The sky was steel-colored as the plane came down towards the secret base, hidden deep between the cliffs. Dorian sat next to the tiny porthole window, staring out at the far horizon. The memories of the destroyed refugee camp haunted him like specters in the recesses of his mind.
"You look better," Iris spoke softly from down the aisle. Her voice dragged him out of the tailspin. He looked up to see her smiling, concerned about pinching the corners of her lips.
"Barely a scratch now," Dorian shrugged, rotating his shoulder. It still hurts. "You bawl every time I get nicked?"
Iris sniffled, rubbing at her eyes in a rush. "Only when it's you."
The aircraft landed hard, tires squealing on the worn temporary runway. The group emptied out as the warm scent of concrete dust and cold air filled their lungs. War had never allowed this spot to rest.
Sasha walked silently alongside Lena, fingers shoved deep into her jacket. She didn't give Dorian a look as they strode by, but Lena did—her gaze softening briefly before moving back forward.
Theo slapped a hand on Dorian's shoulder. "You know," he grinned, "you're beginning to make a habit of getting injured on recon missions."
Dorian smiled. "Perhaps I just enjoy the attention."
Within the base, a low hum vibrated beneath their feet. In the debriefing room, Magnus stood at the front of the table, his hulking frame casting a shadow over the flickering screen behind him.
"Okay, listen," Magnus started. "Mission was a bust. No intel gained. We lost connections to the Attack Unit, still nothing on them."
They all fell silent.
"There's a trend developing," he went on. "We always stumbled upon different things during missions, and it feels like we are getting stopped from proceeding."
Elise, the youngest among them, shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her voice was tiny. "I-I saw something strange before everything happened".
Magnus turned to her. "What do you mean, Elise?"
"There was a shadow—moving. Like the shadow knew we were arriving. I thought perhaps. someone alerted them."
The room bristled. Sasha scowled. Iris took a sharp breath. Magnus furrowed his brow.
"Recorded," he said, brushing aside the tension. "But we don't jump to conclusions. For now, let's focus on reassembling."
The meeting broke up in a wave of whispered voices. Outside, the wind howled through steel passageways.
Dorian stood against the railing of the pathway, palms pushed deep into his coat pockets. The base unfolded below him like a shattered labyrinth.
"What are you thinking?" Lena's voice cut in. She stood next to him, arms in her pockets.
"Is it my fault that the mission failed? If I haven't gotten injured, we might be able to sneak in easily."
"Maybe, but it's a good thing that the landmine where your feet landed was a small one and less explosive,"
Lena continued.
"Well, everyone is fine, and I don't want anything more than this… If the mission is a success, then I can treat that as icing on the cake."
Dorian smiled weakly, "You really are wonderful, Lena. I couldn't think like this. For me, missions are more important, I guess."
"You've changed," Lena's voice cut in.
"Huh?" Dorian looked at her in confusion.
She cocked her head. "When we found you. I didn't think you'd survive a week. But now—" she hesitated. "You've become one of us."
Turning his head away from Lena, "I hope for the best," Dorian replied.
They both stood there. The mountains in the distance across the window held his attention. "You ever wonder what's out there? Beyond the war?"
Lena nodded. "Sometimes. But right now, we've got this."
He lay in his bunk later that evening, staring up at the ceiling. On his table, a scratched, worn-out locket lay — opened to a faded photograph, no clear face only, a smile. His mother's smile greeted him, one he had never seen outside of dreams.
His eyes shut.
And he lost in his dream that began as soon as he drifted off.
[Flashes of fire. Buildings are crumbling. Screams echoing over cracked earth. A swirl of violet and silver light twisted in the sky. The edge of a mountain. Wind rushed past his face.]
And a voice — a girl's voice, distant and screaming: "Dorian."
He turned in the dream. A silhouette stood in the light. Reaching.
Then darkness.
He bolted upright, drenched in sweat. His breath ragged.
He looked at his watch resting on the side table.
01:37:34. The numbers blinked. Then, for an instant, glitched into something illegible before reforming.
Dorian blinked.
He sat there in silence, the soft whisper of the wind vibrating through the base's steel skeleton. And the locket, still open, glared up at him from the darkness.
"What should I do?"
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Character Info
Name: Lena Rowe
Age: 25 years old.
Gender: Feale
Blood Type: AB+
Height: 172 cm
Hair Color: Red (long, often tied in a high braid during missions)
Body Type: Naturally graceful rather than overtly athletic; her presence stands out more through posture and composure than raw physicality
Skills:
Tactical leadership and crisis managementLong-range marksmanshipAdvanced espionage and decodingCold-reading and interrogationAdaptive strategy – excels under pressure and unpredictable situations
Rank: Voidstrider (Elite Senior Officer – second only to the group leader)
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