Godhunter #1

Cira sat on the edge of the medi-station cot, her body aching with every small movement. The sterile smell of antiseptic stung her nose, mingling with the faint, coppery tang of blood that seemed to linger no matter how much they cleaned the place. The flickering overhead light cast a pale glow on the desk beside her, where her hearing aids lay in plain sight, mocking her vulnerability.

She winced as the medic dabbed at the burn wound on her left arm. The sting was sharp, but she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from flinching. Pain was just part of the job now—a constant reminder of what she'd become.

Her right arm rested limply in a sling, the deep gash stitched but still tender. Her leg throbbed dully where the bullet had ripped through muscle. She hadn't walked without a limp in days.

«You're lucky you're still walking,» the medic said, his voice muffled in the strange, detached way Cira heard things without her aids. She caught the shape of the words more than the sound, piecing together the meaning like fragments of glass.

Lucky. Was that what this was?

She stared at her hands, dirt still embedded beneath her nails despite repeated scrubbing. The raid had been a week ago, but the memories were fresh, as raw as her wounds. The outpost had fallen quickly—too quickly. The blood, the screams, the panic of the Ascended soldiers who never saw them coming.

Cira had led the charge, and the Godhunters had followed. Her plan had worked. And yet...

She glanced at her hearing aids, suddenly feeling exposed. Without them, the world felt distant, muffled, as though she were separated from reality by a wall of water. It wasn't silence—silence was a void. This was worse.

Cira reached for the sling on her arm, pulling at the edge absently as her thoughts swirled. She should feel victorious—she'd done what no one else could have done, led them into an Ascended outpost and left it in ruins. But instead, all she felt was… hollow.

The blood. The screams.

She had told herself they were soldiers, that the Ascended would have done the same to her and worse. But that logic felt paper-thin when she remembered the faces. Fear was the great equalizer—it made even enemies look human.

The medic finished with a final tug on the bandages, securing them around Cira's arms. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her shoulders sagging slightly. The throbbing in her wounds had become a familiar rhythm—one she could tune out if she tried hard enough.

The medic—an older man with a gruff face and a tired demeanor—stood, wiping his hands on a blood-stained cloth. He muttered something she didn't catch, his voice swallowed by the barrier of her absent hearing. He tapped the edge of her cot to get her attention, then reached for the hearing aids on the desk.

Cira hesitated as he held them out to her, the small devices resting in his open palm. For a moment, she considered refusing them. There was something almost comforting about the muffled world she'd existed in for the past hour. It dulled everything—the sound of the med-station, the weight of what she'd done. But she couldn't hide forever.

Reluctantly, she took the hearing aids with her good hand and slipped them in. The world snapped back into focus, sharp and unforgiving.

«You're patched up,» the medic said, his tone brusque but not unkind. «Don't push it too hard, or you'll tear those stitches open again.»

Cira nodded once, avoiding his gaze. The sound of her own breathing suddenly felt too loud, filling the quiet between them.

As the medic moved to the next patient, Cira leaned back against the cot, her mind refusing to quiet.

Lucky you're still walking.

Was that all she was now? Lucky? She'd survived the raid, led her team to victory, but at what cost? She couldn't shake the image of that Ascended soldier—his face twisted in terror as he scrambled to escape the flames. It wasn't pity she felt, or even regret. It was something more complicated, a hollow ache she couldn't name.

The curtain separating her cot from the rest of the med-station swished open suddenly, and a familiar face leaned in. It was Torren, one of the Godhunter scouts—a wiry man with a crooked grin and perpetually messy hair. He was smiling, but there was a stiffness to it, like he was forcing cheer he didn't feel.

«You look like hell,» Torren said, his tone teasing but gentle.

«Feel worse,» Cira muttered.

Torren's smile faltered just slightly, his eyes drifting to her sling. «They're saying the Ascended are already investigating the outpost. Big shot's involved now. You know who.»

Cira's throat tightened. She didn't need Torren to say the name.

Cain.

She sat up straighter, ignoring the flare of pain in her leg. «Is that confirmed?»

Torren shrugged, leaning against the edge of the cot. «Close enough. Some scouts saw him and his brother snooping around what's left of the place. Cain doesn't let things like this slide.»

«They'll come after us,» she said quietly, almost to herself.

Torren's grin faded entirely, replaced by something more serious. «That's the price of being bold, Cira. You've put a target on all our backs.»

She knew he wasn't blaming her—not directly. But the truth in his words stung.

Cira exhaled sharply, pressing her hand against her bandaged leg. «Then we'll be ready for them.»

Torren eyed her for a moment, as if searching for cracks in her resolve. Finally, he nodded, pushing off the cot. «The others are asking for you. When you're up for it.»

He left her alone with that thought, the curtain swishing closed behind him.

Cira leaned forward, cradling her injured arm as she stared at the wall across from her. She didn't regret what they'd done. The Ascended deserved every bit of the destruction they'd suffered, and more.

But Cain…

He'll come for me, she thought. And when he does…

She couldn't finish the thought.

Instead, she forced herself to stand, biting back the pain that screamed through her leg. She'd chosen this path, and there was no turning back now.

If Cain wanted a fight, she'd give him one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Evran swung his sword in a wide arc and Cira dodged, moving on her good leg as the blade cut harmlessly through the air. Her muscles protested the movement, the lingering pain in her arm and leg reminding her she wasn't fully healed yet, but she didn't stop.

«You're getting slow,» Evran teased, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. His stance was casual, almost lazy, as he twirled the wooden practice sword in his hand. «Or maybe you just like letting me win. I do look good when I'm winning.»

Cira glared at him, her grip tightening around her own practice weapon. «In your dreams, Evran.»

He lunged forward suddenly, the sharp jab of his sword aimed at her ribs. Cira parried, her arms straining from the force of it, and she countered with a quick strike of her own. Evran sidestepped with infuriating ease, the wooden sword whistling past him as he hopped back a step.

«Nice try,» he quipped. «But you'll have to do better than that. My grandma hits harder.»

Cira exhaled sharply through her nose, frustration prickling at her patience. «Do you ever shut up?»

«Not when I'm winning,» Evran said with a wink, circling her slowly.

He moved like a dancer, light on his feet, never committing too much to any one movement. It was what made sparring with him so aggravating—he turned everything into a joke until he didn't.

Cira lunged this time, ignoring the flare of pain in her leg. Evran caught her blade with his own, their weapons locking together in a standoff. He leaned in slightly, the playful smirk still plastered on his face.

«Careful now, little Red,» he said, voice dropping to a mock-whisper. «You'll hurt yourself if you keep fighting like you've got something to prove.»

«Don't call me that,» Cira snapped.

Her hearing aids caught the slight hitch in Evran's breath as he registered her tone. For just a second, his teasing smile faltered, but it was back in place before she could call him out on it. He pushed her back with a sudden shove, breaking their locked weapons and forcing her to stumble a step.

«You're touchy today,» he said, his voice a little less playful now. «You sure you're up for this?»

Cira straightened, ignoring the ache in her leg, and pointed her sword at him. «Stop holding back, Evran.»

Evran raised an eyebrow, his grin turning sharp. «You sure? I'd hate to ruin your day.»

«Try me.»

For a moment, Evran didn't move, his dark eyes studying her with uncharacteristic seriousness. Then, without warning, he struck.

This time, there was no teasing in his attack. He came at her with speed and precision, his strikes forcing her back step by step. Cira gritted her teeth, parrying as best she could, but her movements were slower than they should have been. Every swing sent a sharp protest through her injured arm, and her leg burned with every step.

«You wanted this,» Evran said between strikes, his voice even but laced with something heavier—concern? Frustration? «If you're going to be a Part of us, you can't afford to fight half-healed.»

Cira's jaw tightened, anger bubbling up in her chest. «I know that!» she spat, pushing back hard against his sword.

Evran didn't relent. «Do you? Because from where I'm standing, you're about two seconds from falling over.»

He wasn't wrong. Sweat dripped down her face, and her body screamed at her to stop, to sit down, to let herself rest. But she couldn't. She wouldn't.

Cira lunged again, this time aiming low. Evran caught the strike, twisting his sword to disarm her. Her weapon clattered to the ground, and before she could recover, Evran had his practice blade pointed squarely at her chest.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Cira's breaths came fast and shallow, her limbs trembling with exhaustion.

Evran let his sword fall to his side, his expression softening as he took in the state she was in. «Cira…» he started, his voice steady but no longer teasing, «what are you trying to prove here?»

Cira clenched her fists at her sides, staring at the practice sword lying uselessly at her feet. «I don't need to prove anything,» she muttered, though even she didn't believe it.

«Don't lie to me,» Evran said sharply. «You're limping, your arm's barely holding together, and you're sweating like we've been at this for hours. You're one hard hit away from tearing open those stitches.»

«I said I'm fine!» she snapped, her voice cracking.

Evran's jaw tightened, and for once, he didn't have a comeback. He just looked at her—really looked at her—and Cira hated it. Hated the way he saw too much, the way his gaze seemed to cut through her like she was made of glass.

«You think this is how it ends?» he asked after a beat, his tone low but pointed. «You run yourself into the ground until you collapse? Then what?»

Cira turned away, her breathing still ragged as she fought to keep her composure. «I can't sit here and do nothing,» she said quietly. «I won't.»

Evran stepped closer, his voice softening. «No one's asking you to do nothing.»

«You don't get it.» Cira's hands trembled at her sides. «You weren't there when Rian lost his arm. You didn't hear Lina regged breath when—» Her voice broke, and she cut herself off, shaking her head. «I couldn't save her, Evran. I couldn't do anything.»

Evran's silence stretched between them like a wire pulled too tight. When he finally spoke, his voice was careful, steady. «That wasn't your fault.»

«It feels like it was,» Cira said bitterly. Her fingers curled into her palms, nails digging into skin. «Every day I think about what I could've done differently. If I'd been stronger, faster… maybe Rian wouldn't—maybe Lina—» She swallowed hard, forcing the words down like a lump of glass.

Evran didn't respond right away. Instead, he crouched down to pick up her practice sword, brushing the dirt off the handle before holding it out to her. She stared at it for a moment before reluctantly taking it.

«You're not useless, Cira,» je said, his voice firm. «And you don't have to destroy yourself to prove that to anyone—not to me, not to the Godhunters, and sure as hell not to Cain or whoever else you're afraid of.»

Cira flinched slightly at Cain's name, her Anger aching like an old phantom wound. «You don't understand—»

«I understand more than you think.» Evran stepped closer, tilting his head to meet her gaze. «You're scared, Cira. You think if you stop fighting, you'll lose what little control you have left. But pushing yourself until you break isn't strength—it's desperation.»

He wasn't wrong.

The sparring ring suddenly felt too small, like the walls were closing in on her. Her breaths grew shallow, her chest tight, as flashes of memory surged forward—the same ones she'd tried to bury over the past two weeks.

Rian screaming. She remembered the sound, shrill and raw, as Cain's blade came down and severed his arm in one brutal swing. Blood had gushed like a broken dam, staining everything—Rian's clothes, the ground, her hands as she tried to stop the bleeding. I couldn't save him.

And then Lina. Lina had been next to her when the bullet struck. A single shot. One second, she'd been there—alive, breathing, fighting. The next, her body had crumpled to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.

Cira's hearing aids had amplified the gunfire to an unbearable pitch, and for an agonizing moment, the world had felt as loud as her grief. I couldn't do anything.

Her vision blurred. She didn't realize she was crying until a tear slipped down her cheek, landing on the back of her trembling hand.

«Cira,» Evran said softly. She flinched when he reached out, his hand brushing her shoulder.

«Don't,» she muttered, her voice choked and shaking. «Don't say anything.»

But Evran didn't pull away. He stood there, unmoving, his presence solid and steady in the swirling chaos of her thoughts.

«You don't have to carry all of this alone,» he said quietly.

The dam broke.

Cira sank to her knees, the practice sword clattering to the ground beside her. Her good hand pressed against her face as the sobs wracked through her, raw and uncontrollable. She hated it—hated crying in front of Evran, hated the weakness she felt pouring out of her like water through cracked stone.

«I should have saved them,» she gasped, her words barely coherent between sobs. «I was right there. I was right there, Evran.»

Evran crouched down beside her, close but not crowding her, giving her space to breathe. «You did everything you could,» he said firmly, his voice low but unshakable. «Sometimes that's not enough. It's a hard truth, Cira. The kind that eats at you if you let it.»

Cira shook her head, tears streaming freely now. «But if I was stronger—faster—better, then maybe—»

«Stop,» Evran interrupted, his tone sharper than before. «You're torturing yourself over what-ifs, and it's going to destroy you. Do you think Rian would blame you? Do you think Lina would?»

Cira looked up at him then, her eyes red and swollen, her breath still coming in ragged bursts.

Evran took a step closer, then another, until he was right in front of her. When she didn't pull away, he reached out and wrapped his arms around her.

At first, Cira stiffened. She hadn't been touched like this—so gently—in what felt like years. But as Evran's grip tightened, something in her broke completely. The walls she'd built, the anger she'd used to keep herself moving, all of it crumbled away.

She clung to him, sobbing into his shoulder as the grief poured out of her. It wasn't the first time she'd cried since the raid, but it was the first time she allowed herself to feel it, to let someone see her like this.

«They wouldn't,» Evran continued, his voice softening again as He pulls away slightly. «And I don't blame you either. No one does.»

Cira wiped at her face with her sleeve, trying to pull herself together, though her body still shook. «It doesn't feel that way.»

Evran sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. «I know it doesn't. But you're not alone in this. You have me. You have the others.» He paused, searching her expression. «But if you keep pushing yourself like this—breaking your body to punish yourself for things you couldn't control—you're going to lose the fight that really matters.»

Cira blinked at him, her breath hitching. «And what's that?»

«The fight to stay you,» Evran said, his gaze steady. «You don't have to carry this alone,» he said softly. «You're not a machine, Cira. You can't be everything for everyone all the time.»

«I have to be,» she choked out, her voice muffled against his shoulder. «If I'm not… if I'm not useful, then what am I? What's the point?»

Evran pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands resting firmly on her shoulders. «You're Cira. That's enough. You don't have to be perfect, and you sure as hell don't have to destroy yourself trying to prove you're worthy.»

Cira's gaze darted up to meet his, her tear-streaked face lined with frustration. «I don't know how to stop.»

Evran exhaled through his nose, his expression heavy with understanding. «Then let the rest of us help you. You don't have to fight this war alone, Cira. We're here, whether you like it or not.»

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then Cira wiped her face with the back of her hand, her breathing still uneven but steadying. The fire in her eyes returned—bruised, but unbroken.

She clenched her fists, her voice a low, steady growl. «I swear… I'll destroy Cain.»

Evran watched her carefully, his lips pressed into a thin line. «Cira, you can't let him turn you into—»

«I don't care what I become,» she cut him off, her voice sharp and unwavering. «He took everything from me. Rian, Lina… the life we could've had. I'll make him pay for it.»

Evran's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, a flicker of sadness crossing his features before he finally nodded. "Then I guess I'll just have to keep you from getting yourself killed before you do."

A small, broken laugh escaped her lips, surprising even herself. She looked at Evran, seeing the faintest ghost of his usual smirk, and for the first time in days, the weight on her chest felt just a little bit lighter.

«Come on,» he said, helping her to her feet. «You're done for today. You can spar with me when you're not about to fall apart on your own sword.»

Cira rolled her eyes, wiping at her face again. «You're just saying that because you know I'll win.»

Evran grinned, his usual swagger creeping back. «Oh, please. I'd knock you flat before you even blinked.»

She let out a snort, shaking her head as they walked back toward the Exit of the room.

Her body still ached, and the tear tracks on her face were a lingering reminder of her breakdown, but the weight on her chest felt just a little lighter. Just enough.

«You're still limping,» Evran said, nudging her with his elbow. «Need me to carry you? I'm feeling generous today.»

Cira shot him a glare, though there was no real venom behind it. «Touch me and I'll break your nose.»

Evran chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. «Alright, alright. I'll let you suffer with pride.»

Before Cira could fire back, the doors to the sparring hall burst open with a loud bang. Both of them turned sharply, Cira instinctively reaching for a weapon she wasn't carrying.

Liora skidded to a halt, her breathing ragged, her pale hair plastered to her forehead as though she'd run across half the camp. «There you are!» she panted, her wide eyes darting between Cira and Evran.

«What's going on?» Evran asked, his tone turning serious.

Liora straightened, brushing her hair from her face. «Taros has called for everyone—now. He has an announcement, and it's important.»

Cira's brows furrowed, her pulse picking up just a little. Taros didn't call for meetings lightly. Something big was happening.

«What kind of announcement?» Cira demanded, already feeling her adrenaline spike.

Liora shook her head. «It's about the High Security Prisoner you and Aren found Out about. He wouldn't tell me more. Just… get to the main hall. Fast.»

Without waiting for a response, Liora turned on her heel and bolted back the way she'd come.

Cira and Evran exchanged a quick look.

«You think this is good or bad news?» Evran asked, already shifting into that wary readiness Cira recognized all too well.

«Does it ever feel like good news?» Cira muttered, bending down to snatch up her discarded practice sword and toss it onto the rack.

Evran gave a humorless grin. «Fair point. Let's go.»

Cira rolled her shoulders, ignoring the ache in her body as they set off toward the main hall. Whatever Taros had to say, it was going to change something—she could feel it. And right now, change felt like the last thing she was ready for.

But ready or not, it was coming.