"It's no fun killing you now. Your life belongs to me anyway. I'll claim it when you're old enough to make it interesting."
The words echoed in the back of his mind as Ren's eyes fluttered open, only to be met by a blinding glow that forced him to squint. A soft groan slipped from his throat as the world slowly came into focus: humming ceiling panels and sterile white lights bleeding into every corner.
The air smelled like antiseptic, blood, and something faintly sour, like old bandages.
'Where am I? Is this a hospital?'
He tried to sit up, but pain clamped down on his chest, ripping the air from his lungs.
"Ah… shit," he hissed through clenched teeth, sinking back into the stiff mattress. His ribs screamed, and each breath sent a sharp, stabbing pain through his chest.
Instinctively, his hand reached for his head, then stopped as he felt the rough pressure of fresh bandages, tightly wound across his scalp. His pulse quickened as the reality of his condition slowly sank in.
'…I survived?
How… how is that even possible?
I should have been dead.'
The memories of the chaos were still fresh in his mind. He could recall everything that happened:
The sky cracking apart. The red rain falling. Screams echoing under a bleeding sun. People trying to flee, but ending up dead regardless.
His chest tightened as the horrific images flooded his mind, too vivid, too loud to shut out.
His mother, his father, his friends, even his home. All of it gone. Everyone dead. The entire city, destroyed because of one man.
He squeezed his eyes shut as a sharp breath caught in his throat.
'...Everyone... that son of a bitch… how could he kill everyone in the city? Mom... Dad...
And… I thought he killed me too... so how?'
Then his eyes widened, sharp and alert, as a sudden pang gripped his heart.
'Anya!…What about Anya?'
He quickly scanned the room, then let out a slow, steady breath of relief when his eyes fell on Anya, his little sister, curled up on the adjacent bed with her arms wrapped tightly around a worn brown teddy bear, her chest rising and falling softly.
'She's alive.'
He was glad. Anya was the only family he had left now that everyone he knew was dead.
"Thank—"
He tried to speak, but his throat was raw and painfully dry, so dry it felt like sandpaper scraping the inside of his mouth.
'What the hell?'
No, not hell. Familiar.
'Shit, how long has it been?'
Even in his disoriented state, he recognized the feeling. He knew why his throat was this dry.
It was starting again: the thirst.
'Water... I need water.'
His fingers curled near his throat, desperate, as the dryness deepened: hot, raw, and clawing from the inside.
This was no ordinary thirst.
It was a condition Ren had lived with his entire life, one that was severe, relentless, and utterly consuming.
Unlike most people, Ren had a condition that forced him to drink far more water than normal, like something deep inside him was fundamentally wired wrong.
He needed three to four liters of water every hour, just to function, just to stay alive.
If he didn't drink, the symptoms came fast. First, a slow burn in his throat. Then his skin would begin to dry, tighten, and crack, like the moisture was being pulled from him, stolen from the inside out.
He could never explain why he needed such inhuman amounts of water, or how his body hadn't collapsed under the weight of it. Drinking that much should've killed him. No doctors had answers. No tests ever helped. It was just his reality.
He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious, but one thing was certain: he hadn't had enough water. Of course, whoever brought him to this hospital couldn't have known about his strange condition. There was an IV drip in his arm, sure, but that barely counted. It wasn't even close to enough.
Now, every nerve in his body was screaming for water.
With effort, he twisted his aching body toward the table nearby. A jug of water sat there, glass beside it. Without hesitation, he grabbed the jug and emptied it in one desperate gulp.
But the dryness only worsened, as if the water itself had been swallowed by a desert storm inside him.
'Fuck!'
The jug was empty now, and he was still too weak to get up and search for more.
He glanced sideways and noticed a small fishbowl with a few goldfish swimming slowly inside.
He hesitated.
'Should I...?'
***
Outside the hospital, just a few blocks away, leaning against his car, a pale man in a worn police uniform dragged on a cigarette. Beads of sweat rolled down his neck, not from the heat, but from the icy chill that had settled over him as he stared at the tablet in his hands.
'Man… How the hell is this even possible?'
He flicked the screen. Satellite images of District 6 lay before him, a city reduced to rubble. Skyscrapers were toppled, streets cracked open like dried earth, and everywhere lay the silent bodies of victims.
Some had their blood drained, their pale, hollowed faces frozen in terror.
His jaw tightened. The horror burned behind his eyes as he scrolled further.
A photograph appeared: a man walking calmly away from the ruins, carrying a severed head in one hand.
He knew what this man was. One of those beings who called themselves Viran.
Virans — rare, feared, and often misunderstood — were elemental beings born with powers far beyond human comprehension. They lived quietly among ordinary people, woven into the fabric of society.
Most civilians knew they existed: those strange individuals who could bend water, ignite flame, or fracture the earth with a glance. Some worked with the government, helping curb crime or advancing key industries. A handful were revered, even worshipped in secret.
But true knowledge about Virans, the origin of their power, the nature of their afflictions, their limits, remained buried beneath layers of rumor and half-truths. Most people went their entire lives without ever meeting one in person.
Only the highest levels of government and the upper echelons of law enforcement possessed fragments of the truth. And even they feared what they didn't fully understand, because within the Viran race existed a handful so powerful, so far removed from human limitation, they were spoken of like gods.
But still, for two powerful Virans to clash in the middle of a city, leveling an entire district and killing everyone in it, was beyond anything anyone could have imagined.
'I thought there were rules to prevent stuff like this?'
Kevin was still lost in thought when the sound of approaching footsteps pulled him back.
A woman rounded the corner, slipping her phone into her coat pocket as she walked briskly toward him. Her black ponytail swayed with each step, sharp and purposeful, like someone used to delivering bad news.
"What do we have?" he asked, voice low but steady.
"I just got word from the hospital," she replied. "Two survivors from District 6 are awake. The girl's selectively mute, but we might get something from the boy."
He nodded, eyes narrowing.
"That's something," he muttered, flicking his cigarette butt to the ground as he turned to enter the passenger seat.
She was already sliding into the driver's side, adjusting the mirror without a word. The engine roared to life as they pulled away from the curb and drove toward the hospital.
***
Minutes later, Kevin and his assistant entered the hospital and headed to the upper floors — Ward 19B. Kevin paused outside the door, a sudden chill crawling down his spine.
He swallowed hard and knocked twice before pushing the door open.
The cold hit him instantly.
'Why is it so damn cold in here?'
The small ward was brightly lit, the overhead lights humming with sterile intensity. On the table, an empty fishbowl sat askew, its glass streaked with droplets, and inside, two goldfish flapped weakly against the bare glass, their bodies twisting in slow, desperate motions.
'Okay, that's not creepy at all.'
Kevin's gaze shifted to the boy lying in the bed. He looked soaked, as if he'd just stumbled out of a storm or risen from a desert mirage, wet and exhausted, his skin clammy against the crisp hospital sheets.
Kevin's knowledge of Virans was limited but enough to recognize the signs. The boy was one of them. The pale draining that plagued Virans with an affinity to water was written clearly on his face and in the faint aura leaking around him.
'No one told me one of the survivors would be a Viran.
And why the hell is he leaking Vira like this?'
Ange stepped in, shivering.
"Woah, it's cold in here," she muttered, scanning the room before frowning at the inactive air conditioner. The eerie atmosphere made her skin crawl, and all she wanted was to get out.
The boy on the bed simply stared at them in silence, his expression unreadable. His ocean-blue eyes, clear and sharp despite the exhaustion etched across his face, seemed to hold a quiet storm beneath their calm surface.
The little girl on the adjacent bed had turned her back to them, clutching her worn teddy bear tightly. It was clear she wasn't in the mood for visitors.
Kevin cleared his throat, stepped forward, and held up his ID to begin the difficult conversation.
"Good day, Ren. Anya," Kevin said with practiced calm. "I'm Officer Kevin, and this is my assistant, Ange. We're here to ask a few questions. I promise we won't take much of your time, I know you're still recovering. May I sit?"
Ren stared at him silently for a moment before nodding faintly.
Kevin pulled up a chair beside Ren and gave a small nod to Ange. She clicked her pen, flipped to a fresh page in her notebook, and prepared to take notes.
"How are you, by the way, Ren?" Kevin asked, his voice softening with genuine concern.
Ren's eyes met Kevin's briefly before he spoke, his voice flat and dry.
"Thirsty."
Kevin exchanged a quick glance with Ange.
"Could you get him some water, please?" he asked.
Ange nodded and stepped out of the room to fetch a glass.
A minute later, Ange returned with a glass of water. Ren sat up slowly, a grimace flickering across his face. He took the glass without hesitation, drained it in one sharp gulp, and handed it back to her. Without a word, she set it down carefully on the table beside the empty fishbowl.
After a brief silence, Kevin cleared his throat and began, his tone calm but serious.
"You and your sister are in District 4 now. It's been a week since the incident."
He paused to let that settle, then added,
"You were both found at the edge of the wreckage and brought here by the Department of Civil Recovery. You've been unconscious ever since."
Ren blinked slowly, processing the information.
'Oh... so that's what happened.'
Kevin adjusted slightly in his seat.
"Can you please tell us what you remember, anything at all... before everything went… wrong?"
Ren didn't respond immediately. The silence stretched. Then:
"…It was Anya's birthday."
His voice sounded detached, almost distant, like he was recounting someone else's memory.
"My family and I were at the park. We were just about to head home when a strange man came up to Mom. I didn't hear everything, but they were arguing. Then..."
His brows knit. His voice dropped.
"...He did something. I don't know what it was. But the clouds, they changed. They went dark... but not just dark. They were covered in something. I don't know if I should call it a veil. A veil of blood."
Ange's hand froze over her notebook. Ren continued, barely blinking.
"It started to rain. It wasn't water. It was red and warm. It smelled like iron. People started screaming... running... but it didn't help."
His eyes locked on Kevin's now. There was no fear in them, only a deep, still horror.
"It wasn't the sky that changed. It felt like the world itself was shifting, something ancient and wrong, unraveling... And then I heard it..."