Godhunter #1

The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the heating system embedded in the walls. Cira sat cross-legged on the edge of her cot, staring at the floor. The dim light from the overhead fixture cast long shadows, and the air felt heavy, pressing against her skin like a second layer.

Her hearing aids buzzed faintly, a sound she'd almost gotten used to, but today it grated on her nerves. She reached up, switching them off with a soft click. The sudden silence was both a relief and a reminder—a reminder of how everything felt muted lately.

Two weeks had passed since the mission. Two weeks since they'd lost Aren and Liora. The rest of the team had made it back to base with Riel, but the weight of that victory was hollow. Aren's scream still echoed in her mind, and Liora's last look—a mixture of betrayal and something darker—haunted her every time she closed her eyes. They traded two to get one back.

The door opening anyway pulled Cira Out of her thoughts.

Sienna stepped inside, her expression cautious as Cira activated her Hearing Aids again. «You've been in here all morning.»

Cira didn't look up. «I'm fine.»

«Bullshit,» Sienna said, leaning against the wall. «You're sulking.»

Cira's jaw tightened. «Leave it alone, Sienna.»

Sienna crossed her arms. «I get it, you feel guilty. But sitting here, wallowing, isn't going to change anything.»

The door creaked open again, cutting through the tension. Evran stepped inside, his face pale, eyes red and puffy as though he hadn't slept—or stopped crying—for days. He stood in the doorway for a moment, his hand gripping the frame like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Cira and Sienna both turned to him, their argument momentarily forgotten.

«What's wrong?» Sienna asked, her tone softer now.

Evran swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. «Taros wants to see us. Says it's important.»

Cira frowned, standing slowly. Her muscles ached, not from battle but from the inactivity of the past two weeks. «What's this about?»

«He didn't say. Just told me to get you both.»

Sienna exchanged a glance with Cira before nodding. «Alright. Let's go.»

Cira hesitated, her feet feeling rooted to the floor. The last time she'd been summoned by Taros, it had been for the mission. The mission that had cost Aren and Liora. The knot in her stomach tightened.

Sienna caught the hesitation and stepped closer, her voice low. «You don't have to face this alone. Whatever it is, we'll deal with it together.»

Cira nodded stiffly, forcing her legs to move. She followed Evran and Sienna out of the room, the hallway stretching endlessly before them.

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

The four of them stood silently in Taros' office, the tension palpable in the air. Taros sat behind his desk, his sharp gaze fixed on them as they entered. The room was sparse, with only a few chairs and a large map of Eden pinned to the wall behind him.

Cira felt her pulse quicken as Taros leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His expression was grim, his dark eyes narrowing as he surveyed them.

«Sit,» he said, his voice carrying the weight of authority.

They hesitated for a moment before obeying, each taking a seat across from him. Cira noticed the way Sienna fidgeted, her fingers drumming softly on her knee, while Evran avoided Taros' gaze entirely. Bran, ever stoic, sat stiffly, his jaw clenched tight.

Taros let the silence linger, his gaze lingering on each of them before he finally spoke. «You all know why you're here.»

Cira's stomach churned. She didn't know if it was guilt, dread, or a mix of both, but the weight of the past two weeks pressed down on her harder than ever.

Taros continued, his voice low but firm. «The mission was a success. Riel is back with us, and that's no small feat. But we can't ignore what it cost us.»

Cira flinched, her hands balling into fists. Aren. Liora. Their faces flashed in her mind, bringing a fresh wave of guilt.

Taros' gaze landed on her, and she felt like he could see straight through her. «I won't mince words. This wasn't just a failure of planning—it was a failure of leadership. And that's on me.»

Cira blinked, caught off guard. She'd expected anger, maybe even accusations, but not this.

Taros leaned back in his chair, his expression softening slightly. «But it's also a reality of the war we're fighting. Sacrifices are inevitable. That doesn't make them easier to bear.»

Evran finally looked up, his voice shaky. «What about Aren and Liora? Are we… are we just leaving them behind?»

Taros' jaw tightened. «A rescue mission isn't off the table, but we can't act impulsively. We don't know their exact status or location, and rushing in blind would only get more of us killed.»

Cira's chest tightened. She wanted to argue, to demand action, but the words caught in her throat. She knew Taros was right, but that didn't make it any easier.

Sienna broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. «So what now?»

Taros stood, pacing behind his desk. «Now, we regroup. We plan. And we prepare for what's coming. The Ascended won't take this lightly. We've poked the hornet's nest, and we need to be ready for the fallout.»

His gaze swept over them again, lingering on Cira. «You've all done well, considering the circumstances. But we can't afford to let guilt or anger cloud our judgment. We honor the fallen by continuing to fight, not by letting ourselves be consumed by what we've lost.»

Cira swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. She nodded slowly, though the ache in her chest didn't lessen.

Taros stepped closer, his voice softening. «You did your part, Cira. And I don't say this lightly—you've proven yourself. Don't let this break you.»

Cira looked up at him with teary eyes, but she didn't dare speak.

I don't know if I can, she thought.

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

Cain stood in the dimly lit command chamber, the low hum of machinery filling the space. The walls were lined with holographic displays, each showing a different angle of the Godhunter raid that had taken place two weeks prior. He watched the footage on the central screen for what felt like the hundredth time, his gaze fixed on the figure in the red hood.

The scar on his throat throbbed faintly, as if in recognition of her.

«Cira,» he muttered under his breath, the name tasting bitter and unfamiliar on his tongue.

Behind him, the door hissed open. Cain didn't need to turn to know who it was. The measured footsteps, the slight pause before stepping closer—it was Abel.

«You're still watching that?» Abel's voice was calm, with an undercurrent of disapproval. «It's been two weeks, Cain. You're obsessing.»

Cain clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. «I don't expect you to understand.»

Abel walked up beside him, his hands clasped behind his back as he regarded the footage. «You're right. I don't. But I don't need to understand to see this isn't helping.»

Cain finally turned to face his brother, his expression cold. «She's a threat, Abel. A liability we can't afford to leave unchecked.»

Abel raised an eyebrow. «She's one person. You're letting this become personal.»

Cain's gaze hardened. «It was personal, when she tried to kill me.»

Abel sighed, his calm demeanor unwavering. «You think I don't see what's happening? You're chasing her because she made you bleed. Because she scarred you. But vengeance won't bring you peace, Cain. You know that.»

Cain turned back to the screen, his voice low. «This isn't about peace. It's about ending her before she becomes more dangerous.»

Abel studied him for a moment before speaking again, his tone softer. «You're stronger than this. Don't let her control you.»

Cain didn't respond, his eye locked on the screen. Abel let out a quiet sigh and stepped away, the door hissing shut behind him as he left.

For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint hum of the displays. Cain closed his eye, his mind replaying their brief encounter in the tower. The way she moved, the fire in her eyes—it was burned into his memory.

He couldn't let it go. Not yet.

Reaching out, Cain paused the footage, freezing it on a single frame: Cira's face, defiant even in the chaos. His scar throbbed again, and his grip on the console tightened.

«You can run,» he muttered, his voice a quiet promise. «But I'll find you.»

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

Cain's boots clicked against the cold, hard floor as he stepped into the sterile interrogation room. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, a reminder of the aftermath that lingered in his mind, a constant echo of the battle, the chaos, and the bodies left in his wake. He was alone now, but the weight of his decisions sat heavily on his shoulders.

At the center of the room, under the harsh, fluorescent light, sat a woman. Her head was bowed, but even through the bandages wrapped tightly around her leg, Cain could see the raw determination in her posture. She was wounded, but there was a strength in the way she held herself—one that made her all the more dangerous.

The table in front of her was cluttered with tools, scattered haphazardly as though she'd been left to contemplate them, perhaps even to decide her fate in silence. Scalpels, syringes, and various instruments gleamed under the dim light, their presence deliberate. They were meant to intimidate, but Cain had seen enough to know that the true weapon was always the mind, not the tool.

Cain took a slow breath, his eyes scanning the woman before him. She didn't look up at first, her gaze fixed downward, and for a moment, there was silence, thick and oppressive. The air hummed with the unspoken tension between them, the unspoken acknowledgment of what had happened, of what they both knew.

Finally, as if on cue, Aren lifted her head, her pale blue eyes locking onto his with a sharpness that made him pause.

He sat down across from her, the sharp sound of the chair scraping against the floor echoing in the otherwise quiet room. Cain leaned forward, his gaze unwavering, as he met her eyes, knowing full well that this was no ordinary conversation. This was a game of wills. And in his world, there was only one rule: the strongest would always prevail.

He studied her for a moment, allowing the silence to stretch before speaking.

«Alright, Aren, let's talk.»