Ashval was not merely a name on military maps.
It was a promise suspended in the air—
a city seen from afar as an idea of salvation.
The closer they drew to it, the heavier it pressed on the chest.
"Ashval is close… we'll find a solution there."
The sentence was spoken without enthusiasm,
as if repeating an ancient spell that had lost its power to heal.
Elsewhere.
Jungle. Trees. Destruction amid a green environment.
The Verdantiz Forests.
The forest was not silent.
It was breathing.
Its tall trees groaned with the wind,
dark leaves rubbing against each other like nervous fingers,
humidity clinging to the skin like an unwanted confession.
In the heart of that green pulse stood a man with an earpiece,
his eyes moving constantly,
as if the forest itself might lunge at him the moment he faltered.
He spoke in a low voice, sharp as a blade:
"Ilio… there aren't many of them left in the surveillance zone."
A pause.
The silence was not emptiness,
but a charged anticipation.
Ilio's voice came through the earpiece, steadier than it should have been:
"That's good. Well done."
Then, as if the last word had awakened a ghost,
a distant explosion echoed—
not a full detonation,
but a tremor in the ground,
a reminder that death was still rehearsing.
"Do we push in?"
one of them asked, his tone hungry—
the kind of hunger fear produces when it disguises itself as courage.
The reply came instantly, firm and absolute:
"No."
Ilio's voice followed, heavier now:
"That's exactly what they want you to do. There could be a bomb inside… one bomb is enough to swallow you all. Stay outside. Exchange fire until you're certain everyone is dead. Do not enter. I'll send support."
It wasn't a suggestion.
It was a verdict.
"Understood, Lord Ilio."
Then the general broadcast rose,
a voice moving through the channels like a final will:
"To all units: do not change positions, do not alter formation. We stay outside. We wait."
Unit One
There were only two of them.
A girl and a boy.
The girl gripped her rifle harder than necessary,
as if the metal were the only thing keeping her hands from trembling.
"Oh my God…" she said, staring into the darkness between the trees.
"What is Ilio thinking? Are we really staying here?"
The boy answered without looking at her:
"They might sacrifice themselves just to take us down. One nuclear bomb… and it's all over."
He paused, then added more quietly:
"That's why we keep our distance."
The girl exhaled sharply,
aimless anger burning in her chest.
"All of this because of Louis."
She spat the name like a thorn.
"Where is that idiot? If he were here, he'd storm the place alone."
The boy smiled—a smile that never reached his eyes.
"You're right… and I don't understand why Ilio sent them to Norvana."
He fell silent for a moment,
then whispered, as if afraid the forest might hear him:
"This… is strange."
While Unit One waited in the forest's darkness…
Miles away, Hamilton's car was approaching the gates of Ashval…
The Gates of Ashval
The gate was wider than it appeared.
Dim yellow lights slid across the metal,
and the air here was different—
carrying the scent of oil, iron, and old fatigue.
"Hamilton! Louis! Thank God you're back—we need you!"
Edgard waved his hands,
his face wearing that cold administrative concern,
the kind that doesn't come from fear,
but from losing control.
Hamilton replied without slowing his pace:
"No time, Edgard. We have an injured man. He needs to be taken immediately."
Edgard stepped back.
"Injured? That's bad… but there's no one inside. Everyone was sent to raid Verdantiz. We're aiming to reclaim it this month."
Hamilton stopped abruptly.
The halt was violent,
as if his thoughts had slammed into an invisible wall.
"What?"
Then, his voice rising despite himself:
"And why are we the last to know? Who made that decision?"
Edgard didn't answer right away.
Then he said:
"Ilio."
The name fell like a piece of metal onto a silent floor.
"Ilio?"
A short laugh escaped Hamilton's chest,
a laugh without humor.
"And what does that boy know anyway? This… this is very bad."
He turned to Louis:
"Take him inside. We'll go in and find a solution ourselves."
Louis didn't argue.
"Alright."
The Garage
The car sped forward, lights stretching into lines.
Victor lay in the back,
his breathing uneven,
his face pale, as if part of him had been left somewhere else.
The garage was massive—
a high ceiling,
footsteps echoing and multiplying,
as if the place repeated every movement to confirm it existed.
"We'll carry him together," Hamilton said.
"We'll put him in the recovery machine. It'll restore his consciousness."
"But… won't that cause problems?"
Louis asked, sliding his hand under Victor's shoulder.
"The problems started long ago," Hamilton replied tightly.
"That bastard Ilio… how dare he send all our forces to Verdantiz? I need to know why."
He opened the door to an inner room.
The room wasn't orderly.
It was intelligent chaos—
advanced machines placed without system,
as if stolen from a future that hadn't been born yet.
At the center stood a human-sized pod,
a viscous green substance slowly moving inside,
and a coldly gleaming automated glass lid.
"Come on, Louis. Put him here."
"Okay."
Victor was placed inside.
The lid sealed shut.
Green light began to glow,
a slow pulse…
then faster.
Louis held Victor's bag.
He set it down.
"Whose bag is this?"
Hamilton asked.
"His."
"Did you check what's inside?"
"No… we can't violate his privacy."
Hamilton studied it for a moment.
"Fine. We'll wait until he wakes up."
"I'll hide it."
Louis reached out—
but another hand intervened.
"I'm back, Louis. Thank God."
The voice was familiar—far too familiar.
"But didn't you think carefully? It could contain a bomb. It must be inspected."
Hamilton shouted:
"Get away from my son!"
He lunged forward,
grabbed Ilio by the neck,
and slammed him against the wall.
"Who told you to send our forces to Verdantiz?! Answer me!"
Ilio didn't resist.
He spoke with terrifying calm:
"Don't worry. Everything is under control. Only the Verdantiz center remains… the mine."
He lifted his gaze toward the machine.
"I was planning to go as soon as you returned, but I see you've brought something… unauthorized."
"Since when do you have authority over me?"
Hamilton snarled.
"I don't," Ilio said.
"I respect you, Mr. Hamilton. And now that you're back… you may reclaim command."
"You respect me?"
Hamilton laughed bitterly.
"I never trusted you."
"But this time, you must."
Ilio gestured toward Victor.
"I'm the doctor."
Louis intervened:
"Dad… maybe he's right."
Hamilton sighed,
released his grip.
Ilio approached the recovery machine,
and looked at Victor—
not with a medical gaze,
but an existential one,
as if seeing the reflection of something he knew too well.
He opened the bag.
Food.
A Synced mask.
Then—
He stopped.
A neck device.
Broken.
Glowing red.
Ilio said, with cold shock:
"It's… the Link."
The red was not merely light.
It was an alarm.
The device pulsed in Ilio's hand like an open wound—
unstable,
like a heart unsure whether to stop or keep beating.
"It's the Link…"
The word fell slowly in the room,
then struck their faces.
"The Link?"
Louis gasped, stepping forward unconsciously.
"But… it's red. Dad, it's supposed to be green."
He knew it.
They all did.
Green meant stability.
Red meant something had broken at the deepest level.
Hamilton didn't speak immediately.
He stared at the device as if it were alive,
as if confronting an old sin that had returned to demand reckoning.
"Where did he get this?"
he finally asked.
"Did he steal it from one of the workers?"
Then he turned sharply:
"Ilio! Why are you silent?!"
Ilio wasn't looking at them.
He was looking past the Link,
at a number engraved into its metal frame.
A small number—
yet unbearably heavy.
He said it slowly,
like reading a gravestone:
"Three hundred and seven…"
Then whispered:
"That explains everything."
"Explains what?"
Hamilton demanded, his patience eroding.
Ilio stood up,
handed the Link to Hamilton.
"Wait here."
He walked toward the wall.
But it wasn't a wall.
He pressed a hidden button.
The wall slid back with a muffled sound,
as if the place were finally opening its mouth.
A massive shelf appeared,
filled with black capsules,
lined up with unsettling precision—
each identical,
as if they were preserved human possibilities.
Ilio ran his fingers along them
until they stopped.
He took one.
The wall closed again,
as if nothing had happened.
"What does this mean?"
Hamilton asked, the ground no longer feeling solid.
Ilio answered with a calm more brutal than shouting:
"You read it correctly. The number 307."
He looked straight at him.
"Doesn't it remind you of something?"
Hamilton froze.
"…It means he was a worker,"
he said hoarsely.
"Only workers have numbers."
"We won't know the truth until he wakes,"
Ilio said.
"And I also want to know why the Link is glowing red."
He paused.
Then added, with rare honesty:
"I don't know how to wake him… but I'll try this."
He moved before anyone could object.
He opened the glass lid.
The smell of warm metal and green fluid rushed out.
He carefully held Victor's head,
as if carrying something more fragile than flesh.
He placed the glowing Link on him.
Then, at a narrow slot in the machine,
he inserted the black capsule.
At that moment,
Hamilton moved.
He didn't think.
He didn't calculate.
The punch came from years of restrained fury.
Ilio hit the ground.
"What are you doing?!"
Hamilton roared.
"Are you trying to kill him?!"
Ilio wiped the blood from his mouth.
Looked at him—
the look of a man who knew he had crossed the point of no return.
"I'm helping him," he said.
"Can't you see?"
"Helping him?!"
Hamilton stepped closer.
"You put the Link back on him! You're sending him back to hell!"
Ilio paused.
Then said with chilling calm:
"Is that really what you think?"
He gestured with his eyes.
"Look at your son."
Hamilton turned.
Louis was standing there, stunned,
his eyes fixed on the recovery machine.
The green light…
began to change.
Then—
A gasp.
Victor's body moved.
His fingers twitched.
His chest rose sharply.
His eyes opened.
Silence fell over the room—
thick,
as if the air itself had stopped moving.
Victor rose slowly.
Every movement was effort.
Exhaustion coated him like dust.
He didn't speak.
Ilio said, with restrained triumph:
"You see, Mr. Hamilton? He's awake."
He stepped closer.
"Young man… can you hear me?"
Victor didn't answer immediately.
He stared ahead,
feeling the weight around his neck—
a weight not limited to the body.
Where am I?
What am I doing here?
The voices felt distant,
distorted,
as if the world were behind glass.
He slowly raised his hands.
Touched the Link.
A strange coldness—
Then—
He removed it.
The moment the device fell,
Victor inhaled deeply,
as if something he had forgotten he possessed had returned to him.
Louis rushed to him,
gripped his shoulders,
shook him gently, anxiously.
"Do you… do you remember anything?"
Victor looked at him.
A long, strange look.
Then he said with shocking calm:
"That's you."
Louis froze.
"Remember… what exactly are you talking about?"
Ilio stepped forward,
gently but firmly pushing Louis aside.
"Let me."
He leaned slightly toward Victor.
"I am Ilio. Doctor of Ashval's forces."
Victor looked at him.
Smiled faintly,
as if the name meant no more to him than a sound.
"Ilio? Pleased to meet you."
Shock struck the room.
Hamilton.
Louis.
Even Ilio—
all froze.
Then Victor added, with complete calm:
"Pleased to meet you."
He turned to Louis and Hamilton.
"Allow me to introduce Louis and Hamilton."
He paused.
Smiled.
"They are my friends."
This time, silence was not emptiness.
It was an abyss.
Ilio finally asked:
"And who are you? What is your name?"
Victor lifted his head slightly,
as if the name were the last thing left of himself.
"My name is…"
He paused.
Then said:
"I am Victor Noctis."
To be continued…