Consciousness returned slowly.
In fragments.
Sound came first. A dull hum, distant and constant. Then the faint scent of antiseptic, sharp and sterile, clinging to the air. Cyros felt the weight before he felt his body—the heaviness pressing him into the mattress, as if gravity itself had doubled while he slept.
Then pain.
Muted. Diffuse. Everywhere.
He tried to move his fingers.
Nothing happened.
A breath caught in his throat.
His eyes fluttered open.
White greeted him. A pale ceiling, faintly cracked at the corners, illuminated by warm lamplight instead of the harsh glow he half-expected. The air smelled clean—medicinal, tinged with herbs and antiseptic salves. He shifted instinctively and hissed as a sharp tug ran through his hands.
Bandages.
Thick, careful wraps covered both his palms and wrists, extending partway up his forearms. They were clean, recently changed.
"So," a familiar voice said calmly, somewhere to his right, "you finally decided to wake up."
Cyros turned his head with effort.
Nagumo Sensei sat on the sofa near the wall, posture relaxed but eyes sharp as ever. His arms were crossed loosely, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, as though this were an ordinary afternoon and not the aftermath of a catastrophe.
Cyros swallowed. His throat felt dry. "Sensei…"
"You've been out longer than I'd like," Nagumo said. "But shorter than I feared."
Cyros exhaled weakly, then noticed movement beside him.
Aerin.
She was sitting on a chair pulled close to the bed, her body leaning slightly forward, head bowed. She must have fallen asleep there. A bandage wrapped around her forehead, stark white against her pale skin, and two more circled her hands. One of her fingers twitched faintly as she slept, as if even in rest she was ready to move.
She looked exhausted.
Cyros' chest tightened.
Nagumo noticed the direction of his gaze. "She didn't leave," he said quietly. "Not once."
Cyros shifted again, ignoring the protest from his ribs. "Sensei… could you—"
Nagumo sighed and gave the chair a light nudge with his foot.
"Aerin."
She stirred, brow creasing as she surfaced from sleep. Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first—
Then she saw him.
For a heartbeat, she didn't breathe.
"Cyros…?" Her voice cracked around his name.
She shot upright so fast the chair scraped backwards. "You're awake—!"
Before Cyros could react, she stood, leaned forward, and wrapped her arms around him.
Firm. Sudden. Real.
Her forehead pressed against his shoulder. He felt the warmth of her breath, the faint tremor in her arms. A single tear slid down her cheek and soaked into the fabric of his hospital tunic.
Cyros froze.
Then, despite everything—the pain, the exhaustion, the weight of what he remembered—he smiled.
"A-Aerin—" he winced, half-laughing. "I'm… I'm not fully recovered yet."
She froze.
Slowly, she pulled back, realization flooding her expression. Her hands hovered uncertainly, as if she wasn't sure where it was safe to touch. "I—sorry," she murmured. Her cheeks flushed faintly, the colour standing out against her exhaustion. "I didn't think."
"It's fine," Cyros said, smiling despite the ache. "I'm… glad you're okay."
She nodded, rubbing at her eyes as if to erase the moment. Nagumo watched them with faint amusement but said nothing.
Aerin took a breath, steadied herself. "How do you feel?"
"Tired," Cyros admitted.
Cyros' smile faded slightly. Memories surfaced—ice, screaming, light swallowing everything.
"What about Lucian?" he asked quietly. "Is he—"
"He's alive," Aerin said immediately. "Stable. Still unconscious, but the medics say his core is no longer fracturing. He's resting in the other room."
Relief washed through Cyros so hard it made him dizzy.
"…Good."
"And you?" he asked, reopening them. "Are you hurt? What about Taren? Where is he—was he—"
"I'm fine," she said quickly. "Really. Just a few cuts and strain backlash. Taren's fine too. He's with Lucian. He refused to leave until he was sure he'd breathe without machines."
That sounded like Taren.
Cyros nodded, reassured.
"And the woman?" Cyros asked. The image of her terrified expression, the way Taren had shielded her, surfaced unbidden.
"She's at headquarters," Nagumo answered before Aerin could. "Assisting Aegis with debriefing."
Cyros frowned faintly. "Why were they after her?"
Nagumo's eyes narrowed slightly. "That's still unclear. We don't yet know why they were after her. But she's cooperating."
Before Cyros could ask more, the door opened.
The presence that entered the room was unmistakable.
Tall, broad-shouldered, moving with the quiet confidence of someone accustomed to command, the man stopped just inside the doorway and studied Cyros with sharp, calculating eyes.
"Good to see you awake," he said. "And breathing."
He walked forward, boots echoing softly against the floor. "Rhaegon Holt," he continued. "Commander of the Aegis Division."
Cyros tried to sit up instinctively, but Aerin immediately placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't," she said firmly. "You're not recovered yet."
Holt chuckled. "Relax, soldier. You pushed yourself well beyond any sane limit yesterday."
Cyros let himself sink back against the pillows. "Sir."
Holt nodded approvingly. "We've classified the incident as a civilian hostage situation for the public."
Cyros' brow furrowed. "And… the casualties?"
Holt's expression sobered. "A sorcerer and three civilians didn't make it. Several others were injured. But the majority escaped safely."
Cyros closed his eyes.
"If only I'd acted faster—"
Holt interrupted him gently. "Stop."
Cyros opened his eyes.
"You did more than any patrol trainee should ever be asked to do," Holt continued. "Because of you, we're speaking calmly in this room instead of sifting through ruins."
There was no exaggeration in his voice. Only certainty.
Before Cyros could respond, hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.
"Cyros!"
Taren's voice hit the room before he did.
The door flew open, and Taren rushed in, eyes wide, relief written across his face. "You're back!" he said, grinning like he'd just seen the sun rise after a week-long storm.
He lunged forward and wrapped Cyros in a fierce hug.
"Ouch," Cyros groaned. "Still fragile."
Taren yelped and jumped back. "Sorry—sorry—forgot you're half-dead."
Aerin laughed softly.
Cyros smiled at both of them, warmth blooming in his chest.
Cyros looked at Holt again. "The leader. What happened to him?"
Holt's jaw tightened. "We have him contained. Securely. But he hasn't spoken a word. Neither have his men."
"How did he know me?" Cyros asked quietly.
Nagumo stepped forward. "That's not something you need to worry about right now," he said firmly. "Your focus is recovery."
Aerin nodded in agreement. "Please."
Taren added, "Yeah. Save the existential dread for later."
Holt gave Cyros one last assessing look. "I'll check on you again after you've recovered," he said, then turned and left the room.
Nagumo stood, stretching slightly. "I gave you three a day off to rest after your first case," he said dryly. "And somehow you managed to nearly level a building."
He paused. "I'm beginning to think my vacations are cursed."
Cyros smiled faintly.
"I'll let you talk," Nagumo said, heading for the door.
As he left, Taren stared after him. "Wow," he whispered. "Sensei really can talk."
They laughed—softly, carefully, but genuinely.
The storm had passed.
Outside the room, Nagumo stopped beside Holt.
"From now on," Holt said, low and serious, "personally guide him. Train him."
Nagumo's eyes hardened.
"Before an attack happens."