer — a man in his fifties with cold eyes and medals reflecting pale light — leaned closer.
"I am Colonel Viktor Sokolov. You should be dead."
Memories struck Rā'id all at once — the crypt, Elise running, the explosion… the darkness.
"Elise," he gasped. "Where is she? Did she make it?"
Sokolov's expression didn't change. "She escaped. We received word of a lone woman crossing the Meuse with the capsule. She is en route to Leningrad now."
Rā'id breathed out — relief and dread twisted together.
"She's safe…"
"For now," Sokolov replied. "But we intercepted communications… The Nazis sent their best hunter after her. A man we thought dead."
Rā'id frowned. "Who?"
The colonel slid a photograph onto his chest.
A man in a black cloak, face scarred, eyes burning like embers.
Dr. Viktor Anselm. Leader of Division Thule.
A predator built for genocidal miracles.
Rā'id stared at the ceiling. "Then I must go."
He struggled against the restraints but groaned in pain — his ribs felt shattered.
"You are in no condition to leave," Sokolov said.
"And you assume we will let a foreigner roam freely?"
Rā'id's eyes flashed. "You need me. I know the Fireheart project better than anyone outside Berlin. I stole the Fireseed. And I know how Himmler thinks."
Sokolov paused. For the first time, his stern authority flickered.
"You believe yourself important. Good. That arrogance will keep you alive in Moscow."
He cut the restraints.
"You leave for the Kremlin tomorrow."
Night fell.
Rā'id sat alone by a small window, watching snowfall swallow the world in silence.
He felt like a ghost — alive by mistake.
A nurse entered quietly with a tray of soup. She was young, cheeks pink from cold, a small silver cross around her neck.
"You're the Arab agent," she whispered with curiosity.
He nodded. "Rā'id Khaled."
She smiled shyly. "I'm Anya."
Then her smile faded as she noticed his trembling hands.
"You're afraid," she said softly.
He inhaled. "The Nazis… they are building something that defies God and science both. And now the Soviets want to match them."
He stared into the soup, seeing the Fireseed's glow in his imagination.
"If both sides succeed… the world ends."
Anya hesitated… then gently placed her hand over his.
"You stopped them once," she said. "You can stop them again."
He looked into her eyes — gentle, hopeful eyes — and found strength he didn't know he still had.
"Thank you," he said.
She stepped out, leaving warmth in a room built for fear.
Midnight.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway — slow, deliberate.
Rā'id tensed, instinct gripping his spine.
The door slid open.
Colonel Sokolov entered… but there was darkness behind him.
A tall figure stepped into the light.
A black cloak.
A silver serpent insignia.
Eyes glowing faint red.
Rā'id's blood turned to ice.
Dr. Anselm.
"Soviets," Anselm sighed. "You build walls and call it safety. You build illusions and call it power."
Sokolov reached for his pistol — he never touched it.
Anselm's hand flicked. A crimson shockwave rippled through the air.
The colonel's body collapsed, eyes blank, blood seeping from his ears.
Rā'id tried to stand — his legs betrayed him and he fell to the cold floor.
Anselm looked down at him with a calm, clinical fascination.
"You have something that belongs to the Reich. Where is the Fireseed?"
Rā'id glared weakly.
"Far from you."
Anselm crouched, placing a gloved hand on his chest — Rā'id convulsed, pain exploding through every nerve.
"You misunderstand," Anselm whispered.
"I don't need your words. I can see memories now."
Rā'id screamed silently as images tore through his mind — the escape, Elise, the capsule… the route north.
Anselm stood.
"The woman. Elise Weber. She will lead us straight to the vial."
Alarms blared — Red Army soldiers charged down the corridor shouting orders.
Anselm stepped back into the shadows — and vanished, dissolving like smoke.
Rā'id collapsed, gasping for breath, heart pounding with terror and rage.
Elise was alone.
And now the hunter had her scent.
He forced himself up — ignoring pain, fear, the weight of inevitability.
"I have to reach her…"
He grabbed Sokolov's pistol from the floor.
"…before he does."