The recovery ward smelled of antiseptic and healing salves.
It occupied an entire floor of the Governor's medical complex. A sprawling facility in the administrative district, far from the chaos of the lower city. The walls were clean white, softened by warm lighting and carefully placed plants that gave the sterile space a touch of life.
Jade walked through the corridor slowly, Niamh at his side, Selene just ahead. Gorvoth had stayed behind at the shop, and Lio had volunteered to mind the counter, still too shaken to face the children who'd survived what his brother had witnessed.
Medical staff moved past them with quiet efficiency—nurses checking vitals, doctors conferring in hushed tones, counselors speaking softly to traumatized children who flinched at sudden movements.
Jade's boots made no sound against the polished floor. His expression was carefully neutral, but his eyes tracked everything, the way the nurses moved, the security stationed at every exit, the reinforced doors with biometric locks.
Good, he thought. They're taking it seriously.
Selene glanced back at him, her face softening. "You don't have to do this today, you know. They need time to adjust. So do you."
"I promised her," Jade said quietly. "I told her I'd take care of them."
Selene's throat tightened. She nodded and said nothing more.
They stopped at a door marked Ward 7 - Pediatric Recovery. A guard stood outside—not aggressive, but present. He straightened when he saw Selene, bowing his head respectfully.
"Lady Varros."
"We're here to see the children," Selene said gently. "How are they doing?"
The guard's expression flickered with something sad. "Physically? Most are recovering well. Mentally..." He trailed off, the unspoken answer hanging heavy in the air.
Selene nodded. "May we enter?"
"Of course, my lady."
He unlocked the door with a palm scan, and it slid open with a soft hiss.
The ward beyond was large and open, designed to feel less like a hospital and more like a safe space. Beds lined the walls, separated by privacy screens. Soft music played from hidden speakers—something gentle, instrumental. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, painting everything in warm gold.
Fifteen children occupied the ward.
Some lay in their beds, staring at nothing. Others sat together in small clusters, speaking in whispers or not at all. A few were with counselors, participating in what looked like art therapy—crayons and paper spread across low tables.
All of them looked up when the door opened.
And every single one tensed.
It was instinctive. The way prey animals freeze when a predator enters their space.
Their eyes went wide, bodies drawing inward, preparing to run or hide or simply endure whatever came next.
Jade stopped just inside the threshold, recognizing that fear immediately.
Selene stepped forward first, her presence warm and non-threatening. "It's okay," she said softly. "No one here will hurt you. We just came to see how you're doing."
Slowly—so slowly—the children began to relax. Some recognized Selene from the night of the rescue. Others simply responded to the gentleness in her voice.
One of the counselors,a kind-faced woman with greying hair approached. "Lady Varros. We weren't expecting you today."
"I hope that's all right," Selene said. "We wanted to visit. To see how they're adjusting."
The counselor smiled faintly. "Of course. They've been asking about... well." Her eyes flicked to Jade. "They've been asking about him."
Jade blinked, surprised. "Me?"
"You're the one who saved them," the counselor said simply. "They remember."
One of the children stood—a boy, maybe thirteen, the same one who'd spoken in the hall that night. He was thin, too thin, but his eyes were clearer now. Less hollow.
He walked toward Jade slowly, stopping a few feet away.
"You came back," the boy said.
Jade nodded. "I said I would."
The boy studied him for a moment, as if trying to reconcile the bloodied, terrifying figure from that night with the calm child standing before him now.
"Why?" the boy asked quietly. "Why did you help us?"
Jade's throat tightened. "Because someone helped me once. When I needed it most."
The boy's eyes glistened. He looked down at his feet, hands clenching into fists. "Thank you."
The words were barely audible, but they hit Jade harder than any blow.
"You don't have to thank me," Jade said softly.
"Yes, I do." The boy lifted his head, tears streaming down his face. "You didn't have to come. You didn't have to risk yourself. But you did."
Another child approached—a younger boy, maybe eight, the one Jade had carried from the back room. He didn't speak, just reached out and gripped Jade's sleeve with small, trembling fingers.
Then another. And another.
Within moments, six children had gathered around him. Not crowding, not overwhelming, just... there. Close enough to feel safe. Close enough to believe, maybe, that safety could exist.
Selene blinked rapidly, turning away to compose herself.
Jade stood very still, letting them hold onto him, this fragile anchor in a world that had broken them.
"You're all safe now," he said quietly. "I promise."
A voice broke through the moment—soft, hesitant, familiar.
"Jade...?"
Everyone turned.
Mira stood near one of the beds at the far end of the ward. She looked better than she had that night—cleaned up, dressed in soft clothing, hair brushed and tied back. But her eyes were red-rimmed, swollen from crying, and her hands twisted anxiously in front of her.
Jade's breath caught.
The children around him stepped back instinctively, sensing the weight of whatever was about to happen.
Jade crossed the ward slowly, closing the distance between them. Mira watched him approach, her expression a complicated tangle of grief, gratitude, and guilt.
When he stopped in front of her, she broke.
"I'm sorry—" The words tumbled out in a desperate rush. "I'm so sorry—if I'd been stronger—if I'd protected her better—she wouldn't have—she wouldn't have—"
He said , voice soft and apologetic.
Mira shook her head. "It's not your fault."
"She did what she thought was right. She's always been that kind of a person.
Silence reigned between them for a few minutes.
Then Jade reached out, gripping her shoulders gently. "She asked me to take care of you. To make sure you were safe. That's what mattered to her."
Mira stared at him through tear-blurred vision. "I don't even know what to do without her. She—she was all I had—"
"She's not all you have anymore," Niamh said softly, stepping forward. Her voice was thick with emotion but steady. "You have us now. All of you do."
Mira's face crumpled. "Why? Why would you—you don't even know us—"
"Because someone did the same for me once," Jade said quietly, echoing his earlier words. "And because you deserve it."
Mira collapsed forward, and Jade caught her, holding her as she sobbed into his shoulder. Her whole body shook with the force of her grief, weeks—maybe years—of pain finally breaking through the numbness.
Jade held her steadily, one hand resting on her back, letting her cry.
Around them, the other children watched in silence. Some wiped at their own tears. Others simply stared, as if witnessing something they'd forgotten existed.
Kindness.
Selene moved through the ward quietly, stopping at each bed, speaking to each child. She learned their names—or the names they remembered. Asked what they needed. What they wanted.
Most couldn't answer. Didn't know how to answer. The question itself was foreign.
One girl—no older than nine—whispered that she wanted to see the sky. Not through a window. Just... the sky.
Selene promised her she would. Soon.
Another boy asked if he could have a book. Any book. He hadn't been allowed to read in... he couldn't remember how long.
Selene made a note. By tomorrow, he'd have a library.
Niamh found herself sitting with three of the younger children, telling them stories—simple, gentle tales about brave children and kind strangers and happy endings. They listened with wide eyes, clinging to every word as if it were a spell that could rewrite their pasts.
And Jade stayed with Mira.
When her sobs finally quieted to hiccups, he guided her to sit on the edge of her bed. She didn't let go of his hand, fingers gripping tightly as if afraid he'd disappear.
"What happens now?" she whispered.
"Now, you heal," Jade said. "However long it takes."
"And then?"
"Then you decide what you want your life to be."
Mira looked at him, eyes searching his face. "That easy?"
"No," Jade admitted. "It won't be easy. But it's possible."
She was quiet for a moment. Then, softly: "She really asked you to take care of me?"
Jade nodded. "Her last words."
Mira's breath hitched, but she didn't cry again. Instead, she squeezed his hand.
"Then... thank you. For trying to save her. And for keeping your promise."
Jade's throat tightened. "I'm sorry I couldn't save her too."
"She wouldn't blame you," Mira said quietly. "She....she wasn't like that. She always said... if one of us could get out, that was enough."
Jade's chest ached. "You both deserved to get out."
"I know." Mira's voice was small, broken. "But at least... at least she's free now. She's not hurting anymore."
It was the kind of comfort people told themselves when grief was too heavy to carry.
Jade didn't contradict her. Just sat with her in the quiet, holding her hand.
An hour later, the counselor gently suggested they let the children rest. Jade stood, reluctantly releasing Mira's hand.
"Will you come back?" she asked, eyes wide.
"Yes," Jade said without hesitation. "As often as I can."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
Mira nodded, something fragile and tentative settling into her expression. Not quite hope. But maybe the memory of it.
As Jade, Niamh, and Selene moved toward the door, the boy who'd spoken first called out.
"Wait—"
Jade turned.
The boy stood, fists clenched at his sides, chin lifted despite the tremor in his voice. "When we get better... when we're strong again... can we help? Can we do what you did? Save others?"
Jade stared at him for a long moment.
Then he smiled—small, genuine, the first real smile he'd worn since that night.
"Yes," he said. "When you're ready. If you want to."
The boy's eyes shone. "I want to."
Several other children nodded, murmuring agreement.
Jade's smile widened just slightly. "Then you should recover first."
They left the ward in silence, the door sliding shut behind them.
In the corridor, Selene stopped, turning to Jade with an expression that was equal parts pride and heartbreak.
"That was very kind of you," she said softly.
"It's what she would have wanted," Jade replied.
Niamh wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. "You're a good boy, Jade. Don't ever forget that."
Jade leaned into her embrace, letting himself take comfort in her warmth.
But inside, a part of him wondered.
Am I good? Or am I just... pretending?
He didn't know the answer.
Wasn't sure he wanted to.
As they walked back through the medical complex, past guards and nurses and the hum of machinery keeping broken bodies alive, Jade thought about Fourteen.
About her smile as she died.
About Mira's grief.
About fifteen children who would carry scars for the rest of their lives.
And he made a silent vow.
I'll keep my promises. I'll protect them. I'll teach them to protect themselves.
And I'll make sure no one ever hurts them again.
It was a heavy vow. An impossible one, maybe.
But Jade had carried heavier things.
And he would carry this too.
For her.
Outside, the twin suns hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the city.
Nexus carried on—chaotic, filthy, broken.
But somewhere in its heart, fifteen children were learning to breathe again.
And a boy with silver eyes was learning that some scars never healed.
They just became part of who you were.
....