“He's awoken.”

“At last. His Gate had entirely opened, spending what little energy he had left in one violent burst, but this perseverance…”

“What a miracle in the storm of tragedies…”

Avalel stares at the three strange faces overlooking him, relief showing through their expressions. “Who are you all?” he asks.

“I'm Murab, the head doctor of this hospital,” a slightly plump, middle-aged man responds. His face is like a child, lacking any creases, his smile wide. “How do you feel right now?”

On his side are two military officers, one of which Avalel recognizes as Hayeviel, but the other is a stranger, his face scarred by what seems to be a burn mark.

“I’m fine, but… where am I?” Avalel asks. What's happening?

“Don’t worry,” Hayeviel replies blandly, “You’re back in Thille.”

Strange. Hayeviel’s not his usual self. In fact, he sounds like he hasn’t slept in days.

“Wait…” he tries to raise his hand, but soon realizes it is tied down to the bedside. In fact, his entire body is pinned down, a web of strange wires of sorts weaving into his body. Wearing a clean white gown, he feels as if he’s a corpse about to be cremated. His armor hangs nearby on a rack, reddened and cracked. The Anapadeia is nowhere to be seen, but he could feel a sense of warmth being emitted from underneath the bed sheets.

“You’ve been in a coma for quite some time,” Murab explains, “It’s already been a whole month since you were hospitalized. During this time, there were occasions when your heartbeat stopped for a moment, requiring emergency treatment. Fortunately, your condition has stabilized now. If you’re thinking about the binds on your body, don’t worry, for we will remove them now.” The straps are soon loosened with several clicks, and with assistance from Hayeviel and the other officer, he slowly sits up, feeling slight nausea as the vision around him seems to spin and tilt in all directions. After all, he hasn’t moved from this position for a while. He attempts to get off the bed, but his legs immediately begin quaking as soon as they make contact with the ground.

“Calm down, boy, you need to have more rest first,” Murab advises.

Avalel sighs as he shrinks back his legs into the covers. Perhaps my own body isn’t ready to be active yet…

“How are the others doing?” Avalel questions nervously. His mind suddenly flashes back to Kavlina, her hand pinned to a tree. Kavlina…

The door bursts open, and a tall figure hobbles in, his head bandaged and his hands holding crutches. Dressed in a simple sweater, trousers, and boots, he looks more like a civilian than a soldier. His eyes are down and dead, but they suddenly shine brightly with excitement as soon as he sees Avalel. “Avalel!” he shouts cheerfully.

“Tarak!” Avalel responds. Tarak rushes over as quickly as his injured legs can take him and drops his crutches as he hugs Avalel, the two laughing as if they are long-lost siblings. Although Avalel feels an acute pain rising up in his chest, he ignores it, instead holding Tarak tightly in a brotherly embrace. I’m glad. I’m glad. Yes, I’m glad.

“Tarak,” the scarred-face officer reminds, interrupting the two, “Your legs are still healing. I don’t want to bother Ms. Ipela again, especially with the amount of work she has to deal with recently.”

“Hallan, don’t worry. I’m already training to regain my strength,” Tarak reassures him.

“What about Kavlina?” Avalel asks, “Is her hand alright?”

“Kavlina was the first to completely heal up, although her hand is still bandaged,” Tarak explains, “She’s currently doing some training, and should come here shortly…” The door opens again, and Kavlina enters, wearing a large coat, her black scarf wrapped around her neck and slightly tangled hair. Like Tarak, her expression subtly lights up when she sees Avalel, hiding her emotion at the condition of her friend.

“You’re finally awake, Lel,” she says, a slight smile forming on her face, “What took you so long?”

Avalel pulls Kavlina in for a hug, wrapping his arms around her back.

“H-Hey!” Kavlina tenses a little, surprised at Avalel’s gesture.

Avalel releases his arms. “I’m just glad both of you are alright.” Just seeing them is enough for him to give a warm smile. After all, they are his close friends. To lose them would be unimaginable, perhaps even apocalyptic for his little world. It’s only just the first battle, but war… War is scary.

I guess it’s not a good time to show him the footage from the troops of the fifth transport, Hallan thinks, The boy seems to have such a good heart to have friends like these two, but who knows when he’ll transform into that monster…

“Hallan, what must be done, must be done,” Hayeviel whispers, “He needs to eventually face the consequences. He can’t stay in this bubble for long.” Even you, Hallan, a veteran of so many battles, trembled at that scene, but he needs to see the other side of himself, the side brought out by the Anapadeia.

How did he know what I was thinking? “Just let them enjoy this a little longer, Hayeviel,” Hallan answers.

“By the way, did we defeat the enemies?” Avalel questions, but to his surprise, both Kavlina and Tarak instinctively backs up a step, as if struck by something invisible. What’s going on?

“You don’t remember?” Tarak asks worriedly.

“That’s your chance, Hallan,” Hayeviel motions.

Fine, then. “Avalel, let me ask you: what was the last event that you remember?” Hallan asks.

“I saw Kavlina’s hand pinned to a tree, then I suddenly fainted, and nothing more,” Avalel answers straightforwardly, “Was I conscious for longer?”

“According to the words of your companions, ‘conscious’ isn’t the word,” Hallan replies, “It would take us far longer if I were to describe it in words, but as the leader of the fifth transport… ”

“A transport wasn’t shot down?” Avalel interrupts.

“Let him finish, Lel,” Kavlina reminds softly.

“As I was saying,” Hallan continues, his voice beginning to struggle, “As the leader of the fifth transport, which fortunately wasn’t shot down, I put to the record what I saw when I led the troops to the wreckage site. Your companions likely saw more, but what I saw should already be more than enough to explain your… ‘insanity’.”

“Wait, what exactly did I do?” Avalel feels the pain inside him growing and he begins to sweat despite the cool temperature in the clinic.

“Show him,” Hayeviel orders.

A screen appears in front of Avalel, showing the familiar scenery, with the smoking wreckage of the transports and the trees nearby. Yet something is off. A shining figure, its light almost blinding, is striking mercilessly at Tevlaia, Teritav, and Kerohar, its sword like the violent gusts of a hurricane, attacking from all sides. Tarak continues to lie unconscious, while Kavlina clutches her bloodied hand, the spear being removed by Teritav earlier. As he looks on, Avalel slowly feels a sense of dread. Gradually, the three begin to exhaust themselves and their pace slows. In a violent swing, the figure snaps Tevlaia’s blade, and she staggers back. Seeing the opportunity, the figure thrusts the sword at her, the weapon radiating brighter than ever before.

No. The scene darkens again, and to Avalel’s horror, Teritav stands between the figure and a fallen Tevlaia, his stomach pierced by the sword. Blood stains his clothing, dripping onto Tevlaia, coating the sword with a layer of red. He coughs, splattering blood onto the figure’s face as its brightness fades. The figure grins in satisfaction, removing the sword from a dying Teritav. As Teritav squirms on the ground, gasping for air, the figure swiftly and mercilessly lops off his head, the round, dead object rolling off to the side. As he raises his head in triumph, a familiar laugh echoes all around, and that’s when Avalel realizes, with horror, the identity of this frightening being.

The figure turns to face the screen, his bleeding eyes fixated, staring at Avalel. The skin is abnormally pale, the armor soaked in Teritav’s blood. He smiles, like a child who just pleased their parents.

Kerohar leaps up, his two blades gleaming as he attempts to strike the figure, but the figure’s left hand immediately raises up, clenching Kerohar’s throat. Kerohar gags, struggling as he hangs midair, but to no avail in the figure’s iron grip. His blades disappear like a fog, fading away into the air.

The figure laughs again, preparing to skewer Kerohar with his sword. Suddenly, he stops as he coughs, blood streaming down his cheek, his throat, his ears. He releases his grip and falls, still laughing intermittently as he holds the sword tightly, supporting his rapidly weakening body. Kavlina, holding the butt of her broken rifle, approaches him, and after muttering something inaudible, clubs his head with it. The figure finally collapses, the sword leaving his grasp as he lands on the ground with a thud.

“That’s enough,” Hallan says quietly as the screen disappears.

Avalel stares blankly at his hands, clean and slightly wrinkled. His vision begins to spin again, the dizziness a swirling current, absorbing him into a confused state. He crumples, lying down defeated as he sinks into his pillow. What am I, exactly?

“Hayeviel, the doctor, and… ” he utters.

“Hallan,” Hallan remarks.

“... Hallan, yes. Please,” he begs, his expression as if he has suddenly aged many years, “Can I talk with Kavlina and Tarak alone?”

The shock is too much for the boy, Hayeviel. “Alright,” Hallan agrees, “We’ll leave you three be.”

“Tarak, call us if Avalel’s situation takes an unexpected turn,” Murab says, the same smile pasted on his face, but added with a hint of pity. The room is soon emptied, and Tarak and Kavlina sit on either side of Avalel, their faces grim and sorrowful.

Avalel sighs, his eyes staring at the ceiling. He gulps several times, taking deep breaths, but eventually, he is overcome with emotion, tears flooding down his cheeks, dampening his gown. He wails as if mourning for his own death, desperately grabbing onto his covers as snot, saliva, and tears alike are absorbed by the white fabric.

“Why… Why was I saved? Why did you two welcome me so warmly, even though you witnessed what I did?” he sobs. He doesn’t deserve it. They certainly saw his horrific transformation. He had lost control of himself, taken over by the Anapadeia, and even if it was for a brief moment, it’s just horrifying to see what a monster he had become during that time.

“Avalel, you want to know why?” Tarak answers, raising his voice, “You are a part of this military, and we have an obligation to save one of our comrades-in-arms. But that’s not the point. The point is…”

“You are our friend,” Kavlina finishes, “What kind of friend leaves another behind?” They smile, the warmth radiating from their faces.

But they are still here. The two who will never want to leave his side, nor him to theirs. No matter what he has done, they will still be here. Somehow, it gives him comfort. Comfort in the fact that he is cared for. And it is because of this fact that he will do his best… No, he will fight back the control of the Anapadeia, never to touch that cursed power for some selfish goal.

You two… He opens his arms and embraces Kavlina and Tarak tightly, the overflowing tears now soaked into their clothing. For a long while, their arms are locked in place, and the room is filled with a mix of laughter and tears.

Tevlaia, her right arm slung, approaches an armory with Kerohar. Although the armory is among the smaller ones of the Confederation, it is one of the most advanced, staffed with the most skillful specialists and armorers, equipped with cutting-edge technology, and powered with multiple mini-reactors, introduced only five years ago. Most importantly, it is for the exclusive use of the Battalion, and is only a short distance away from the headquarters of the Battalion.

They stand in front of the cold, steel door, waiting while two drones hover around them. After a short while, the heavy doors open, and the two walk in, the warm air inside rushing out to greet them. Inside is a bright glass corridor, and they could see specialists mending, making, or designing unique weapons on either side of it. It’s as if they entered a scientific research facility and not a military armory. Strolling forward, they soon arrive at a dark wooden door, a sharp contrast to the brightness all around them. Pushing the door open, they find Nasition sitting on the only chair, his left hand holding a physical book, perhaps dated from a few centuries ago, while an even older ink pen floats above his right hand. Two single-edged swords, one longer than the other, lay partially covered by a white cloth on the table.

“Oh, that took you two quite a while,” he looks up, feigning surprise at their entrance.

“Nasition, are those the new weapons for my use?” Tevlaia asks.

“Both of them are made for you,” Nasition replies.

Tevlaia glances at her injured arm, then back at Nasition. “Are you mocking me?”

“Well, would you like your right arm to be replaced with a robotic one?” he retorts sarcastically.

Furious, Tevlaia prepares her fist, but she promptly stops as Nasition’s pen hovers in front of her forehead.

“Would you like me to test out my newly learnt skill on you?” Nasition questions, glaring at Tevlaia, “Would you like to join Teritav in the realms of Death?”

“Don’t mention Teritav,” she hisses, “Your insistence of killing that child has already led to one of your most loyal subjects to die.”

“Who was it that was excited to face the wielder of the Anapadeia? Who laid out the plan to kill the targets, only to let both of them survive, at the cost of one of our most valuable soldiers?” Nasition questions.

“Who was it that requested our help, only to just sit back and wait for results?” Tevlaia retaliates, “Why are you even so obsessed with the child? He would've been a harmless insect had you not been so bent on destroying him!”

“You wanted to serve this government for the greater good of all, didn't you? I tell you, every moment the boy is alive, I cannot sleep in peace, with the fear that one day he might uncover his identity and reverse all I've done to make this world a better place!”

“He would have no need to find these things if he was just left alone in that backward, primitive forest!”

“Silence!” Kerohar shouts, stunning both of them.

“Kerohar, you want to defy me?” Nasition threatens.

“There is no use for arguing now,” Kerohar firmly states, “What happened has already happened. Tevlaia, grab your weapons and go.”

Scowling at Nasition, Tevlaia violently grabs the two swords before handing them to Kerohar. They swiftly exit, slamming the door behind them just as Nasition's pen nails itself on the wood.