Until now, Raiga and Liara had operated out of a safehouse hidden in the surface ruins—close enough to the action when missions called for it, but never for long. That place wasn't home. It was a launch point. A battlefield.
Their real life—what little of it they still clung to—was far below, in the undercity of Zenithar.
Among the people.
Among the forgotten.
That's where they belonged.
The tunnel was damp and barely lit, emergency lights flickering against rusted walls. Raiga moved like a shadow, ignoring the dull throb in his shoulder.
The steel grate ahead groaned as he forced it open, stepping out onto the damp, uneven flooring of an abandoned drainage system.
The air was thick with the scent of rust, oil, and the faintest trace of ozone from the electric barriers deeper inside the city.
And then—
A presence.
Raiga barely had time to react before a figure stepped out from the shadows.
Liara.
Standing in the dim glow of a flickering overhead light, arms crossed, shoulders stiff, eyes burning with a fury so intense it almost made the temperature drop.
Raiga exhaled.
She didn't speak. Not a word.
Didn't even look at his wounds.
Didn't ask if he was okay.
She just walked up to him—slow, deliberate—grabbed the prototype right out of his hand, and turned on her heel.
Raiga blinked. "…Seriously?"
No answer.
She was already walking.
Fast.
Raiga sighed, rolling his shoulder with a wince.
Zenithar Underground.
A sprawling maze of metal walkways, neon-lit alleys, and repurposed tunnels, buried deep beneath the ruins.
Rusted scaffolding and tangled cables fed the city stolen power, while streetlights flickered between the blues and reds of neon signs—an artificial skyline in the dark.
It wasn't pretty. It wasn't luxurious.
But it was home.
Vendors called out from their stalls, selling scavenged tech, black-market weapon mods, and food of questionable origin.
Mechanics argued over broken exo-suits, their workstations lined with salvaged Cyber Legion parts.
Kids ran through the streets, laughing as they weaved between the legs of off-duty mercenaries nursing bottles of bootleg alcohol.
Music blasted from a nearby garage, the deep bass reverberating through the steel structures like a heartbeat.
The moment Raiga's feet hit the ground, eyes followed him.
He never talked, never smiled, and always came back covered in blood.
"Shit, is that him?"
"He looks worse than usual."
"Damn. What the hell was he fighting?"
"Think he finally lost a fight?"
Raiga ignored them.
Liara didn't.
Stepping off the drone behind him, she shot the nearest group a glare so sharp it could've cut steel.
"What are you all looking at?"
They scattered.
She sighed, rubbing her temple. "God, I swear, people here have nothing better to do…"
Raiga grunted, adjusting the bandages on his shoulder as they made their way through the city. His legs felt heavier with every step, the painkiller Garret had given him already wearing off.
He barely noticed the greetings from the usual people.
A burly mechanic named Bran leaned against his shop, oil stains covering his sleeves. "Back already? Figured you'd be dead by now."
Raiga shot him a deadpan look. "Not yet."
Bran smirked. "Give it time."
Liara rolled her eyes. "Great conversation, as always."
Further down, an older woman, Mara, waved at them from her fruit stand—one of the few vendors who actually sold real food.
"Liara, honey! And you, Raiga. You look awful."
Liara gave her a tired smile. "Long day."
Raiga just grunted.
Mara clicked her tongue, shaking her head. "I swear, if I didn't know better, I'd say that boy was raised by wolves."
"I'm right here," Raiga muttered.
She ignored him completely, tossing a red fruit to Liara. "Get some rest, dear. You both look like hell."
Liara caught it with a smirk. "Thanks, Mara."
They moved deeper into the district, past flickering neon lights and graffiti-covered walls. Raiga's mind barely processed the faces around him—old mercs he'd worked with, scavengers Liara had fixed tech for, street kids he'd scared off just enough times for them to stop trying to pickpocket him.
They weren't friends.
But they were… there.
A constant presence in this mess of a city.
The mission had been a disaster. They had lost the prisoners. He had almost gotten himself killed. The Resistance had to bail them out, which meant now they owed Garret and his crew.
And now, the person who had spent weeks planning this op—who had stayed up every damn night running simulations, checking data, covering every possible outcome—
Was staring at the ground, shoulders tight, fists clenched around the stolen prototype, walking ahead like she might punch the next person who even looked at her wrong.
Raiga exhaled through his nose.
They walked past the guards and stepped onto one of the main lifts that led into the residential sectors.
As the platform descended, the noise of the city faded—replaced by the hum of ancient machinery.
Liara hadn't said a word.
Liara reached the access panel beside their entrance. The reinforced metal door hissed as it unlocked, sliding open to reveal their home.
The only real home they had left.
The moment they stepped inside, she marched straight past him and threw the stolen prototype onto her worktable.
Raiga shut the door behind them, pressing the security lock.
He barely got a second to breathe before she slammed herself into her seat, her fingers already flying across the custom-built control interface in front of her.
The entire refuge was a technological labyrinth—a Frankenstein's monster of salvaged Dominion tech, hacked Legion data systems, and Liara's own homemade modifications.
Monitors lined the far wall, casting shifting blue and green glows across the dimly lit room. Some displayed surveillance feeds from the city's cameras, others ran complex decryption algorithms. The far room was stacked with mechanical parts, half-assembled drones, and weapon prototypes that Raiga was pretty sure weren't exactly legal.
Their place was small, but every inch of it served a purpose.
Raiga exhaled, his muscles finally giving in to the exhaustion as he let his gear drop to the floor.
The holster. The sword. The bloodied jacket.
Then, with a weary motion, he collapsed onto the mattress.
The second his head hit the pillow, the pain caught up.
His body screamed for rest, but his mind was still wired from the mission.
He cracked an eye open just enough to see Liara beside her workstation, the glow of her screens reflecting against her pale skin.
She wasn't looking at him.
She wasn't saying anything.
Raiga sighed, letting his eyes close.
This is going to be bad.
Seconds passed.
Then—
The sound of movement.
Light footsteps.
He opened his eyes just in time to see Liara standing over him.
Arms crossed.
Expression unreadable.
And then—
"Get up."
Raiga exhaled heavily, letting his head roll to the side. "I'm good."
Liara didn't even let him finish.
"I said, get up."
Raiga blinked.
She was staring at him, hard.
Her arms were still crossed, but her posture was tense—a coil wound too tight, just waiting to snap.
Raiga remained still for a few seconds, then groaned as he pushed himself upright, allowing her firm grip to drag him toward the chair beside the table.
She grabbed the medical kit from the counter and ripped it open.
Raiga expected a lecture.
Expected her to finally explode, to yell at him for screwing up, for almost dying, for making her watch that happen in real-time.
Instead—
She said nothing.
She just grabbed a cotton pad, soaked it in antiseptic—
And pressed it way too hard against his shoulder.
Raiga hissed. "Damn it, Liara—"
Liara didn't apologize.
Didn't even blink.
She just wrapped his wound with fast, practiced movements, fingers working with precision, before grabbing the bandages and pulling them tight.
Raiga clenched his jaw but didn't complain.
He knew better.
Once she was done, she didn't linger.
She just stood, turned—
"If you have something to say, just say it."
Liara's eyes snapped up.
And then—
She hit him.
Hard.
The slap echoed.
"You reckless, selfish—!"
She shoved the medical tape aside, standing. "You think this is some kind of game!? You almost died out there! You should've died!"
Raiga held her gaze. "Liara—"
"NO!" She took a step back, breathing hard, hands shaking. "Don't. Don't try to justify it."
"I was trying to save them."
"BULLSHIT!" she screamed.
Raiga froze.
"You went out there because you wanted to kill," she spat. "Because you needed an excuse."
He said nothing.
Liara shook, her hands clenched tight at her sides.
"That boy begged you for his life, Raiga. Begged. And you didn't even blink."
Still silence.
Her voice cracked.
"What would Renji think of this? What would my dad say?"
Raiga's breath hitched.
But she wasn't finished.
"We made a promise, remember? To protect people. To fight for something better. That's what they died for."
A long pause.
Then, barely a whisper—
"…Or did you forget, too?"
…
A small mountain village.
Wolven.
Their home.
Renjiro's bakery—Raiga's grandfather.
Liara's father's clinic.
A quiet, simple world. Fragile.
Then came the war.
Not just between Yuron and Delpharis—
The Dominion came first.
They marched into Wolven like they owned it.
Turned homes into barracks.
Shops into weapon caches.
Streets into killing zones.
They rounded up the men and the boys, forced them to fight on the front lines.
Those who refused were beaten.
Some were executed.
Once they had wrung the village dry, the Dominion turned it into a strategic outpost—a forward base buried in the mountain.
And when the war caught up to them—
The bombings began.
Explosions tore through the hills.
Houses folded like paper under fire.
People screamed.
Then silence.
No graves.
No funerals.
No home.
Only the two of them remained.
…
Raiga stood, slowly.
His shadow stretched across the floor, long and jagged.
"Their lives must be avenged."
His voice was hard, cold, trembling with deep anger.
Liara turned toward him, startled by the intensity of his tone.
"They didn't deserve to die," he continued. "Every life I lost that day is worth a hundred of those damned government soldiers."
Liara stiffened.
"I'll make them feel the same terror my grandfather and your father felt. Worse, if I can."
His eyes were cold, unyielding.
Liara stared at him, her lips trembling slightly.
She took a step back, her fists trembling at her sides. "Where will all this hatred lead you, Raiga?" Her voice was no longer just angry—it was desperate.
"We swore we'd find a way out, that we'd build something beyond all this bloodshed. Do you even care anymore?" Her breath hitched as she searched his face, hoping—begging—for an answer.
"Or has revenge already taken everything from you?"
Raiga let out a sharp, bitter breath, something in his chest tightening.
"We're not kids anymore, Liara," he shot back, voice low but seething. "That dream is never going to happen. We're too deep in this. We don't get to walk away."
Liara froze.
Her breath caught in her throat as his words hit her like a punch to the gut.
She grabbed a wrench from the table.
Threw it.
It slammed into the doorframe beside his head.
He stared at her. For the first time, he actually looked hurt.
Without a word, he turned and started toward the door.
Liara watched him go, still shaking, still crying.
"I hate you," she whispered, tears falling.
He took another step—
And then she ran to him.
Arms around his waist. Forehead against his back.
"Don't," she whispered, voice breaking "Don't leave. Please."
Raiga stood still, feeling her tremble against him.
Raiga closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.
Then, without a word, his hands moved.
He reached for her wrists, fingers wrapping around them gently.
He didn't pull her away.
Not this time.
Instead, he turned just enough to pull her into his chest.
Liara collapsed against him completely, her face buried in his shoulder. Her body shook with the weight of fear, relief—everything she hadn't said until now.
"What would I do without you?" She sobbed.
Raiga lowered his gaze, hands settling on her back.
"…I'm sorry."
Liara gave the smallest nod against him, her tears soaking into his shirt.
She took a shaky breath. "God. I hate you."
Raiga just smiled. "…I know."
Liara crossed her arms, looking away, her voice barely above a whisper.
"…Good."
⸻
[To be continued.]