The wagon entered the Village at an unusual speed, kicking up dust along the main road. A few people arranging goods in front of their houses stopped to watch. When they realized there were bodies lying in the back, murmurs spread quickly.
Harick did not slow down until he reached the small local hospital.
"Help." It was the only word he managed to say as he jumped down from the wagon.
Doctors and assistants rushed forward. As they pulled the first survivor inside, the initial silence turned into organized tension. The hospital was not large, but it was efficient. The Village was used to dealing with work accidents and severe injuries. This, however, went far beyond any ordinary occurrence.
The bodies bore deep puncture wounds, extensive burns, and multiple fractures.
Some were unconscious. Others drifted between lucidity and delirium.
Harick remained outside for a few moments, trying to catch his breath. His hands were stained with dried blood. He only noticed when a nurse handed him a damp cloth.
"Go home," she said with restrained firmness. "You've done enough."
He nodded, but did not move immediately.
Through the half-open door, he saw one doctor pressing on a man's chest while another tried to stop abdominal bleeding.
The smell of antiseptic mixed with the metallic odor that still seemed to cling to him.
Hours later, the news had spread throughout the Village. Strangers had been found in the fields. Some dead. Others in critical condition. No one knew where they had come from or what had caused the destruction in the crops.
That night, the hospital lights remained on.
A week passed.
Of the rescued survivors, only three remained alive. The others did not survive their internal injuries or the infections that followed. The medical team worked beyond exhaustion, improvising solutions and using every available resource.
On the morning of the seventh day, one of the patients awoke abruptly.
The heart monitor registered a sudden spike. The man opened his eyes with a jolt, breathing irregularly. He tried to move his arms but could not. His body was wrapped in bandages and restraints.
"Easy," the attending doctor said, stepping closer. "You're safe."
The man took a few seconds to focus.
"Where…" His voice came out hoarse.
"Where am I?"
"In the Village, at the edge of Carmen territory," the doctor replied. "You were found unconscious in a plantation. You've been hospitalized for seven days."
The man frowned, as if trying to reorganize fragmented memories.
"Who brought me?"
"A young man from the village. He found you and the others in the morning."
He tried to sit up, but pain cut the movement short. The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him from straining.
"You had multiple fractures. You lost a lot of blood. Your heart stopped more than once during surgery. Frankly, we did not expect you to survive."
The man closed his eyes for a moment.
"And… the others?"
The doctor did not soften the answer.
"Five were already dead when they arrived.
Others didn't survive the following days.
Three are still hospitalized. You were the last to regain consciousness."
The silence that followed was heavy.
"What happened?" the man insisted with difficulty. "We were on a mission… then the light came… and…"
He cut himself off, as if the memory itself hurt.
The doctor observed him carefully.
"A mission for what?"
The man looked away.
"Transport. Assessment of anomalous activity. Nothing more."
It sounded rehearsed.
The doctor did not press further. He simply wrote something on his clipboard.
"Rest. Your body is still in critical condition."
When he left the room, he found Harick sitting in the corridor.
The young man stood immediately.
"He woke up?"
The doctor nodded.
"Yes. Still confused. But conscious."
Harick hesitated.
"Did he… say anything?"
"Very little. It seems they were investigating something in the region."
Alec felt his stomach tighten.
"I didn't see any vehicles near the plantation. No signs of a camp."
"Perhaps they didn't arrive by land," the doctor replied in a tone that did not sound entirely casual.
Alec remained silent.
"Go home," the doctor continued. "You've done enough for now."
In the following days, the three survivors regained some stability. Two remained unconscious longer, but the first to awaken showed progressive signs of recovery.
According to documents found among his burned clothes, his name was Guto Araque.
The identity was confirmed after indirect contact with an external SHIPSH base.
Communication was still unstable, but sufficient to generate concern.
Agents would be sent to assess the situation.
The Village was not accustomed to official visits.
Meanwhile, Alec returned to the field where everything had happened.
Local authorities had isolated the area with simple ropes and improvised signs. Part of the plantation was destroyed. The soil still bore deep marks, as if something heavy had been dragged or hurled with force.
He walked slowly, attentive to every detail.
He found no new bodies.
But he found something else.
Partially buried in the soil was a dark metallic fragment with irregular edges. It did not look natural. It did not resemble common agricultural or military equipment either.
Harick knelt and carefully removed the object from the dirt.
It was cold to the touch.
And it vibrated faintly.
He dropped it immediately, startled. The fragment remained motionless on the ground, but the sensation lingered in his hand, like a tingling current.
The distant sound of footsteps made him rise quickly.
A man wearing a discreet uniform approached along the side road. He was not from the Village.
The stranger's gaze passed over the ruined field before settling on Harick.
"You're the boy who found the bodies," he stated—not asked.
Alec hesitated for a second before confirming.
"I am."
The man studied him with calculated attention.
"I need you to show me exactly where they were."
Harick pointed.
As they walked toward the center of the devastation, he did not notice that beneath the disturbed soil, other vibrations were beginning to stir.
Deep below the surface, something was still active.