Chapter 8 - Birth of a New God

Humanity need not be geniuses, they need be fools.

After all, God need not man, He need tools.

***

If W had to be honest, the Sarkaz had been suspicious ever since she had seen the so-called "Doctor" walk into the streets of Chernobog. White outfit, luscious blonde hair, stupidly pretty face, and a cloak with an unknown symbol etched on its back—some sort of five-pronged star—the symbolism completely escaping her.

That could not have been the Doctor. Who was Rhodes Island attempting to fool? Well, obviously, not her. She believed it to be some sort of hilarious scheme in order to divert people's attention while the real Doctor was hidden elsewhere. The question was: where? Where the hell was he? Unless the blonde-haired man was actually the Doctor, there weren't that many plausible methods for them to keep him hidden—aside from dressing him up as an unassuming Operator.

But none of the ones she had observed displayed any of the traits—physical or otherwise—that she knew of him, aside from the exact blonde-haired man with those demonic commanding capabilities. Hell, the only one that matched the Doctor's height to a tee was the blonde-haired man. Attempting to discern anything from his face was useless. Nobody had seen his face, and neither had she seen it herself. In fact, even that Old Hag most likely doesn't know what he looks like.

Now, his outfit... his damned outfit. No way he would expose his face like that. Just what the hell kind of mind-fuckery was this?

Tch. This is getting more frustrating than I thought.

She watched them like a hawk, skulking across buildings and making doubly sure she was paying attention to that blonde-haired man. The more W had seen him in action, performing physical feats and Arts feats that were impossible for the Doctor, the more she had come to the conclusion he was definitely not the aforementioned man.

If it was the Doctor, then what kind of drastic change did that bastard go through?

How annoying.

What the hell is going on?

She had finished whatever useless and trivial task assigned to her by that She-Dragon Talulah. So perhaps that Draco would not be too pissy if she were to divert her attention elsewhere, right? Right, right, all she had to say was that she was scouting out a budding enemy that could be a threat to Reunion, and then figure things out on her own. It was all too easy. Lighwork even.

So why the hell was she proven so wrong?

Why was he able to go toe-to-toe with one of Reunion's strongest fighters? Their leader?

Why was he able to use so many different Arts?

Why was he able to summon a towering scale, huh?

Oh, and he just so happens to be able to split a Catastr—

WHY was he able to split a CATASTROPHE?!

For a moment, W could feel her own smile being wiped off her face as she saw the blue heights shine its light onto Chernobog once more. The once nightly land fraught with catastrophic chaos reminding her a teensy bit of home had been returned to daylight normalcy. If the Witch King of Leithanien could create those calamities, then this guy could destroy them now. How Fun.

Whoops, wasn't it bad luck to bring up that guy's name or title? Eh, whatever. He's bit the curb now.

She came back to the "Doctor," biding her time in her musings.

Well~ it sorta makes sense when comparing, hm? Dr. Haschwalth, wasn't that his name?

A Leithanian name, based on the many Leithanian scrubs she'd heard the names of, and knocked down a peg. Haschwalth definitely matched their tempo, so it wouldn't be too far off to say... Oh, was this some new conspiracy theory brewing? Well, it was shit one if she had to rate it.

Now, what to do, what to do? Approach the abnormality that was that blonde-haired man, or keep to herself and think over the situation more? The answer had revealed to herself when she had just received the tiniest peek of the "Doctor" almost keeling over when utilizing that abnormal Arts of his.

Weakness. It was weakness.

Easily discernible. Easily detectable. Those physical habits born from the body were the most key-defining traits for a lapse in a person's strength and fortitude. She'd know well herself, because faking one's condition to lure the enemy into a false sense of security was common amongst mercs. Just so happens that she was amongst those little guys too.

It took a bit of time, but she had managed to convince her entourage of Sarkaz mercenaries to get their asses moving and going after Rhodes Island. Of course, it was no easy feat considering they were among the witnesses who saw a Catastrophe fucking dying.

Just threaten to blow them up, give them a little testimony that the Doctor's out cold, and then they're willing to go! Eh, wouldn't doubt they would high-tail it out of there if they see him twitch so much as a finger. Whatever, I'll make do.

Now she stood between Rhodes Island with a band of mercs at the ready—albeit nervous—becoming the forefront of another soon to ignite conflict. Especially with that teary-eyed bunny pointing her palm at her group, her once small heart immolating with an undying conviction.

One suggestion was given to the band of twigs.

It went a little something like this:

"I'll make this short, simple, and straight to the point. I've feeling pretty nice today, so hand over the Doc—"

Then that bunny shot at me with an Arts attack that obliterated the building behind me! Effortless to dodge it, but damn did it knock almost HALF of my mercs out of commission.

W scowled, but switched back to her normal confident expression. She saw the Rhodes Islanders immediately switch into formation, with the "Doctor" being their focal point of defense.

Is he really the Doctor?

The scuffle was short, with a few explosions ringing about, and her mercs shouting curses at the escalating situation.

I need to know.

W leapt to the side, watching Amiya's Arts scour across the barren battlefield, scraping through the ground like an electric ball of razor.

She stared at the Cautus' eyes, seeing no light in them. She was fucking insane.

Crossbow bolts flew, flashes of light from that Pegasus happened, and now she had to deal with debris turning into birds with how much they were thrown around.

Her best course of action?

Dodge. Dodge. Dodge—

The building beside her collapsed, smoke-screening her mercs and providing Rhodes Island a path to escape. W raised a hand to cover her eyes, already anticipating such an occurrence, and lifted a black remote.

Bombs.

Her grenade launcher was pointed their way, her other hand ready to detonate the small preparation she had a portion of her Sarkaz mercs prepared. Their best escape route was by the north—it was the most obvious path—so all she had to do was account for it.

Now...

Explosives primed, grenade launcher ready.

It would be child's play to intercept the Rhodes Islander's with an explosive that would blow them sky-high, and just the magnitude where she wouldn't break that flimsy little promise with Scout; letting her nab the "Doctor" and interrogate him.

Perfect.

...Yet, there was a scalding hesitance, a stream of thorny vines clinging to her limbs. Her mind, body, and spirit begged her not to do such a thing, as if... as if... it would go against what she valued the most in the world? The hell?

What was this feeling?!

W found herself halt whatever she was attempting to do, jotting her head around while her grenade launcher produced a metallic jingle each time she made a turn. The Sarkaz mercs were staring at her weirdly, impatient waiting for orders as she acted like a headless chicken in the midst of the crucible.

She turned back to where Rhodes Island was.

She saw the Doctor.

She saw a faint silhouette, pink hair fading into white, modest dress with little accessories, a black turtle-neck, and Originium shards poking out at some parts.

A lovely woman. An idealist. Her object of admiration.

W froze, blinking.

Then there was nill, only the same sight of Rhodes Island's retreating back. They rode on the wings of her stupid mind falling into some trance and now she was paying the price for it. Fun. How fun. Was she feeling nostalgic now? Urgh! So annoying!

The Sarkaz still felt the same warm feeling that came from a long time ago—as if it were a recent thing that only happened yesterday. She adored the feeling, she desired the feeling, and her gut admonished her for pointing her weapons toward Rhodes Island; the antithesis to that feeling.

Fine. Fine. Whatever. Not like she'd get anything for wasting ammo on an unconscious man. Not like she cared enough to dig into this mystery herself, Rhodes Island can go and deal with their problem child who split a Catastrophe themselves. Yup, that was totally it.

"W, why did you stop?" A male Sarkaz mercenary spoke up from behind.

"What?" W turned around.

"You had them in your sights, it would have only taken a pull of the trigger." He stood in front of the group, a majority of them still attempting to recover from the Cautus' Arts.

"Those idiots setting up the bombs didn't even get outta the way when finishing the set-up. Didn't want to cause unnecessary losses because of their stupidity, you get me?" W placed her hands on her hips, showing attitude. "After all, it's better to leave Rhodes Island with their babysitting problem."

"You make a fine point, W. But there's more to it than that, isn't there?" The Sarkaz mercenary's suspicions were still kept up.

Huh, now I'm suddenly feeling the urge to slap an explosive across his face.

W rolled her eyes. "I saw his eyes peek open a little and I decided to bail."

"That's it?"

"Think you'd still chase after them if a freak who split a Catastrophe was a teensy bit conscious amongst them?" She shot.

The Sarkaz mercenary kept silent.

"So? Are you gonna answer or not?" She leaned forward, tilting her head.

"No. I wouldn't," he admitted. It would be signing a death warrant.

"Good! Good! That's the best attitude you'd ought to have if you don't wanna be run over by an obviously speeding truck." She clapped her hands. "Get moving. We don't have much time before Talulah gets all pissy."

Wordlessly, they all complied.

W kept her hand hidden. She knew the feeling.

It was shaking.

***

Something bothered him. It was striking him straight at the heart, curling it around a restrictive feeling, barbing it with iron-pricked wires. The more he attempted to use his abilities, the more it sank deeper, draining his heart, hampering his blood flow, and leaving it screaming to his brain to do anything to prevent the feeling. Unfortunately, his hippocampus could not draw upon any ingrained line of memory that could help mend his torn situation.

His body was not at balance. It was terribly sick. What ability he drew upon didn't matter, even if it were The Balance he had been familiar with for centuries, or even the littlest of Quincy techniques; his heart would still retch. Utilizing The Balance to resuscitate the situation would only cause his heart to fester more as the aftereffects, rendering him into a self-feeding loop of remedying the pain—and then having it rear back around tenfold.

The further his heart pulsed, the more he reminded himself of those words in lieu of his agony.

The Silver Emblems.

The Ashen Meadows.

The Circular Path Buried in Light.

The Eye of Agate.

The Tongue of Gold.

The Skull Cup.

The Coffin of Adnyeus.

Those compendiums of objects were all raised in unison—unitedly with his own heart—to the heart of all Quincies. That was the price they had to pay in order to reimburse the debt they owed to His Majesty. In a way, it was the greatest balance out of them all, the only truth that he needed to perceive in order to understand his place across all Spiritual Worlds.

He did not feel robbed. He did not feel condemned. Accepting the end results of the Holy Selection had already been set into fruition when he witnessed the future. Despite being His Other Half, the ability to strip others bare to their bones with his own granted power had never been an option. Dearly, in his heart, he felt as if it were for the best—for the extinction of the Quincy race would be heralded in exponential factors if the boy known as Jugram Haschwalth possessed it in tandem with The Almighty.

To only give, but to not receive.

Utterly unbalanced...

Here he was now, involved in the conflicts of humans. It used to be a common thing, prominent in the line of being a highly-ranked member of an imperial monarchy stretched across the World of the Living. It only became mundane and unnecessary when the Quincy King had set his sights to higher heights, to the Heavens themselves as he invoked his divine right to rule existence.

***

...His eyelids fluttered.

His body was regaining sensation.

He felt something tugging at his right hand, soft, silky, perhaps a head resting against it. He was laying down, heavy as a stone.

He was awake, Jugram Haschwalth was awake. His eyes scanned the ceiling, feeling the rumbling of the structure that he was in, most likely a flying vehicle. The person by his side, the transportable medical bed that he was on, was to his knowledge—Amiya. She was asleep.

Turning his head, he saw the rest of the Operators. They were seated in their area, staring at him wordlessly.

They were everybody he had grown used to, and this meant they had escaped the confines of Chernobog.

His heart pulsed again. This time, there was no pain, but Jugram was confident it would spark up once more.

Operators Ace, Dobermann, Nearl, Theresa, Defender, Guard—

...Theresa?

He could feel himself freezing to stasis, just as all other Operators were. They looked like they had something to see, a million words, but he ignored that. Jugram was far too focused on the pink-haired Sarkaz by the seat, smiling and waving at him.

Her hand pointed a single index finger, bringing it close to her mouth with a shushing motion.

Nobody noticed her. Only he did.

"Dr. Haschwalth," Nearl was the first to speak up, ushering him from his prone mind.

"Operator Nearl," he replied, throat not nearly as dry as he expected it to be.

The Pegasus glanced at the other Operators, Dobermann, Ace, and everybody in-between. They all gave her a nod, sighing and leaning back on their chair or with varying similarity.

Nearl turned back to him. "We won't bother or irritate you with how exactly you split the Catastrophe."

...He remembered it vividly. He had also remembered the pink-haired devil clearly.

"We've given up pursuing the matter because we're too tired at the moment. Nobody seeks an overblown frenzy." She dryly admitted, exhaustion prevalent underneath her gaze. "At most, we'll forward the information to Dr. Kal'tsit, and it's likely she will be the one to inform us on the matter. Are you okay with that?"

"...I have no objections." He could barely move his body.

"Ah, right. Sorry for leaving everything to you, Doctor." Nearl glanced down with a guilty expression. "We really overworked you this time..."

"...It was necessary," he said in response. "I have forgone such capricious worries over pain, you should too." His head turned back, resting against the medical stretcher.

Nearl stopped for a moment, before nodding. "One last mention—as Dobermann had wanted me to pass on." The mentioned woman nodded. "The political implications of what had happened in Chernobog, if it were to become public, would cause a disaster. I'm confident you know why."

"Of course," Jugram plainly affirmed.

"Then, please, keep it a secret. We've all come to the same agreement." Nearl nodded solemnly. "You can weigh it upon my honor that I will not let a single word of what happened in Chernobog spill to any outsiders."

A chorus of affirmations was heard from the other Operators.

Amiya stirred against his hand, her ears twitching. Her small fingers tightened around his for a fleeting moment before loosening again, lost in sleep.

The sight made something stir in his chest, as his mind began to dally.

His eye drifted back to the other side of where she sat.

Theresa, the once-martyred upon screaming amber souls, crucified, was smiling at him like none of it had ever happened. Her pink eyes gleamed in the dim cabin light, her pink hair cascading over her shoulder as she tilted her head.

How could this have come to be? The question clamored in Jugram's head.

She was here.

She tapped her lips again, the silent shushing motion.

Jugram felt an uncharacteristic hesitation crack into his bones like a hammer.

Recognition? Understanding?

A passing mist of a whisper entered his mind from faraway. "You did well."

She could talk to him.

"Doctor?" Nearl called again, noticing the flicker of his gaze toward empty space.

Jugram refocused. "I understand. The matter of the Catastrophe will be left in Dr. Kal'tsit's and your hands."

"Don't push yourself too hard in the meantime." Nearl nodded.

Dobermann scoffed lightly from her seat. "Not that he listens to anything we say."

Ace chuckled, shaking his head. "He's got a talent for shouldering impossible burdens, both past and present it looks to be. Can't say it's a bad thing, considering we all made it out of that hellhole alive."

Brief moments of conversations passed them as Jugram kept his eyes fixated on Theresa, his gaze wandering across the room and window in order to keep suspicions low. The Sarkaz still did not say much, content with staying as she was now, mouthing a scant few incomprehensible words his way—that he made comprehensible himself.

Amiya was soon beckoned from her dreams, waking up. She blinked away the haze of sleep and scratched it with her eyes, before she found the Doctor with her eyes.

"Doctor..." Her voice was soft, akin to that of...

Jugram tore his gaze away from Theresa. "Amiya."

The Cautus straightened in her seat, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The tension in her body had not fully left her, struck by the tolls of Chernobog, and most likely still stuck in its toils. Shoulders sagged just slightly, yet she still managed to smile.

"You're awake," she murmured. "I—" She hesitated, then shook her head "—That's good."

Even without The Almighty, he could see worry, relief, a half-a-thousand questions brewing inside the kettle. He merely gave a slight nod in response.

Nearl, having noticed Amiya's return to wakefulness, leaned forward slightly. "Amiya. You should rest a little longer—"

"I'm fine," Amiya said quickly, before her gaze returned to Jugram. "B-but, more importantly, Doctor, how are you feeling? You were..." She struggled, battling to find the right words.

Jugram tilted his head slightly. "At the moment, unharmed. The most debilitating effects have come to pass."

Amiya frowned, dissatisfied. "Even if you're uninjured, you shouldn't push yourself. Back there, you..."

"Amiya," Dobermann said. "We've decided to leave the Catastrophe matter to Dr. Kal'tsit. At the moment, we're too diluted from exhaustion—including Dr. Haschwalth—to delve into the matter further."

"Oh, I see..." Amiya caressed Jugram's hand. "I understand." She silently nodded, watching his tussle of golden hair splayed across the medical bed, shimmering a brilliant light. Like a canvas of paint dashed across a painting, and forming a utopian beach.

***

Time had come to pass.

Jugram had been attended to by Medic with Dobermann sitting beside him, glancing out the window he had been looking out of after regaining his movement. Once the check-up by Medic had completed, he was sitting up straight, yet still keeping his body measured.

Theresa sat beside him with the inclusion of Dobermann and Amiya, the spirit having not said a single word. Almost unnerving, but he much preferred it that way.

He continued to stare out the window, drinking in everything he could, from the wasted dunes to the cracked rocks, and finally to the endless horizon of black rocks plaguing the land. A pestilence wrought upon the world by something he did not know.

"See those black spikes stabbing into the sky?" Dobermann's head was staring out the window along with him. "They're Originium. I'm not sure if you saw it while you were engaged in combat with Talulah back in the plaza... But those come from the aftereffects of Catastrophes as we've explained."

"...I reckon these clusters are larger than the average commercial street." Jugram narrowed his eyes at the structures. They were emitting a strange energy, something he instituted as... unnatural. For Reishi standards.

"They are. I guess you can say you've experienced a Catastrophe before, feel free to check that off your bucket list." Dobermann sighed. "And the one for splitting a Catastrophe."

"How common is splitting a Catastrophe?" Jugram shifted his eye to her. From the side, Theresa delicately placed a hand over her mouth, as if attempting to tell him something with her stifled humor.

"Splitting a Catastrophe? Common?" She raised an eyebrow at him, as if she had heard the most ridiculous claim possible. "Are we speaking the same language?"

"We are."

"I was being sarcastic—" Dobermann paused when releasing those words, blinking once and coming to a small realization.

Jugram looked at her, neutral. The other Operators, even if half-asleep from exhaustion, peeked an eye out at the woman's blunder.

"...Okay, so were you. Right, nevermind." She wasn't in the mood to get angry or irritated, all her surprise and adrenaline had been drained by the wringer that was Chernobog. "Let's move back to the topic. Splitting a Catastrophe? Best results you can ever find of 'accurate' testimonies is if you crack open a fable or epic. Preferably, if they're a millennia old. Give or take."

"So it would be uncommon," Jugram concluded for her.

"That is an understatement." Dobermann pinched the bridge of her nose. "What kind of absurd Arts did you awaken, Dr. Haschwalth?" She rhetorically asked.

Nearl spoke up, "Dr. Haschwalth... you described it while battling Talulah, was that right? Then we already know what it is. No need for you to burden yourself with an explanation."

Prompted by her words, a majority of the Operators seemed to recall his brief monologue when facing Talulah.

"I did. I know what it does," Jugram admitted, much to the surprise of everybody. "If you wish for an explanation, I believe I have already provided it. However—I doubt any of you had the time to fully digest it amidst chaos."

"We hadn't," Dobermann said, "we were busy defending against the Catastrophe. Listen, we already said we'll leave the matter—"

"Understood." He nodded, ignoring her words. "Now, listen carefully, I will only reexplain this once. It is inevitable I will explain it to this Dr. Kal'tsit, so I might as well complete it here."

The Operators owlishly blinked, looking at each other. That was easier than they had expected, especially with the speech Nearl had given to him not too long ago.

Jugram closed his eyes, bringing his pointer finger up. Adherence to silence was taken amongst the Operators, so he decided now was the perfect time to elaborate. "You saw the scales behind me. You saw it tilt. The concept it draws from is the Balance between fortune and misfortune."

Amiya remembered it clearly the most out of everybody, hearing the jointed metals creak and snap against one another, the hanging chains carrying the dishes, with said dishes being the noose with their declarative cacophony.

"Any misfortune that befalls me, and any fortune that the enemy receives, would be counteracted by my ability. An equal amount of fortune will be granted upon myself if misfortune befalls me, and an equal misfortune will strike the enemy should they experience any fortune themselves." Jugram lowered his hand. "Do you need more clarification?"

"Yes." Nearl raised her hand. "Dr. Haschwalth... I don't believe I understand what you mean by fortune and misfortune." Many theories ran laps through her head, circling the many concepts fortune and misfortune could pertain to—but drew a blank with how broad it was.

"Anything I perceive as misfortune or fortune," he explained.

"Anything you perceive?" Nearl blinked.

"I am stricken by a blade. That is a misfortune to myself. I can redistribute it as fortune to herald equilibrium. In turn, it is also good fortune for my own enemy to have struck me, meaning I can redistribute it as misfortune in order to counteract the fortune they had garnered for themselves." Jugram interlocked his fingers, placing it over his crossed legs.

Nearl nodded slowly, mind wandering. A devastating ability from what she had seen.

"Doctor, you say it balances, correct?" Amiya's rabbit ears twitched. "But... Talulah received more damage than you did, and you walked out unscathed."

"Amiya is right. You have complex Arts, Dr. Haschwalth, but the concept you provided doesn't sound like balancing," Dobermann added, scrunching her features into a confused one.

"You don't seem to understand," Jugram sighed. "Talulah causing me harm is classified as misfortune for myself, and fortune for herself, because she was fortunate enough to land the blow in the first place. In that very instance, in that very moment in time, she has leverage upon the scales with those two factors. In the next instance of time, she is struck by an equal amount of misfortune comparable to the two factors she once held, thus balancing the scales based on timeframe." He took in a shallow breath. "Which was why I was able to rid myself of those artificial wounds, and beckon them twofold against that tyrant. It is only balanced that I stand over her injured form with no ailments, as she had done to me before."

It became clearer to them, mumbles of understanding leaving the postulating people amongst their ruminations.

"Was that also how you were able to split the Catastrophe?" Amiya let out a breath of amazement. "It can operate on that scale? Of fortune and misfortune?"

"Easily so," he deftly replied.

"Fucking ridiculous." Dobermann cussed, massaging her forehead. "This isn't just normal Arts, it can't be... It doesn't make any lick of sense..." she mumbled to herself, shaking her head continuously.

Nearl felt the need to remind the Head Instructor about her language, but even she was at a loss for words.

Rambles left Dobermann as the scene to Jugram became serene.

Once more, his eyes turned to where Theresa was. He had attempted to ignore her as she had done nothing thus far, but now the Sarkaz was motioning something to him.

"Comparable to legends you are." She laughed soundlessly, immeasurably soft.

"..." Jugram sealed his lips.

"Splitting the skies, bringing an end to a Catastrophe, was that The Balance you speak of?" She rested her chin on her hand, leaning closer to him.

He mouthed that it should be obvious to the Sarkaz, languidly and slow, so it would not be detected by anybody else.

Theresa's smile deepened, her pink eyes glimmering "Obvious? Of course." She traced a slow circle in the air again, the same gesture as before, as if reminding him of something fundamental. "But I have questions of my own.

Jugram maintained his neutral expression, never once shifting his attention from the Operators still conversing around him, about his abilities, and what they could possibly bring. Of course, he remembered the Sternritters partaking in such activities when a new Sternritter was announced with their Schrift, one of note being Gremmy Thoumeaux, Sternritter V, The Visionary.

Amiya's ears twitched as she hesitated before speaking. "Doctor, there's something I don't understand... If your Arts work purely through Balance, then that means there's still something that has to equal, right?"

Theresa's gaze flickered with amusement. "Good question, Amiya."

"There is," Jugram answered Amiya.

The others stiffened. Nearl's hands clenched faintly against her armored legs, while Dobermann gave him a sharp look. Many possibilities ran through their head, like an unending engine.

"Then what did you pay to split a Catastrophe?" Nearl asked.

"Nothing."

"Huh?" She blinked.

"The Catastrophe arrived, and that was misfortune. Therefore, fortune dictates it must disappear." Jugram glanced back out the window.

Dobermann sighed. "Centuries of organizations dedicated to predicting and evacuating from Catastrophes, and wow... Your Arts can just prevent the damn thing."

Jugram nodded, letting them ruminate over it.

"How magnificent," Theresa finally said. "To be granted something so capable... I'm almost envious." She joked.

Why so? Jugram mouthed.

"So many tragedies, so many disasters could have been prevented with such a broad ability." The Sarkaz rested her hands on her lap, glancing out the window with him. "Was that how your previous world was like?"

He thought over his response. Of course. There was a child who could vanquish Catastrophes out of existence with his imagination if he were here.

Theresa perked up, curiosity growing. "Truly so?" She was befuddled.

He didn't give another response.

Ace tapped the side of the inside of the vehicle they were in, alerting all who were present. "Rhodes Island inbound. Take a look, everybody." He pointed out the window, a smile present underneath his shades. "We've really made it out this time. Welcome home, everybody, and welcome back, Doctor."

The Operators sprung up, excited. They immediately glanced out the windows, mumbles and sighs of relief exiting them.

Amiya tugged at his sleeve while Theresa continued to stare at him with an indiscernible look.

Jugram nodded to the Cautus, something pricking his eyes when he had laid sight on the impressive piece of technology and engineering.

His eyes concentrated, The Almighty in play, and he made sure to keep the six orbs away from the Operators present inside of the VTOL—the name of the aircraft they were in. It was when he laid eyes upon the "Rhodes Island" landship—the Ark—did he see something quite peculiar in the reflections of his lenses. How utterly, utterly peculiar.

A gigantic skeleton, ivory bones, shaped like a whale, radiating an energy or power far different from what he had been recently exposed to. Whether it be in Hueco Mundo, Soul Society, the Royal Palace, or Terra; it was a new feeling. His interest was piqued, growing evermore when exposed to the enthralling creature.

If His Majesty was present, it would be very likely He would waste no time to absorb it, or research what it was. The only thing Jugram Haschwalth knew was that it possessed a primordial flair, a crucial component to the wheeled infrastructure off in the distance.

When he pulled back when The Almighty deactivated, Jugram saw Theresa staring into his eyes, face too close for comfort. Rigidly, he pulled back, while the Sarkaz smiled with an apologetic look.

"Doctor, look, that's the apron lift platform." Amiya excitedly pointed out to the roof of Rhodes Island. "Do you see that? Those yellow lines forming a rectangle."

"I've seen them for a substantial time now," Jugram replied.

"Heh..." She pouted.

He did not know what to expect from the Rhodes Island landship. Although seeing it from far away from inside the VTOL gave him a general feel of its size, and what to expect when walking into it—the fact still remained that it was akin to walking into a "Pandora's Box." After all, when he had first been presented with the immaculate sight of the Lichtreich's capital, and its castle when ushered by the decree of God, he was overwhelmed.

A small village boy who had skulked across forests to avoid his uncle, a small village boy who ran the forests to failingly procure food, a small village boy who had no talent as a Quincy and could not even forge a Heilig Bogen. Even then, all troubles he had suffered before as a toddler had been eviscerated, thrown in the wringer of rising blue flames—something he once believed to be the cosmic powers balancing his life back in place.

He would have to pay kismet back someday, no matter how long it would take.

What did it cost?

Many, many things.

***

They had finally landed.

Jugram watched as each and every Operator had stood up, their boots pressing against the stern metal of the VTOL's ground. There was an opening at the side, a mechanical door that had lifted up with an invisible click from where the pilot's seat was, most likely right at their flank. An arm's reach away.

"This brings me many memories. I feel as if my heart aches when looking at it once more." Theresa stood at the side of the open door, staring into the crowd of people gathered around. "They've all been waiting for you, it would always be like this for the Doctor."

He was listening to her words, letting it flow into his ears, even if he was not about to answer any of her words. Doing so would only have the Operators look at him weirdly, and attempting to communicate through mental links was just not something possible. After all, they couldn't converse that way inside of his dreamscape either, so the option for doing it in the material world was bound to be nonexistent.

The Operators inside of the VTOL, Medic, Guard, Ace, Nearl, Dobermann, Defender, and all the others in-between; started to make their way to the exit. Single file, practiced, disciplined, and done purely on instinct. There was only silence said between them as they eventually started to leave one by one, a few glancing at him on the way out when the light draped across their faces.

"So many unfamiliar faces, and so few I still recognize," Theresa said with wonder, eyes traveling everywhere, places Jugram could not see, but he could sense. "Change is the only constant, is it?" She played those words on her tongue, looking rather thoughtful.

A great gathering, many buzzing whispers, most likely people who had been curious who this Doctor of Rhodes Island was, even though he truly wasn't the Doctor. Based on what the pink-haired Sarkaz had said, whatever she had done which he had been ignoring so far for her sake, was a potential lead of why he was stuck in this man's body—if it could even be called his body anymore.

Jugram stood up, the last one to do so. Amiya had been patiently waiting by the side, wordlessly, fiddling with her fingers as a tell-tale sign of nervousness. He towered over her, his hueless cloak with the Quincy Zeichen no longer present to sway alongside his actions. In the inferno known as Chernobog, it had been burned away completely, unprotected by his Blut Vene.

"Are you ready, Doctor?" Amiya let her hands fall down to her side, her singed jacket crumpling at the hems. "You must be really nervous to meet all these new people, I felt the same way when..." Her voice drew out, droning.

"They expect much from me, don't they?" Jugram glanced at the cuffs of his Quincy uniform, and his custom-tailored coat draped over it, finding no imperfections to be fixed, or distortions in its sovereignty present. "But it will be upon my own decision whether I enact their expectations." He was going to take it in stride, no different from when he had diffused his duties as the Sternritter Grandmaster.

"It's always up to your decisions, Doctor. I will stand beside them—and you." Amiya clenched her fists and brought them to her chest.

"A good resolve to possess," Jugram simply said.

A knock could be heard from the pilot seat, the door slightly creaking open as the pilot peered out.

"Hey, you two." The pilot glanced between the two awkwardly. "I think everybody's waiting for you for a good while now, with the restless crowd and all." His chin tilted to the open door. "Nearl and Ace don't look like they're faring too well either."

"You exaggerate." Jugram brushed him off.

"I don't think Mr. Dylan is." Amiya immediately came to his defense. "Take a look, Doctor." She placed a hand behind his back, a cumbersome position considering their height difference, then guided him to the exit door. "Looks like they're searching for us too."

Theresa hovered where the threshold was, leaning on the frame of the door with a serene posture. A field of flowers with rolling pastures of green was more fitting for the spectral phantom.

Dylan scratched the back of his head, mumbling something about a, "At least he's not Blaze." A shiver coursed down his spine at the mere mention of that name. He moved out of the VTOL not too long after, moving to aid in the process of any injured Operator's transference to the Medical Bay.

Jugram ignored the pilot of the VTOL, glancing to the outside door. There was indeed a large conglomerate of people gathered outside—something he already knew—but the concentration was not fit for a "normal" occasion. For this reason, he had begun to believe that perhaps the moniker of "Doctor" held more weight than he had fully given it credit for.

True to the two's words, he could also see Nearl and Ace calling out to volunteers to bring in stretchers, while they were also shooting glances to the VTOL in the process.

He rolled his head slightly. "Then let us move." Jugram stepped past Amiya, the Cautus taking a step back to make room for him, before tailing him from behind.

Amiya let out a sound of agreement. "We've kept them waiting long enough, I'm sure everybody is looking forward to meeting you." She knew the rumors that would circulate amongst the Operators—mainly spread by the Elite Operators who had experience working with the Doctor—and from the normal ones who wondered what all the fuss was about.

"I see." He gave a plain response, finally stepping past the boundary separating the hunk of windborne metal and the canals of the colossal land traversal unit known as Rhodes Island.

If he had to describe Silbern, it would be more archaic with its panache, made to represent an imperial structure built in the center of hollow cities—with an equally hollow temperament. The howling wind draped in ice-cold mist was something most newly-joined Sternritters or Soldats had an arduous time adapting to, a notion especially apparent for those who had been invited in from the World of the Living.

Rhodes Island was far different from the interiors of Silbern, even if the palette matched somewhat. In contrast, the castle stationed in the Schatten Bereich was illuminated by flaming azure torches, its gray walls basking in their presence. Rhodes Island, though possessing the same gray plastered walls, was more mechanical and metallic. It also wasn't obsessed with blue lighting, relying on artificial ones to illuminate its entire canvas.

Many people. A large gathering. The high-octane mass would have been intimidating to many people, but he had experienced and dealt with far less scrupulous people. He knew these Operators would hold a modicum of respect and diligence in their activities, so there was no need for him to make a fuss.

Heads were turned his way. He didn't pay them much heed. Not all attention was upon him, most likely because they hadn't recognized him as the "esteemed" Doctor. Jugram much preferred it to be that way.

Amiya walked by his side as he made it down the steps. Ace, Dobermann, and Nearl were informing the crowd—some who decided to provide help—and received medical stretchers for some of the injured Operators during the Chernobog Rescue Operation. It all became much clearer now that he observed it in person.

Theresa walked alongside. "So many eyes. Are you used to standing apart from the masses?" An inquiry was given, but no response to it was given by Jugram as he did not want Amiya thinking he was talking to himself.

The Sarkaz had already become accustomed to his unresponsiveness.

"Doctor, give me a moment, I'll help out Nearl and Ace and then we'll bring you in for a medical examination." Amiya tugged at his sleeve. "Call for my name if you need anything, I'll be done with everything in a jiffy, I promise!"

"Go do as you need to." Jugram motioned toward Ace and Nearl, the latter two having noticed them. "I will hold outside the hangar with patience."

Amiya gave him a grateful look. "There should be a set of benches by the right, please don't strain yourself too much. I've already called for Dr. Kal'tsit to pick you up too."

He has heard that name a few times now: Dr. Kal'tsit. "I'll proceed to it." Jugram felt the Cautus release his sleeve, giving him one last look before she gave him a wave and headed toward where Ace and Nearl were.

Noises. Talks. Whispers. Footsteps. Clanging. There was life pulsating inside Silbern, there was boisterous activity that he could implicitly sense, and there was a place—one that held no recognition for his presence. After all, it was his inaugural address as the assigned Sternritter Grandmaster, something the new batches would not know.

Noises. Talks. Whispers. Footsteps. Clanging. They most likely already knew who he was as the Doctor, and news was likely to spread fast in essence to his inevitable attendance in the landship. Then, he started to move once more, Blade of Judgement laid to rest at his side, usage unnecessary for the current occasion.

During the occurrence of his analysis of the area, he could see a group of three make way close to his flank. The one at the center was ahead of the group, holding a far more expressive atmosphere compared to the other two.

"So you're the Doctor? Goodness, I didn't take you to be such a looker." A woman, brunette, foxy ears, thermite blade by the side, custom-made uniform. Her hand was on her hip, leaning slightly to the side as she half-referred to him, and half-turned to the other two behind her.

...She certainly knew how to make abrupt first impressions.

"A-ah! Franka, y-you shouldn't say that!" Another woman, black hair fading to purple raven, ebony drapes accompanied with black cat ears, and... a painfully nervous look. Hands were closer to her body—an innate defensive instinct—and her Feline ears were droopy.

...She was small, ready to break off into tears. Why is she here?

"Franka..." A resigned voice. A woman with white hair, wyvern-like(?) horns, and the same uniform dabbed with a tinge of tactical designs. "Please, let's help everybody in tending to the injured Operators."

...Another small one, bearing a far more stern semblance.

"I know, I know. Just wanted to catch a glimpse of the largest rumor mill around." Franka responded with a hearty expression, flapping her hands. "Let's get to it then. And, hey, Doctor, let's talk some other—"

Tactical gear. Militaristic. Above standard. Girls. Short. Young. Bambietta Basterbine, Candice Catnipp, Meninas McAllon, Liltotto Lamperd, and Giselle Gewelle. Inexperienced. Foolhardy. Wholly unfit for war.

Jugram walked past them, eyes forward.

"O-oh, ah..." The black-haired girl with cat ears moved to the side as he continued his advance, shivering. "Sorry!" She just barely mustered out, the blonde-haired man still not turning around to register her. "Uhm..."

Theresa watched the Feline fumble with her words, the other two friends coming to her side with clarification over the blonde-haired man's action—to ease the thunder-shocked girl.

She whisked back to Jugram's side, handing him a small suggestion. "You needn't be so viscerally cold."

He muttered under his breath a response, "We'll converse later. Now is not the time." Jugram kept marching, a path opening up to him. The Operators in front had seen the causation of his actions, and in all likelihood, knew not to stoke it further.

Theresa hunched her head to the side, sighing.

His eyes gauged every part of the room for the last time, taking note of every Operator. Every other Sternritter. Every other personality. Every other emotion. They would be difficult to lead.

There was a woman with blonde hair. A Sarkaz, carrying a heavy-duty crossbow. An aura of physical grit was present.

There was a fox-eared woman with white hair. Her racial trait was draped by a winter cap—still sticking out—donning a red jacket lined in some parts black fur, headphones over her head, carrying a halberd. An aura of frost and aloofness was accentuated.

There was a woman with ashen hair and deer ears, clothing drenched with a hue of dark green matched for some purpose of forest camouflage. Her weapon of choice? Crossbow.

While stuck in the clouds of his floating mind, a hand was reached out toward him, and Jugram felt an innate sense of danger for some reason he couldn't articulate. An instinctual wrongness. A flaw.

Those who would challenge him, those who would vie for his position as the Sternritter Grandmaster, he knew how to handle them—and he was familiar with their vices.

His body acted on instinct, and he immediately flicked his wrist, hand moving in a twisting motion in order to reflect and bend the limb.

"OW!"

In a micro-instant, the sounds of something cracking could be heard. He quickly identified it as a dislocation of a bone at its joint—specifically the radiocarpal joint—where the wrist is located. Lowering his hand, stagnation overtaking the crowd, he saw who it was who had been "stalking" behind him.

Theresa, who had been stilled, placed a hand over her mouth in recognition of who it was. "A denizen of the Vampire tribe? No, she left, but her traits still lay in their kind, blood-bound in a way." Her mind came back to the red-eyed woman who refused to stand on either side during the Civil War. "I remember her distinctly. Warfarin."

Jugram heard "Vampire" and tensed with suspicion.

"W-what was that for?" Warfarin pointed accusingly at Jugram, massaging her broken wrist and snapping it back in place, the other hand positioned as if to hide something in her grasp. "That hurt, you know?!" A peeved look crossed her face.

Jugram narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?" Although he heard her name from Theresa, he couldn't outright state it.

Warfarin huffed, recovering quickly. "How rude. I'm Dr. Warfarin." She placed a hand over her chest, hiding the glint of a needle behind her back. "Senior Medical Operator of Rhodes Island—"

"What is that behind your back?" Jugram demanded, hand resting on the pommel of his blade.

"What are you talking about?" Warfarin sweat-dropped, feeling many gazes focus on her, hearing people whispering... rumors about her. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Theresa chuckled by the side.

"Left hand. Reveal it now, Vampire." He creased his brows. He heard many iterations of the name, he knew what it entailed—blood-sucking monsters of rumored elegance and slaughter.

The Bounts, their true origins back in his world, but here might not be too different.

"Uh..." She blinked, glancing around as the whispers about her doings—present and past—became more prominent. The Vampire knew she had to hide the needle as fast as possible. "I—"

But alas, she was too late.

Jugram was already by her side, causing the white-haired woman to flinch. His hand shot out, grabbing her left hand and pulling it into the open air, revealing it holding a syringe with a thin needle.

The blonde-haired man glared down. "Explain." He considered flaring his Reiatsu, but refrained.

"L-listen! It's not what it looks like!" Warfarin hurriedly explained, arm not budging when she attempted to move it. "I was just holding it for another person, I wasn't attempting to use it on you or anything! Not because you smell really nice!" she blurted out.

...It was then realization struck the Vampire, coursing electricity so potent it could cause lichtenberg scars.

"You were saying?" Jugram let his Reiatsu climb ever so slightly, contemplating how this woman could be a so-called Senior Medical Operator.

"Right, right! It was for medical purposes, I swear on my heart!" She frantically attempted to recover from her blunder, face as red as a tomato. "It was for a patient! Nothing bad, nothing f-for you!" The natural paleness of her skin continued to pale, a suffocating pressure grasping at her pharynx.

He kept up his pointed glare beheld with boundless scrutiny, Warfarin continuing to shiver—half wondering what kind of Operator Rhodes Island had picked up from Chernobog.

Was he even an Operator?

"There's no need to be so vicious with her, Jugram." Theresa's spiritual hand placed itself on the back of his own. "If I recall correctly, she does not associate with her own Vampire tribe considering how they are in nature. Rest assured, harm is the least of her intentions."

Jugram took in her words, sparing her a glance. He still didn't fully trust Theresa's words.

"Uhm... What are you staring at?" Warfarin winced at the pressure still wrapped around her wrist by his—really strong fingers—his blood she could smell a tantalizing presence. Wait, wait, calm down! Don't think about his blood! Agh! Why does it smell so good?!

"Dr. Warfarin, was it?" Jugram turned his attention back to the Vampire, the latter snapping to his attention. "Based on what I'm hearing from the gathered masses, there have been testimonies of you sedating your patients and bringing them to an operating table whilst unconscious. Care to explain?"

"W-who said that?!" Warfarin glanced around panickedly, Operators averting their gaze. "That's not true at all! They're slandering my name based on rumors, I'm innocent!"

Perhaps because they felt bad for the Vampire, they went on with their business, neither confirming nor denying it.

"Do you swear upon such words with your life?" Jugram said. He stared down a disobedient Bambietta Basterbine, she had been far too dismissive of the rules with her sadistic streak.

"Yes!" She quickly said—life draining from her face when she registered what he had said. "Er... not with my life?" Who the hell says those sorts of things?!

Theresa clasped her hands behind her back and leaned closer to his ears, speaking, "You're good at leaving people speechless. Are you a walking disaster now?"

Jugram fingers loosened. "If I see such activity again, it won't end with just this. Temper yourself, Vampire." For now, he let the topic drop.

"S-sure!" Warfarin glanced around again. "Uh... Can we not do this in front of everyone? I just escaped the rumor mill, and don't need my patients running away from me again!" Her voice became hushed.

"You are not helping your case." He flicked his hand before looking at it, expression shifting to disgust the more he analyzed it.

Warfarin noticed the action. D-does he think my hand is dirty?

She massaged her wrist. "Aside from my case, m-my hand isn't that dirty, right?" The blonde-haired man's gaze turned on her—judgemental.

"They were profane."

...That isn't true at all! I wash my hands every time they potentially get dirty, I use antiseptic before every operation—! Those thoughts swirled around Warfarin's head, the conundrum she found herself in all likelihood would throw herself in the rumor mill once more—in fact, she was confident they were materializing in real-time!

"We are done conversing." Jugram turned around, tired. The bench Amiya spoke about was becoming far more tantalizing than he could have imagined.

"Come on, wait!" Warfarin panickedly waved her hands in the air. "My hands aren't that—" She paused when she saw beyond Jugram Haschwalth's body someone else walking through the doorway between the hangar and outside hallways.

The Vampire, seeing a dash of green, immediately halted; hand still outstretched to the blonde-haired man who hadn't even turned around to register her.

Jugram's attention was solely fixated on the same person Warfarin had come to notice.

Theresa's eyes widened, nostalgia dancing across her eyes as her form became more soft.

A figure, identified as female. She possessed white hair and equally white Feline ears, with a pigmentless doctor's coat hung loosely around her body. A verdant dress was underneath, clinging to her in a manner he assumed would exercise the most comfort. Her gaze and visage was the most distinct of them all, holding a modicum of coldness and stacks of calculative calm he would expect from formidable planners.

He invisibly greeted her in the same manner, however it was interpreted by her. They stood opposite of each other, not a single word spoken as statue met statue, apparently waiting for a response that would not come from themselves. From this moment of eye contact alone, Jugram could tell this woman was older than even himself.

"Welcome back," she spoke first, neutrality and apathy present in her tone, "Doctor." There was a faint air of uncanniness surrounding her, a byproduct of her attempts to discern the wild change the supposed Doctor had undergone. Sword. White. Is he truly the Doctor?

Warfarin found herself bitten by bifrost the moment she heard what the woman had said. Did Kal'tsit just call him the Doctor? Her brain short-circuited. The... DOCTOR?! Her many brief meet-ups—majority by chance—of the Doctor from the past sprung up in her mind, remembering the phantom hidden behind the hood, a rather amicable yet shrewd layer hidden beneath. And this handsome fellow was the same person? How could somebody like that be hiding underneath a hood?! A new round of paleness struck her when realizing it was the same person she had also attempted to steal—cough cough—borrow the blood of.

Jugram took the initiative to reply, ignoring a certain Vampire's existence. "Dr. Kal'tsit, I presume?" He had already taken into consideration her every feature—the one persisting the most was her Feline ears. "I have overheard your name a great deal. Certainly, you match descriptions."

The woman nodded. "That's correct, but enough pleasantries, I am aware of your condition." Kal'tsit wasted no time. "Amiya has already contacted and informed me on the details—amnesia, along with a few other distinctive details that should..." her voice drew out, glancing around the room "...not be spoken here. Do you understand?" She decided not to question his attire and demeanor, it would prove worthless with his "amnesia" as a factor in play.

Warfarin perked up at the mention of amnesia. Still, she clamped her lips shut. His blood still smelled as she remembered it, but there was something more... divine in it? As if it had changed? She didn't know. What she did know was that amnesia was most likely what had caused such a drastic change in the man.

Jugram tilted his head. A faint smile. "You leave no room for argument, Dr. Kal'tsit." He keenly analyzed the woman, the unchanging perturbation machine that was her face. "I believe there is something to appreciate in candidness. Unlike a Senior Medical Operator I have had the displeasure of 'attracting'."

Warfarin almost found herself sputtering, but reined herself in when she saw the gaze of Kal'tsit turning past the Doctor and turning her way. She knew her fights, she knew her battles, this was not one she was going to win, and therefore she shrunk back; attempting to look as uninvolved as possible.

Kal'tsit opened her mouth, immeasurably cold. "If that is so, Dr. Haschwalth, any complaints you have, you can forward them to me. Dr. Warfarin has been under scrutiny for her past actions, often deemed unscrupulous. However, as it stands, she is one of the few available Medical Operators with the clearance and expertise to treat you."

Warfarin could feel her muscles tensing and locking into place. There's no way my day's going to be thrown into the pits like this, right?! These two are going to grill me dead...

Jugram replied, "Then I hope her unique characteristics don't interfere with the process." A jab. A thinly-veiled one. "Amiya had already told me—much like yourself, Dr. Kal'tsit—you would be the one to evaluate my health. No mention of anybody else."

Kal'tsit nodded curtly. "Be it as it may, we are short on time and must make do with what we have available." She raised her index finger, motioning Jugram to follow her, then her gaze shifted to Warfarin. "You are coming as well, Dr. Warfarin. Senior Medical Operator Shining is currently occupied with another patient, so I only have one small suggestion: Behave yourself."

Warfarin deflated, groaning, "Yes, Dr. Kal'tsit."

Jugram promptly followed Kal'tsit as the Feline made her way out of the hangar, his eyes keeping track of Theresa floating around the Feline, a thousand words present, yet a thousand words unspoken.

"Is something the matter?" Kal'tsit turned back—most likely feeling his gaze.

"Do you believe something is the matter?" he deflected.

"Figures." The Feline turned back, expression still unreadable. "If you wish to leer, then feel free to do so."

Warfarin watched the two, interchanging focus between them. Gosh, they really don't like each other, huh? W-wow, even the Doctor is biting back a retort?!

"Dr. Warfarin," Jugram suddenly said, bringing the Vampire out of her stupor.

"...Yes?" She mentally breathed a sigh of relief, being able to keep herself from looking panicked.

"I've come to realize, your disposition does not fare well under authority."

Another jab.

No, that one was a hook.

"Fix it." Jugram left it at that.

It's not like that! It's just that you and Dr. Kal'tsit are terrifying! She wished to counter with those words in order to clear the misunderstanding, but they died out in her throat.

While she sulked over what she could do to deal with the two uptight figures who could not control how acidic they were. Or maybe it was their default state.

The only notable thing she recognized happening was Amiya running their way—having finished whatever business she was held back by.

***

The path leading to the Medical Bay was not a long one. While he had been led by Kal'tsit across the hallways with Amiya talking vibrantly to the Feline about their misadventures in Chernobog—the Cautus recovering quite well from the events from back then in a short time span—Jugram took the time to observe his surroundings with curiosity. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air as they approached the Medical Bay, ladened with the hum of machinery, all providing a faint tune only a doctor would be intimate with. The walls were largely unadorned, but had bore the occasional holographic display. Jugram was seldom captivated by them, having only seen such works in the Spiritual World rather than Earth's own technology.

He walked through the research halls of Silbern, watching all sorts of machinery work as they experimented with designs on new Quincy weaponry and technology, beeps becoming the main defining characteristic. Medicine, chemicals, weapons, steel, everything was laid bare before his sight as the restless scientists and engineers—ones he could see in their rooms through clear glass—did their work.

In a way, they were the backbone of the Wadenreich's war efforts.

As the automatic doors slid open with a quiet hiss, Jugram stepped inside, eyes naturally sweeping across the room, Amiya following beside him. The Medical Bay was an organized blend of modern medical technology and Rhodes Island's diagnostic monitors lined the walls, each linked to an array of scanners, while mobile IV stands and autoinjectors stood neatly arranged along the periphery. The cold white lighting cast a clinical glow over everything.

Kal'tsit gestured toward an examination table. "Sit."

Jugram complied without protest, unfastening his coat to expose his upper torso with prompt.

As he did so, Theresa circled around him, gaze inscrutable. "It's strange," she murmured, running an intangible hand over his shoulder. "I still expect to see something different beneath all that. And yet..." She trailed off, her fingers lingering just above his skin. "...Well, what was I expecting? You were mauled by the Draco from back then, yet you transferred all wounds back."

He hummed.

Warfarin, who had been preparing a tray of sterile instruments, let out a low whistle at the sight before her. "Well, well, not a single scar in sight. Doesn't even look like you've been through a battlefield, let alone a Catastrophe." She set the tray down on a side table with a clatter, grabbing a stethoscope with ease right after. "You know, I was expecting at least some trace of damage—something I could poke at."

Kal'tsit shot her a look.

Warfarin raised her hands defensively. "I meant in the interest of medical science. Sheesh."

Jugram remained impassive, glancing down at his own chest. It was true—his body bore no residual trauma, no signs of prior injury despite the chaos of Chernobog. The Balance had ensured that.

Amiya, standing by the doorway, had her arms crossed, observing in silence.

Kal'tsit retrieved a handheld scanner, adjusting the interface as she spoke. "We'll begin with an auscultation. Warfarin."

"On it." Warfarin pressed the diaphragm of her stethoscope against his chest. Her red eyes flickered with mild surprise at the steady rhythm she heard. "Huh. Heart rate's... absurdly stable. 62 bpm, no murmurs, no arrhythmia. Not even a single irregular contraction."

Kal'tsit didn't look surprised. "He was walking fine shortly after taking severe trauma. His circulatory system is functioning optimally." She then activated the scanner, passing it over his body in slow, deliberate motions. The device emitted a quiet hum, lines of data scrolling across its small display. "This isn't the data I had received."

Jugram remained still, observing them with the same detached neutrality he had maintained throughout. Amiya who sat to the side and was observing in silence, also felt herself becoming confused.

"Jugram, won't you be truthful to them? Perhaps you could enlighten Kal'tsit?" Theresa leaned over to inspect the readout.

To him, her words were far more tender when referring to the Feline, Kal'tsit. He still said nothing, much to the Sarkaz's disappointment.

The screen displayed Jugram's vital signs—respiratory rate, blood oxygen levels, metabolic activity. All of it fell within perfectly normal, if not exemplary, human parameters. Too perfect. Kal'tsit frowned almost imperceptibly.

"Your metabolic function is extraordinarily efficient." She lowered the scanner, locking eyes with him. "Amnesia aside, have you experienced any abnormalities? Fatigue? Dizziness? Numbness?"

"None," Jugram answered.

Theresa and Amiya both, at the same time, deadpanned his way.

"Any sensations of dissonance between mind and body?" Kal'tsit's gaze sharpened.

For a fraction of a second, Jugram's fingers twitched. He recalled moments—barely noticeable—where his movements had not felt entirely his. A brief lag. An unfamiliar instinct. But they were minute, negligible.

"No," he finally said.

Kal'tsit did not react, though she clearly filed the answer away for later.

"Right. Time for some bloodwork," Warfarin interjected, already retrieving a tourniquet. "Try not to squirm, will you? I'd like to keep the needle in the vein this time."

"Dr. Warfarin, brief reminder," Kal'tsit simply said, the warning coming through.

"H-hey, don't worry, I'm a trained professional!" She huffed.

Jugram didn't acknowledge the jest. Instead, as Warfarin tied the elastic band around his arm, Theresa watched along.

"I wonder," she mused, "if your blood will tell them anything useful."

Jugram doubted it.

Kal'tsit remained silent as Warfarin carefully inserted the needle, drawing a small vial of deep crimson. When she removed it and applied a sterile dressing, she held the sample up to the light, inspecting it with a peculiar intensity.

"So, uh... who's running analysis on this?" Warfarin turned to Kal'tsit, Jugram noticing how she stopped breathing through her nose—most likely to not smell it.

Kal'tsit glanced at the sample before looking at Jugram once more. "I will. This will be a confidential piece."

For the first time since he stepped into the Medical Bay, Jugram allowed himself the faintest of smiles. He was thankful The Almighty didn't activate in the timeframe when his blood was drawn.

"By all means," he said, "proceed."

A brief moment passed, Dr. Kal'tsit doing as she needed to while the enemy of patience began taking shape: boredom.

Surprisingly, Theresa was the first to break it, but only to the Sternritter Grandmaster.

"Jugram, could you please ask if little Amiya has been eating well?" Theresa clasped her hands together, tilting her head with a request.

He stared at her wordlessly for a second, taking in her stance. The former Sternritter Grandmaster mulled over his choices, before heeding her request.

Jugram turned toward the brown-haired Cautus, asking Theresa's question, "Amiya."

"Yes, Doctor?" She snapped her head to him, always attentive to his words.

"...Have you been eating healthy?" He spoke in the same stoic demeanor as he had done many times.

"Eh?" Amiya blinked, ears twitching slightly. "I—uhm, yes? I try to?" She looked around as if someone would confirm whether or not this was a test.

"Define 'try'," Jugram pressed, as if interrogating a suspect.

"I-I eat regularly," she said quickly, hands clasped behind her back. "Ms. Dobermann makes sure I eat my vegetables, and Ms. Closure sometimes sneaks sweets onto my plate, but I always balance it out!"

Theresa hummed behind him, voice sing-song. "Mhm, she's dodging the question. Be more specific."

Jugram exhaled slightly through his nose. "Be more specific."

Amiya visibly tensed, as if she'd been caught in some grand conspiracy. "Uhm, well, today in the cafeteria I had... toast! And some tea. And... an apple? Does an apple pie slice count?" Her voice lowered

"That's hardly enough! She's so tiny!" Theresa faux gasped. "Tell her to eat more protein, she needs to grow more!"

Jugram frowned slightly. "You require more sustenance. You are small."

"Small?" Amiya flinched, touching her own arm, checking whether that was true. "I—well, I am young, but I'm not small!"

She is small, Jugram noted.

Kal'tsit, who had been observing this exchange with thinning patience, pinched the bridge of her nose. "Doctor, why are you suddenly concerned about Amiya's diet?"

Jugram hesitated. "A leader should not neglect their health. It is a strategic oversight."

Kal'tsit narrowed her eyes a magnitude thinner. "Right."

"Oh, tell her she should also drink more milk! That's important for growing bones," Theresa chattered on, taking advantage of the scene.

Jugram sighed. "Additionally, you should drink more milk." The woman knew better than him about the Cautus. It was an investment, an investment.

Amiya's face contorted slightly. "I... I don't like milk."

Theresa gasped again, but this time so loudly Jugram almost reacted. "You have to insist! Tell her how important calcium is!"

Jugram, resigned, nodded. "Calcium is critical for structural integrity."

Kal'tsit shot him a look as if to ask: How much more?

Amiya fidgeted, looking cornered. "I... I take supplements?"

"Not good enough," Theresa pressed, "her bones will be so frail—"

"Amiya, you must reconsider," Jugram continued, sucking in a small breath, much to Kal'tsit's growing suspicion. "You are at risk of frail bones." Was he lecturing the Bambis now?

"Where is this coming from?!" Amiya whined, rubbing her forehead.

Kal'tsit sighed, finally putting her foot down. "Amiya's diet is perfectly fine, Doctor. I take precedence over it, and Dobermann is sufficiently strict already. There is no need for concern, and please, keep it that way."

Jugram nodded once. "Understood." It was worthless chasing this charade any longer, something he had long since come to regret.

Theresa crossed her arms. "If she begins to look frail, we're revisiting this conversation—especially with Dr. Kal'tsit. Could you do me this favor, Jugram?" A flicker of a smile could be seen, jocularity present. She knew what she was doing.

"I don't do favors lest they do not contribute to the Balance of the scales," Jugram whispered. He fought off the urge, the irresistible urge to sigh. It bordered the same difficulty his duties as the Sternritter Grandmaster held.

Amiya, meanwhile, stared at him like he had grown an extra head. "...Are you feeling okay, Doctor?"

Kal'tsit muttered, a foreign undertone, "Perhaps your mental condition goes deeper than imagined—"

A roaring laughter took their attention away. "Bahahaha! That was amazing!" It was Dr. Warfarin.

Kal'tsit spared Warfarin a glance—who immediately shut up, but kept muffling giggles—and there the Kal'tsit could not hold in a sigh. "Doctor, you're beginning to entertain irrelevant discourse. Focus."

Jugram merely shifted his posture as Kal'tsit returned to the scanner, adjusting its parameters. Amiya was still sitting where she was, cheeks puffed ever so slightly in voiceless frustration, but ultimately she didn't refute Kal'tsit's intervention. It seemed the matter of her diet was settled, for now.

"Now, let's return to something of actual relevance." Kal'tsit moved to a nearby terminal, inserting Jugram's blood sample into the analyzer, another course ready to be taken. "There's another matter I have yet to address."

"And that is?" Jugram asked.

"I received a report earlier regarding your newly awakened Arts. The Operators who were present during your engagements documented observations, though I've yet to review it in full." She tapped a few commands onto the interface, then turned back to face him.

Amiya's ears perked. "Ah... the report? I remember Miss Dobermann and the others compiling it."

Kal'tsit nodded. "Considering the anomalous nature of your condition, I intend to cross-reference it with your biological data. If these Arts manifest in ways beyond conventional Originium-based contrivances, we may need to reassess your physiological structure in greater depth."

"I see." Jugram met her gaze evenly.

"I suspect many things, Doctor," Kal'tsit replied coolly. "Do not forget that."

Amiya glanced between the two, empathic abilities telling her all she needed.

"I wonder what she'll think when she realizes just how far removed you are from their expectations. Ah, but then again, there's not much that could ever shake her," Theresa stood beside Jugram, speaking. "Maybe you could, Jugram?"

A few minutes passed, and the examinations ended.

Amiya brought him back to his designated room for rest, Kal'tsit watching him with an edged gaze as sharp as a spear's tip. Warfarin stood by the side, waving at the two for their departure from the Medical Bay.

***

It was the next day.

The sterile scent of the Medical Bay had long since faded, replaced by the neutral air of his assigned room. He liked it. It reminded him of his previous one back in Silbern.

Jugram's eyes opened, bearing a view of the world once more, no longer ladened in spirituality of Hollows, Soul Reapers, and Quincies.

The first thing he registered was the faint shift in the atmosphere, telling him that somebody was present. Theresa. She sat at a chair beside his bed, staring at him. She had done so the entire night—disturbing, but she could do nothing—therefore she was not of any trouble to the blonde-haired man.

"You're up earlier than I expected." She gazed down at him. Soft. Her expression was always soft.

Jugram sat up, instinctively brushing a hand through his hair before glancing at the small clock embedded in the wall panel. Dawn had barely broken. A reasonable time. He could make do with such a time. He could have woken up earlier, but he was not as he was before being struck by Auswählen, so he could not stay awake 24/7.

"Rhodes Island's is... far different than what I'm accustomed to," he murmured, shifting his weight to stand.

"Fallen out of habit?" Theresa hummed. "Where are you planning to go now?"

"The rooftop." He fastened his coat with methodical precision.

"And what do you expect to find there?"

Jugram didn't answer immediately. Instead, moving toward the door with an unhurried gait. "You'll come to know."

Theresa glanced at him with a thin smile. She followed, a ghost to his periphery.

As the door slid open, a swathing breeze gliding through the hallway. The landship was moving, walking upon the desolate roads with its wheels.

The exodus to the upper deck was an uneventful one, corridors empty save for the occasional Operator making their way across, giving him a brief way or look of recognition. The reinforced metal panels beneath his boots gave way to open sky as he stepped onto the rooftop of Rhodes Island.

The air was crisp, rich with moisture of long begotten rain.

He could see, standing near the edge, gazing out over the landscape over safely-instilled railings, was Amiya.

"Doctor?" Her ears twitched at his approach, hearing his approach.

Jugram's eyes flicked toward her before settling on the view ahead. The bedding of migrating clouds, the sunlight peeking through them through crevices and cracks, all blending together to form a morning he remembered back when he had made trips through and out the Schatten Bereich to the World of the Living.

"You are awake early," he noted.

Amiya smiled, folding her hands behind her back. "I could say the same to you." Her gaze softened, curiosity evident. "Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough."

"Is there anything you want to discuss?" She asked, keenly observing his eyes. "You look like you have something to say."

Jugram halted in his steps. Theresa, who had been floating by him, seemed to know what the Cautus meant. "Perhaps. I haven't quite articulated it in a manner I would be satisfied with—but I have something to say." He made way to where the Cautus was, the railings, and looked over the horizon.

Amiya awaited in anticipation, watching as the blonde-haired man spoke.

"You did well back in Chernobog, for somebody your age." He decided to give his own compliments, something that would have the Sternritters rolling in their graves. "I believe amongst a majority I've met—you follow a high standard."

"A high standard? Oh, come on, I'm no better than Nearl or Ace." Amiya tried to disperse the compliments he gave, but found herself too inept to hide her blush. "They did so much more than me back in Chernobog, especially when it came to defending against Talulah's Arts... And well, that isn't mentioning you."

"Oh, Amiya." Theresa's delighted expression could immediately be seen, as she strayed toward where Amiya was. "You don't lend yourself enough credit, do you?" A chuckle was given as she patted the brown-haired Cautus atop the head, but her transparent hands could not physically interact with the girl. She turned to Jugram, tilting her head with an all-knowing splendor. "You should compliment her again, it'll brighten her mood more."

He barely acknowledged it. "There is no need to act so modest. As I said, you've done well."

Amiya laughed nervously. "It's nothing, really. I know you mean it, Doctor..." She smiled.

Theresa turned to him, a tinge of playfulness present. "See? She's smiling."

Jugram did not react. "Yet, I need to remind you, this organization is not one to shy away from bloodshed." His words made Amiya turn her attention back to him, while Theresa stopped mid-motion. "Keep your heart adamant. I doubt the battlefield would hold value to a life such as yours, no matter how bright."

Theresa paused. Her expression took a turn, giving him an exasperated look. "Jugram..."

"Oh, uhm..." Amiya hesitated, and attempted to recover from the tonal shift. "I know that it's very cruel out there, especially with Reunion and..."

"There isn't room for failure." Jugram knew that best, commanding the Sternritters across the Seireitei, standing as their guillotine should they disappoint his Majesty. "For how chaotic Chernobog has been, standing here and alive is a privilege in itself." He could hear the Soldats begging. He could hear the cries of the fallen Sternritters "If not for my intervention, the outcome would have been unacceptable. There were errors that should have been corrected." The cruel gaze of The Almighty loomed, disdainful.

Theresa placed a hand on Amiya's shoulder. The Cautus didn't react to the intangible touch, nodding rigidly to him.

"If you're to believe that was one of my disappointments back then..." Jugram drew out. "You'd be correct. Unless the squadron sent was the bare minimum Rhodes Island had decided to muster, then I don't hold high hopes for this organization's capabilities."

He could see Bazz-B overpower Talulah's flames with his own. He could see Askin Nakk Le Vaar decimate legions with a flick of his finger. He could see Gerard Valkyrie laughing with boisterousness as he toppled land, troops, and structures alike with a single blow.

"T-they're not the bare minimum, but they're not the best either." Amiya tensed her hands. "There's nothing wrong with that." Her shoulders sagged.

He could see Cang Du dash across the scene, claws beheading without discrimination. He could see Liltotto Lamperd consuming Reunion, taking their Arts as her own powers. He could see Quilge Opie leading his Jagdarmee, a well-oiled war machine ready to march against the opposing troops.

"Amiya." Jugram said, staring down at her. "If a group such as ours had nearly suffered annihilation against one opponent, being sent to retrieve a high-value asset, then I fear for Rhodes Island's prospects." He looked reminiscent for a second. "Of course, if I am not considered a high-value asset, then I'll benignly overlook it."

"That's not it, y-you're really important to everybody..." Amiya shook "...and Rhodes Island is not meant to solely be a military organization. I know it may be hard to put your trust in us, to be satisfied with what we've shown so far... But we're not here to wage war—we're here to save people, and we're still learning to defend ourselves." She wavered. "I'm sorry if we haven't done enough."

Theresa's form was with an indiscernible emotion, her voice almost too soft to hear. "You're being too hard on her, Jugram."

Jugram was noiseless. His Majesty was in disappointment, The Almighty was displeased, and there he saw apathy toward all the Stenritters, toward the entire Quincy race. Those eyes, they called for war, they called for bloodshed, and the knights who walked the stars could not disappoint.

Amiya gave him a saddened look, but a different ember was still burning. "If we truly haven't, then... Could you at least lead us? Help us become something you would hold trust and believe in?"

A guiding hand. It was not an unfamiliar role. He had been one for the Sternritter, even if his methods had been far less forgiving. Eccentric, cruel, monstrous—many of them had been all of those things, and it had been his duty to shape them into how he pleased, to see them play the instruments of war as its greatest practitioners.

"...That was what this body had done before, correct?" Jugram stared down at his hand. Blood.

"You have." She nodded.

"If that is the case, I'll see what I can do." Jugram let his hand fall to a rest by his side. "I doubt a duty akin to that is below me." He was a Power-Sharing Quincy. It was, in a literal sense, his inborn destiny to raise others to greater heights. It was all dependent on if he wished to utilize those abilities.

"Really?" Amiya's mood turned eager. "Like, really really?" She tip-toed. Something about the way she looked at him felt wrong from underneath those bright glistening orbs. Too bright. Too expectant.

Passion. Burning. Flames. Heat.

...Heat.

"She might just pull you in, you know?" Theresa stood in front of him, face too close.

Jugram backed away from both of them, the horned woman chuckling as Amiya retracted, seldom embarrassed by her uncalled jittery action.

He responded, "If I am not satisfied with what is before my eyes, then the only reasonable course of action is to rectify it. Does that answer your question?" He stood before the early Sternritters. Undisciplined, untrained, and wholly unprepared. The Sternritter Grandmaster was dissatisfied—yet he would correct it.

"You're a lot more like Dr. Kal'tsit now." Amiya pouted. "It won't be easy for you or for me, but we'll make it through, right? Doctor?" A new influx of hope, belonging to a rabbit of the woods.

He would not compare himself to Dr. Kal'tsit. "If I bar others from failure, it should additionally apply to myself." Jugram walked a step past her, glancing at the spirit behind the Cautus. "Should there be a time where I fail to maintain The Balance..." He turned back to the gaping door, the chatters and clutters of people echoing forth. "...I will pay a fair price."

His body lay on the ground. Sweating. Cold.

His Still heart bled Silver.

Theresa stood beside him, hands clasped behind her back and leaning forward, bringing him out of his daze. "Still speaking in absolutes, I see. Some things are difficult to change." A soft smile.

He ignored it.

Amiya paused, dour. "Ms. Medic was right."

"This again?" Jugram glanced at her, shifting his body away from Theresa.

"You do talk ominously." She shot him a focus of disapproval. "I'm not wrong, am I?"

For Jugram, it was weird to see it from a rabbit of all things. "It seems you and that girl can agree on one thing." If Amiya were Bambietta Basterbine—who she wasn't—he would have no qualms filling her ears with a lecture.

The Cautus chuckled, before placing her hand on the railings, glancing off into the distance. She sighed, another ailment coming to light.

"Doctor, I remember what she said back then, what Ms. Talulah said." Amiya's hair drifted in the wind, eyes lingering on the horizons beyond. "Rhodes Island... we're just idealists, aren't we? Do you think so?"

"I believe you should take her words as a compliment, even if not intended by the enemy." Jugram followed her sight only for a moment, before breaking away. "Letting her meager words shake you will result in the development of a bad temperament."

"I know that... But do you think Rhodes Island are idealists? I'm asking what you think." She seldom pivoted to the right, meeting his now side-turned gaze.

"Well, you seek to aid the Infected as they are exiled by the world," he began, thoughtfulness present in stoicness. "Some see it as impossible—even foolish as the leader of Reunion has—yet do you believe this will ever stagnate the advance of Rhodes Island?"

"No." Amiya firmly denied. "We won't ever stop. No matter the struggle."

"Then, I believe by definition, you qualify as an idealist." Jugram hummed. "Whether you are mere ones depends on your capability to execute your plans, and to see your goals flourish in this world."

"Mmph. How could you make idealism sound so pragmatic?" Amiya huffed. "Though, I'm not complaining..." She turned back to stare at the distant view, broadening the length of the skies far ahead.

A song sang into Jugram's ears, guided by the distant gale. "Why so?"

"I know you don't ever mince your words, not then, and not now." Her thumb caressed the ring on her index finger. "It's always comforting to hear your opinion. I'm glad to have you by my side, Doctor."

Idealism.

The Wandenreich sought an ideal dream, depending on how one would view uniting the Spiritual Worlds and abolishing Death. Like a law, a decree, or an Amendment passed, their God would bring about a greater realm for all souls to reside in, presiding as its ultimate ruler until the end of times—nay, perhaps even further beyond.

Said idealism, if it could be labeled so, could only be achieved by eons of bloodshed. For a greater vision, wasn't that it?

"Doctor."

Jugram severed himself from his ruminations.

"You hold so many regrets," Amiya whispered.

"What do you mean?" Jugram's brow creased shallowly.

"I just... I feel it." The Cautus placed her hands behind her back, fingers interlocking as she swayed back and forth. "You must hold a lot, don't you?" A small smile peered away, her feet shifting between toes and backfoot.

Her ear twitched. She felt something light surrounding her, something she couldn't discern. It was warm, far warmer than she would have expected at the top of the landship. She looked around for a second, unable to find what it was. Even then, the absence of cold was comforting.

"Amiya," Theresa murmured, spectral form draped across the cautus. "He carries them with him, always, as all others do. Clutching to them more than a ghost would." A tinge of irony was beheld upon her tongue.

Jugram kept himself despondent.

"You do." Amiya shook her head, vanquishing the strange feeling that had caused her to pause. "I don't know where your regret comes from, but..." Her two hands detached from another, moving to touch Jugram's own, the one laid to rest by his side. It brought his attention. "...You don't have to tell me what it is. Whether it is Chernobog, or something from the past coming back... I just want you to know that I understand."

His eye peeked through the shroud of his voluminous golden hair, a distant sapphire embedded inside his orbs. They were half-lidded, a calm serenity ubiquitous to him at all times, the defining characteristic Amiya had become well-acquainted with ever since his curse of amnesia. A mask, however, would always remain a mask, a ceramic cover where not even heat could disturb.

Her fingers continued to softly press against his own, feeling some aspects of his rough yet smooth knuckles. He was a vast ocean, with not a single ripple atop its waters, everything shining through clearly and without distortion. Underneath it all however, Amiya could see the faint tremors that would never reach to the surface, incorruptible to the visage he wore.

"At least, to me, I know you must care a lot too, if you hold these regrets." Amiya meekly smiled, glancing down. "For what, I still don't know."

"She knows more than you give her credit for." Theresa hummed a small lullaby between words. "I hope you come to trust that."

"Doctor?" Amiya called out to Jugram, "You've been quiet."

"My thoughts have been clouded," he admitted. "What do you need?"

"I just want to ask once more... this ideal Rhodes Island desires..." Amiya looked down, touching his hand with both her own. "Would you help us achieve this foolish dream?"

He felt it again.

Warmth. Heat.

He saw it in Bazz-B's eyes. He saw it in Amiya's eyes. The burning hate. The burning compassion. To swear vengeance against God and His cruelty. To wage battle against the world and its cruelty. An unspoken request underneath. An unspoken request underneath.

For him to join.

For him to join.

...

He did not respond.

He responded.

"...I will."

To restore a Balance he left broken across worlds and time.