I heard birds chirping.
That's the first thing.
Not some screams. Not the wet sound of blades cutting through Duman flesh. Not his broken laugh.
The familiar smell hit my nose—wood, old blankets, the faint sweetness of morning air. Home. Village house.
I slowly opened my eyes. Above me, the ceiling fan was moving. Steady rhythm. Creaking slightly with each rotation, like it had been doing it for years and planned to keep doing it for years more.
The sun rays entered the room. I looked in that direction and saw dust particles floating on the light, dancing like they didn't have a care in the world.
My head hurt. So much.
Everything felt heavy. My limbs. My eyelids. My thoughts.
I tried to piece together what happened. The mission. The Duman. My team. The girl.
Arc.... Arghh
Her name surfaced from the fog in my brain. Blonde hair. Red eyes. White turtleneck.
And then—
Nothing.
Just darkness after that.
How did I get here? How did I survive? How did—
"You're awake."
A voice. Familiar. Soft. Female.
"Good morning, Young Master."
I slowly moved my face toward the voice.
And there she was. Shenhe Nimends .
She was sitting on a chair beside my bed, posture perfect, hands folded in her lap. White hair catching the morning light. Blue eyes watching me with that same unreadable expression she always wore.
"Good morning, Shenhe."
My voice came out rough. Scratchy. Like I haven't used it in days.
She didn't respond immediately. Just studied me, her head tilted slightly. I've noticed she does that—watches before speaking. Like she was calculating the best response.
"How long?" I asked.
"Three days."
I blinked. "What?"
"You've been unconscious for three days, Young Master." Her voice was calm.
Three days.
The mission was—
No. Wait.
If I've been unconscious for three days, then Marcus—
"Where's Marcus?" I tried to sit up. My body protested—muscles screaming, head pounding—but I forced it. "Is he—"
"Shenhe! Is he awake?!"
I heard some footsteps. Running. The door slammed open.
And there he was.
Marcus.
Alive.
Standing in my doorway like he didn't just—like he wasn't—
"Boss!" He grinned that stupid grin. "Took you long enough. Thought you were gonna sleep through the whole month."
I stared at him.
My mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
Nothing came out.
"You were moving like a blur."
Marcus was sitting on the edge of my bed now. Shenhe left to prepare breakfast—or maybe she just saw the look on my face and decided to give us space.
I was still staring at him.
"You what?"
"In the mission. The Dumans. You were cutting through them like—I don't even know how to describe it. We couldn't keep up. Couldn't even see you properly." He shook his head, still grinning.
"It's like you had some otherworldly power or something."
I kept staring.
Something's wrong.
The words are right. The tone is right. The stupid grin is right.
But—
"Marcus." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Do you remember falling?"
"Falling?"
"Yeah. When we jumped from the helicopter. You always—"
"I didn't fall this time, Boss." He smiled. "Got it perfect."
My blood went cold.
Marcus always falls. Every single mission. It was a running joke. Sophie used to call him "gravity's favorite victim." Clara once bet him he couldn't land properly for ten missions in a row. He lost. Badly.
It's not just something he does.
It's who he was—like he's connected to the concept of falling.
And this... this thing sitting on my bed... didn't remember.
"Boss? You okay? You look pale."
I forced a smile. "Yeah. Just... tired still."
"Understandable. Three days is a lot of sleep, but your body probably needed it." He stood up, stretched. "Anyway, I should let you rest more. Clara's been asking about you. Sophie too. They'll be glad you're awake."
He walked toward the door.
I watched him go.
At the threshold, he paused. Looked back.
"Hey, boss."
"Yeah?"
"That mission... we really couldn't have done it without you." Another smile. "Glad you're on our side."
He left.
The door clicked shut.
I sat there in the silence, staring at the empty space where he'd stood.
That's not Marcus.
That's not my friend . That's not my idiot.
That was something wearing his face.
• • •
The next few days moved like honey.
Slow. Thick. Stretching each moment into something that feels endless.
I stayed in bed for most of the first day. Shenhe brought food. Water. Checked on me every few hours with that unreadable expression. She didn't ask questions. Didn't push. Just... exists nearby, quiet and steady.
The second day, I tried to get up.
My legs held. Barely.
I walked to the window and looked outside. The village was peaceful. Farmers in the fields. Kids running. An old man sleeping under a tree with a hat over his face.
Normal.
Everything was so normal.
And that's what terrified me.
Because I kept waiting for the crack. The moment when this peaceful dream would shatters and I'd see the truth—blood and void and Marcus's real body lying broken on the jungle floor.
But it didn't shatter.
The days just kept passing.
Slow.
Thick.
Endless.
At night, when sleep wouldn't come, I thought about time.
How it flows differently here. How each minute felt like it was wrapped in cotton, muffled and distant. In Fight, time was a weapon. Every second mattered. Every moment could be your last.
Here, time was a blanket.
Warm. Heavy. Smothering.
I lay awake and watched shadows crawl across the ceiling. Listened to the crickets scream their endless song. Felt my own heartbeat—steady, alive, wrong—pulse in my chest.
Why am I alive?
Why did I survive when they didn't?
Why is Marcus walking around like nothing happened?
No answers came.
Just the slow crawl of time.
Blanket-thick.
Honey-slow.
Endless.
That girl , what was her name?
Ar— something.
Arc— no.
The girl with red eyes who erased reality itself.
But every time I tried to hold onto the memory, it slipped away like sand grain through my fingers.
Was she real?
Did I imagine her?
If I imagined her... then did I imagine Marcus dying too?
But my body HURT. The broken ribs. The shattered hand.
Those were real.
The pain was real.
So what the fuck was going on?
By the fifth day, I couldn't stay in bed anymore.
I started training.
Not because I want to. Because if I stopped moving, I'd start thinking. And if I started thinking, I'd start remembering. And if I started remembering—
So I moved.
I ran through the village paths until my legs burned. I found a clearing in the nearby woods and practiced with my blades until my arms screamed. I pushed myself harder than I ever did in Aventic, chasing that edge where pain drowns out thought.
It worked.
For a while.
But even exhaustion has limits. And when I finally stopped, when I was sitting in the grass with sweat dripping down my face and muscles trembling—the thoughts come back.
What was her name again?
Blonde. Red eyes. White turtleneck.
Ar... something.
I couldn't remember.
Every time I tried, the name slipped away like water through fingers. I knew it started with 'Ar.' I knew it felt important. I knew she looked at me like she saw something—something even I didn't understand.
But the name?
It's Gone.
I sat in the clearing, surrounded by silent trees, and tried to hold onto the memory.
It dissolved anyway.
Like everything else.
At the end of the day when I finally slept , I had a dream, not of the mission, not of blood or Dumans or dying friends.
I dreamt of a field. Endless grass swaying in a wind I couldn't feel. A sky the color of twilight. And standing in the distance, a figure in white.
Blonde hair. Red eyes.
She was looking at me.
I tried to run toward her. My legs abandoned me.
I tried to call her name. My mouth betrayed me.
"You're entering a dream that you're not supposed to enter."
A voice. Creepy. Distorted. Like reality itself rejecting the intrusion.
She tilted her head. Smiled—faint, sad, knowing.
Then she was gone.
And I woke up with tears on my face and no memory of why.
The days blurred after that.
Training. Eating. Sleeping. And repeat the same thing.
Shenhe watched. Sometimes said little. Always brought food. Took plates and left.
Marcus visited sometimes. Always smiling. Always the same. Always wrong.
I stopped asking questions.
What's the point?
The answers wouldn't make sense anyway .
Two weeks passed before I knew it or I didn't care about it anymore.
Maybe three.
To me time had no meaning anymore.
Then, one morning, Shenhe appeared in my doorway with something unusual on her face.
Expression!
"Your father wants to see you."
I looked at her face .
" Hey Shenhe! Did you notice something unusual these days ? "
" Unusual? Yeah, these days angy didn't try to steal your worn items. "
I found myself smiling at her reply.
Even though it was so small that she couldn't even sense it .
"Not like those"
"Just forget about it. I'll visit Father later"
The very next day I slowly walked towards my father's office.
Why hadn't he visited me these days?
Why ? I guess I already knew the answers.
He always stayed busy.
It was not always like this . Mom and Sara's disappearance completely changed Dad.
Not his personality but his schedule.
The walk to headquarters felt longer than I remembered.
Every step echoed in my chest. For some reason, every single light on the ceiling felt so much scary.
The soldiers I passed nodded like always, but their eyes lingered. Curious. Concerned. Suspicious.
I don't know which.
Most of them didn't even know anything besides I'm Namaska's son.
I kept walking towards my father's office.
It was at the end of the longest corridor.
The door was cracked open.
Light spilled out.
I heard voices inside .
One was Father's.
The other was familiar. A Female.
"She's here?" I muttered to myself.
I knocked.
"Come in."
I slowly entered.
The room was exactly as I remembered. Big screens on the walls. Mission reports stacked on the desk. The heavy smell of coffee and old paper.
Father sat behind his desk, looking tired.
And beside him, leaning against the wall with a smirk on her face—
Angy.
"What's this idiot doing here?" I asked.
Angy's smirk widened. "Nice to see you too, Young Master."
Father gestured to the chair. "Sit down, Nams."
I sat.
Angy pushed off the wall and stood behind Father's chair. Her dark red eyes watched me with that familiar playful gleam, but there was something underneath it. Something serious.
"Angy's been helping me with some... matters," Father said.
"What matters?"
He didn't answer directly. Instead, he pulled out a folder. He slid it across the desk toward me.
I opened it.
It was a Transfer documents. Official stamps. A school name I didn't recognize.
"Where's the school?"
"Ilsa."
I froze.
"Father, that's— that's not even on normal maps. How would I even—"
"I've made arrangements. To transportation to Housing to everything." He paused.
"Why is there specifically?" I turned back to Father.
"Why in Ilsa?"
He was quiet for a long moment. Too long.
Angy's smirk faded. She watched him now, not me.
"Because," Father finally said, "it's the one place they can't reach you."
"They? Who's they?"
He didn't answer.
Just pushed the documents closer.
"You will leave in three days. Pack your things,Nams."
"And Nams , I don't want to lose you like your Mom and Sister"
I stared at the folder.
At the official stamp.
At the date—showing it processed two weeks ago.
Before the mission.
Before Marcus died.
Before everything.
Father planned this.
He knew.
He fucking knew.
"You knew." My voice was quiet. Dangerous.
"You knew something was going to happen."
"Nams—"
"That's why you sent me on that mission. That's why you made me captain for the first time. That's why—" My voice cracks. "You used me."
"I protected you."
"By sending me to die?!"
Angy moved. Stepped around the chair, closer to me. Her hand landed on my shoulder—warm, steady.
"Young Master," she said softly. "He's not your enemy."
"Then who is?"
Silence.
Father and Angy exchanged a look.
Something passed between them—years of knowing each other, of planning, of secrets shared.
Finally, Father spoked.
"There are things in this world you don't understand yet. Powers. Forces. Beings that shouldn't exist." His voice was low. Urgent. "I couldn't let them find you. Not yet. Not before you're ready."
"Ready for what?"
He didn't answer.
Just looked at me with those tired eyes.
"Ilsa is safe. The people there—they'll protect you. Angy and Shenhe will be with you every step of the way. And when the time comes, when you're ready, you'll understand why I did this."
"Father—"
"Three days, Nams." He turned away. "Pack light."
I stood there, holding the folder, staring at his back.
Angy's hand squeezed my shoulder once, then fell away.
I left without saying goodbye.
Why, why, why!
He's doing it .
" Hey Nams , do you want to be captain this time? "
Before the mission he asked me and I answered, " Yes! "
These last months, Home didn't feel like home . It was some kind of place with no time and space . Some kind of metaphysical library where people barely talked. Probably there was a librarian sitting somewhere waiting for us to speak so it can scold us again . Again. And again .
Angy caught me in the corridor.
"Young Master. Wait."
I stopped. Didn't turn around.
Her footsteps approached. She stopped close behind me.
"He's not wrong, you know, about Ilsa. About protecting you." A pause. "I've known your father for a long time. Longer than you've been alive. He made mistakes—plenty of them that I can't count. But loving you? Wanting to keep you safe?"
Her voice softens.
"That's never been a mistake."
I finally turned.
She was closer than I expected. Those dark red eyes looked up at me with an expression that I couldn't read.
"You're not alone in this," she said. "Shenhe and I—we've been with you since we were kids. We're not leaving now."
"Why?"
The question came out before I could stop it.
Angy smiled. That familiar, teasing smile.
"Because someone has to make sure you don't do anything stupid. Or maybe not run into some weird big chested woman."
She reached up and flicked my forehead.
"Three days. We'll pack your things, so don't worry. And maybe say goodbye to your dumb friend Caribert before we leave."
She walked away, blonde hair bouncing with each step.
I stood there in the empty corridor, holding the folder, and wondered if I'd ever understand anything again.
I can't understand those absolute beings referred to as Fathers .
_________