Peterson walked slowly down the dim corridor of the base, his hands tied tightly behind him, the rough rope biting into his skin. The echoes of military boots resonated around him, but his mind was far away, trying to piece everything together.
Suddenly, two soldiers passed by, talking in low voices, unaware that Peterson was nearby.
"Rhea was the one who planted the tracker," one soldier said, his tone suspicious and a little bitter.
"Yeah, she wants to keep monitoring them. If needed, we'll capture Lirael and the others," the other replied coldly and firmly.
"We can't let them escape again. If we do, everything will end badly," the first soldier sighed heavily.
Peterson froze, his heart pounding as he caught their words. Rhea… planted the tracker? And they're planning to capture Lirael and the others?
A surge of anger and fear burned inside him. His friends were in danger, and with his hands tied, he felt powerless.
But his determination only grew stronger. He had to find a way out of here—no matter the cost—and save Lirael and the others.
That night, deep within the dense forest...
Their camp was quiet—tucked away beneath towering trees and thick brush. A small fire crackled at the center, casting a warm glow across tired, watchful faces.
Elior sat cross-legged beside Nyssa, both of them quiet, their gazes lost in the fire. Riven leaned back with his hands behind his head, staring up at the cloud-covered night sky.
Not far from them, Uncle Tyson stirred a pot over the fire, the rising steam carrying a soothing, savory scent. Exter helped with the cooking while Veyra cleaned her weapon, occasionally glancing at the food with cautious hope.
Inside one of the tents, Lirael lay on her side, eyes open. Sleep wouldn't come tonight. She clutched her pendant tightly, listening to the murmur of fire and distant soft laughter.
Moments later, she slowly got up and stepped outside.
The night air was cool, tinged with the smell of damp leaves. As she walked toward the fire, the others greeted her with tired but warm nods.
Suddenly, quick footsteps rustled from the edge of camp. Rhea emerged from the shadows, calm and collected as always, as if returning from a patrol. She said nothing as she joined the others by the fire, crossing her arms and watching the flames quietly.
Lirael acknowledged her with a nod, then looked past the firelight.
At the edge of the clearing, half hidden by darkness, Taren sat alone on a fallen tree. His back was hunched slightly, eyes fixed on the forest floor.
Lirael walked over to him slowly, her steps light on the forest floor. She sat down beside him without a word.
"You're far from the others," she said softly.
Taren didn't answer right away. The silence stretched before he finally spoke, voice low and almost lost in the night wind.
"I just… needed some space."
Lirael studied him gently. "Because of Peterson?"
Taren gave a slight nod, still staring at the ground. "Even if he's insufferable now… he used to be close to me. Like a brother. He taught me things, looked out for me. He saved my life more than once."
He took a deep breath, as if the weight of memory sat heavy on his chest.
"Everything changed when we found out… we weren't from here. Not from Earth. We're from Zytherion. And once the system knew who we were, they started using us. Manipulating us. Turning us into tools to conquer Earth. To wipe out anyone who wasn't like us. Pure humans were to be eliminated."
Lirael's fists clenched at her sides, grief and anger simmering together.
Taren continued, his voice cracking. "Peterson and I—we ran. We chose to break away. But the past… it lingers. And I know, beneath that cold exterior, he still carries the weight of it."
Lirael slowly placed her hand on his shoulder. "You're not the same anymore. Neither of you are. You made your choice."
Taren nodded faintly, saying nothing more.
From the distance, the fire still glowed, and soft voices rose in the air—Elior's quiet laugh, Nyssa's soft reply. But here, in the shadows of ancient trees, only two souls sat in silence, trying to make sense of wounds they never asked for.
And above them, the night carried on—quiet, watchful, and filled with truths yet to be revealed.
That midnight, after dinner…
The night wind carried the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves. Everyone gathered around the dimming campfire, tired faces flickering in the orange light.
The tension was thick.
"If Peterson really infiltrates the base from the inside," Rhea said, sitting cross-legged, arms folded, "we'll have an opening too. But we need to know exactly where Dr. Varn is."
"The base is underground," Exter said, sketching a rough layout in the dirt. "We'll need more than one entry point. If we can take out their command—Dr. Varn—their structure will crumble."
Tyson nodded, chewing a piece of dried root. "If we're going to do this, we do it fast. Before they start hunting us again."
Taren added quietly, "We won't get a second chance."
Lirael said nothing, but her eyes were sharp, focused on the center of the fire. Her hand clutched her pendant tightly. "Dr. Varn has to be stopped. Not just for us… but for everyone they've destroyed."
Suddenly—
BOOM!!
An explosion tore through the night. The sound came from the eastern edge of camp—not far.
They all leapt to their feet. Veyra grabbed her weapon instantly. Riven dashed forward first, followed by Taren and Elior.
"This way!" Riven shouted.
They raced through brush and trees. The ground still shook faintly as they arrived at the blast site.
There—Rhea lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath her head.
Her pistol lay nearby. She had shot herself.
Tiny flames crackled where leaves had caught fire from the blast. In Rhea's cold, lifeless hand was a crumpled piece of paper.
Veyra stepped forward, eyes narrowing as she gently pulled it free.
She read aloud, her voice low:
> "Forgive me. I was with them."
"But I couldn't kill you. I couldn't do it anymore."
Everyone stood frozen.
Riven clutched his head with both hands, his voice breaking. "Damn it… she really…"
Taren walked slowly toward her body, staring at the blood-soaked earth. He murmured, "So she was the one who planted the tracker on our boat."
Elior turned sharply, pale. "Then… what about Serin?"
Silence.
Nyssa stood frozen, tears welling in her eyes. Lirael finally spoke, her voice steady but heavy.
"We need to move her. We can't leave her here for animals to find."
Tyson touched Exter's shoulder. "Help me. We'll bury her. No matter what she did… she was still one of us once."
Exter gave a silent nod. Together, they gently lifted Rhea's body, the weight heavier than it seemed—like the betrayal still lingered in her bones.
Taren remained still, eyes locked on where she'd fallen.
"I didn't think you… I never thought you'd be the traitor," he whispered. "But I still saw you as a friend, Rhea. Even if you gave up before the rest of us."
Lirael looked at Taren, then up at the night sky. No stars—only thick, rolling clouds, heavy with oncoming storm.
One thing was certain now:
They couldn't trust anyone easily anymore.