The artificial sunlight flooded through the skylights of John's room, casting a warm glow that contrasted sharply with the exhaustion he felt. The clock on his bedside terminal read 12:07. He had only just woken up, his body still groggy from a restless night. The events of the past few weeks and the weight of everything on his mind had kept sleep at bay. Now, with only a few hours of rest, he rubbed his eyes and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his muscles aching in protest.
Before he could get moving, there was a soft knock on his door. It slid open slightly, and Rapi's voice drifted in, quiet but firm.
"Commander?" Her voice was steady, but her brow creased faintly as she took in the disheveled state of the room—and him. "You were supposed to brief us today. We haven't heard from you yet."
John blinked, trying to clear the fog from his mind. "Ah… yeah, sorry. I'll be ready in a few minutes," he said, his voice gravelly. He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as the motion pulled at his still-healing side.
Rapi stepped just inside, her arms loosely crossed. "You didn't sleep, did you?"
The question hung in the air, and for a moment, he considered brushing it off. But her tone wasn't accusatory—just quietly observant. He sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Not much," he admitted, keeping his gaze on the floor. "But I'll manage."
She tilted her head, studying him. "You don't have to manage alone, Commander. We're a team."
He stiffened slightly at her words, the weight of them settling heavily on his chest. "I know," he said quickly, though the reply felt hollow. "Thanks, Rapi."
Her eyes lingered on him, as if she wanted to say more, but she simply nodded. "Take your time. We'll be ready." She turned and left, the soft click of the door sliding shut leaving him alone again.
John exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. Her concern felt like another weight—one he didn't feel he deserved. You're their leader, you're supposed to be the one they rely on, not the other way around. The thought gnawed at him as he moved to get ready, his body sluggish but his mind refusing to let him rest.
The Command Center was quieter than usual, the hum of the systems filling the still air. John sat at the center table, a tin of beans in one hand and a fork in the other, lazily scooping them into his mouth. A steaming cup of black coffee sat untouched in front of him, its bitter aroma mingling with the sterile scent of the room.
Across from him sat Rapi, Anis, and Neon. Rapi's usual composed demeanor was intact, though her sharp eyes occasionally flicked toward the tin in John's hand, a faint crease of disapproval forming. Anis leaned back in her chair, balancing it on two legs as she twirled a pen in her fingers, a smirk playing at her lips. Neon, ever the energetic one, tapped her boots against the floor, her expression a mix of impatience and curiosity.
John set the tin aside, his expression turning serious. "Alright, team, here's the situation. Andersen assigned me a mission before I headed to the Outer Rim. We were supposed to locate the Pilgrim who assisted us during the Chatterbox incident."
At the mention of Chatterbox, the room's atmosphere shifted. Neon's usual grin faltered, her hands resting still on the table. Anis stopped leaning back, her chair landing on all four legs with a soft thud. Rapi's eyes narrowed, the faintest flicker of unease crossing her face.
"She was last tracked near a research base in the Frozen North," John continued. "That base has gone dark. No transmissions for three cycles. Andersen's exact words were 'potential breach.'"
"Raptures?" Rapi's voice was sharp, her concern evident.
"Most likely," John replied. "Curses tend to hang around areas saturated in cursed energy, so unless some horrific things have been going down at the base we will be facing Raptures. The base is critical. If it's compromised, we risk losing any data they had on Chatterbox, or the Pilgrim herself."
Anis let out a low groan, crossing her arms. "Great. So we're heading into frozen hell to deal with whatever decided to tear up this base. I swear, next time, can't we get assigned somewhere tropical?"
"Don't worry, Anis," Neon chimed in with a grin, her usual enthusiasm bubbling up again. "The cold keeps you sharp. And it gives me more chances to hone my firepower!"
Rapi leaned forward slightly, her tone measured. "Do we have anything else? Tactical maps, known personnel at the base? Anything that gives us a clearer picture?"
John shook his head. "Not much. The transmissions we do have are vague. Last thing we heard was routine—then silence. And the location itself isn't doing us any favors. The base is in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by ice fields. Harsh terrain, minimal visibility, and temperatures that'll freeze you in minutes if your gear fails."
Anis groaned again, louder this time. "So, we're going in blind and cold. Perfect. Just perfect."
John gave a faint smirk, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
Despite his attempt at levity, the weight of the mission pressed down on him. Inside, his thoughts churned. You can't fail this one. They're counting on you. If something goes wrong, it'll be on you. Part of him wished he could go on his own.
Rapi nodded, her tone firm but cautious. "Understood. We'll prepare for the worst. What's our timeline?"
"We leave tomorrow morning," John replied. "Standard cold-weather gear. Neon, I want you to double-check all weapons and calibrations before we head out. Anis, Rapi, you're on supply checks. Make sure we've got everything we need for sub-zero conditions."
Neon gave a mock salute. "You got it, Commander. I'll make sure everything's ready to fire on all cylinders."
Anis leaned back in her chair again, smirking. "Sure thing, boss. Just don't expect me to enjoy it."
Rapi stood, her movements precise as always. "We'll be ready, Commander."
John stood from the table, stretching his back with a slight wince as the strain of his injuries made itself known. He pushed the empty tin of beans aside and picked up his coffee, downing the rest in a few quick gulps before setting the mug down. He moved toward the door, his boots echoing faintly against the cold metal floor.
As he reached the exit, Anis called after him, leaning casually against the back of her chair. "Hey, Commander. Apart from all this mission prep, what else are you up to today? Or are you just gonna keep sleeping?"
John glanced back at her, one hand already on the door's edge. "Training," he replied, his voice measured. "Need to get a bit of fitness back before we head out."
Rapi's sharp tone cut in before he could take another step. "Absolutely not," she said, her brows knitting together in a rare show of open disapproval. "Commander, you're still recovering. I won't let you risk further injury by pushing yourself too soon."
John hesitated, caught off guard by her directness. "I didn't mean physical training," he lied smoothly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth to sell the bluff. "I was talking about sorcerer-style training—mental discipline, energy refinement. Nothing that would strain me physically."
Rapi's stern expression softened slightly, though a trace of doubt lingered in her eyes. "Good. That's more reasonable. But I'm coming with you."
"Wait, sorcerer training?" Neon piped up, her usual curiosity and enthusiasm bubbling to the surface. "You mean like the stuff you used to fight Raptures? Count me in! I wanna see what makes you tick, Commander. Maybe I can learn a thing or two to add to my firepower!"
Anis snorted, standing and stretching. "I'm not letting you have all the fun, Neon. If the Commander's gonna show us some mystical mumbo-jumbo, I'm tagging along. Besides, someone's gotta make sure he's not actually sneaking off to do burpees or whatever insane thing he's planning."
John swore under his breath, his thoughts racing as he realized his cover was about to be blown. He had hoped to squeeze in some light physical training—just enough to test his limits without pushing too hard. But now, with the three of them tagging along, that plan was out the window.
"Fine," he said, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just… don't expect anything flashy. Sorcery's not exactly spectator-friendly."
Rapi nodded, her focus unwavering. "As long as it's safe for you, Commander, we're coming. Let's move."
Neon practically bounced with excitement, while Anis rolled her eyes but followed with a smirk. John led the way, his mind still muttering curses as he tried to pivot his plans. If he couldn't train his body, he'd at least have to make his sorcerer training convincing enough to keep them from questioning him further.
The sun-like artificial light filtered through the skeletal remains of the old construction site, casting long shadows across the cracked concrete and rusting scaffolding. John sat cross-legged on the ground in the center of the site, a piece of piping held firmly in his hands. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady, and cursed energy flowed subtly through the metal, faint vibrations buzzing under his fingertips.
In his mind, however, John was far from serene.
Get bored already, please. Just get bored and leave. He cursed silently, feeling the weight of their presence a short distance away. It wasn't that he disliked their company, but this wasn't the training he wanted to do. If they'd leave, he could start working on his body—testing his limits properly.
Nearby, Neon and Anis had turned the construction site into their personal playground. Neon balanced precariously on a beam, arms outstretched for effect, while Anis leaned against a nearby wall, chuckling at her antics.
"Careful up there," Anis called, her tone dripping with mock concern. "You fall, and I'm not carrying you back."
Neon shot her a grin. "Don't worry! I've got perfect balance! Like a cat. Or… maybe a squirrel?"
Anis shook her head, laughing under her breath. "You're more like a hyperactive puppy, Neon."
A few feet away, Rapi stood apart from the commotion, her focus entirely on the work tablet in her hands. She tapped at the screen, running what seemed to be maintenance checks on the squad's equipment. Her posture was relaxed but disciplined, her presence a grounding contrast to the others.
John kept his focus on the piping, trying to ignore the distractions. His cursed energy pulsed gently, running through the metal in waves as he practiced controlling its flow. It wasn't flashy, but it was fundamental—essential to maintaining his edge as a sorcerer. Still, he couldn't help feeling the weight of Neon and Anis's antics pressing on his patience.
Finally, Neon's voice broke through. "Hey, Commander," she called out, hopping down from the beam. "What are you even doing over there? Just sitting and holding a pipe? Doesn't look like training to me."
John opened one eye, glancing at her. "I'm working on cursed energy control," he replied, his tone neutral.
Neon tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "Control? Like… you're doing something with it right now? Doesn't look like much."
John sighed, setting the piping down for a moment. "It might not look like anything to you, but it's a basic technique. The fundamentals of sorcery. It's not meant to be flashy."
Neon plopped down cross-legged in front of him, her eyes gleaming with interest. "So… can you, like, make a rabbit appear out of a hat? Or something cool like that?"
John blinked, momentarily thrown by the absurdity of the question. He exhaled heavily and shook his head. "That's not how cursed energy works, Neon," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then, on a whim, he secretly pulled a coin from his pocket, leaning forward slightly. "But here. Watch closely." Before Neon could react, John smoothly reached up and appeared to pull the coin from behind her ear. "Ta-da," he said flatly, holding it up between his fingers.
Neon gasped, her face lighting up with amazement. "Whoa! You can do that? That's awesome!"
Anis, leaning casually against a stack of bricks, rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Neon. That wasn't sorcery. That was sleight of hand. He just palmed the coin."
Neon's expression fell, her amazement giving way to suspicion. "Wait, really? Commander, was that just a trick?"
John leaned back, giving her a faint smirk. "Guess you'll never know," he said, letting the coin vanish into his palm again.
Anis laughed, shaking her head. "Good save, Commander. Maybe you should join a circus next time we're off duty." John smirked faintly, but inside, he sighed. At least they're entertained.
The artificial lights above cast muted reflections on the steel walls of the outpost as the group made their way back from the training site. Neon and Anis walked ahead, their voices lively as they debated the mechanics of sorcery, each idea more absurd than the last.
"I bet he can turn invisible," Neon said, throwing exaggerated hand gestures into the air.
"Invisible?" Anis scoffed, her smirk widening. "Please. If anything, he's probably just hiding snacks from us with some kind of magical pocket dimension."
John trailed behind, the quiet hum of their voices becoming a dull backdrop to his own thoughts. His boots scuffed against the floor, his steps slower than usual. His chest felt heavy—not from exertion, but from frustration. He flexed his fingers idly, aching to test his limits, to push himself harder, but he had spent most of the session holding a pipe and pretending to meditate for their benefit. Nothing real. Nothing useful. Just wasting time.
As the group reached the central hub, the chatter from the others faded. Neon and Anis veered off toward the main table, still trading playful jabs. John shifted to take the staircase up to his quarters, hoping for a reprieve from the weight pressing down on him.
"Commander."
The voice stopped him mid-step. He tightened his grip on the railing, his knuckles whitening slightly before turning to see Rapi standing at the base of the stairs. Her arms were crossed loosely, her posture composed as always. But her expression was unreadable—a mix of calm professionalism and something sharper that he couldn't quite place.
John sighed, his hand still on the railing. "What is it?" His tone came out rougher than intended, but he didn't correct it.
Rapi took a single step forward. "Why are you so against waiting?" she asked, her voice level but unwavering. "You know you need rest. Even you can't deny that."
His jaw tightened, the familiar sting of guilt rising unbidden in his chest. "I'm not against anything," he said, too quickly. "I told you—I'm fine."
"Are you?" she replied, tilting her head slightly. "Because it doesn't seem like it."
The simplicity of her words struck a nerve. His fingers curled against the railing, and he turned fully to face her, his gaze hardening. "Why do you care so much?" he asked sharply, bitterness edging his tone. "I said I'm fine. Isn't that enough?"
For a moment, Rapi didn't answer. Her steady gaze softened just slightly, her arms lowering to her sides. "Because someone has to," she said quietly, the words heavy in their simplicity. Her eyes shifted toward where Neon and Anis were still talking, her expression becoming almost imperceptibly distant. "Commander. I care about my squad. They trust you, and so do I. But if you keep pushing yourself like this, you're going to break. And we'll be the ones left to pick up the pieces. Your not only putting yourself at risk here"
Her voice didn't waver, but there was something deeply personal threaded into her words, something unsaid that hit harder than any sharp rebuke.
John's mouth opened slightly, but no response came. The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable, before he finally looked away. "I…" He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "I'm sorry," he muttered, the words foreign on his tongue. "I didn't mean to—"
"I'm not asking for an apology," Rapi interrupted, her voice calm but firm. "I'm asking you to take care of yourself. You can't do your job if you're too stubborn to admit when you need help."
He looked back at her, the faintest flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face before it hardened again. "I'll be fine," he said quietly, though the words felt hollow even to him.
Rapi studied him for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded, her gaze steady. "Just make sure you are."
She turned and walked away, her footsteps soft against the metal floor. John lingered at the base of the stairs, his grip tightening on the railing. The bitterness in his chest twisted painfully, not at her words, but at the truth they carried. I'm fine. Sure. Just a tool doing its job. What else is there?
The artificial lighting of the outpost's simulated moonlight cast soft shadows through the command center's windows. John lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the faint ambiance of the outpost blending into the silence. Sleep evaded him, the stillness of the night offering no solace from the churn of thoughts about the mission ahead.
After a long stretch of futile rest, he sat up, exhaling sharply. Lying there wasn't helping. He pulled on his boots and jacket, deciding to take a walk through the outpost's quiet streets. Perhaps the cool night air would clear his mind.
The streets were deserted, bathed in a pale glow from the overhead lighting that mimicked moonlight. The ground was crisp and dry. He wandered past the outpost's growing network of buildings—barracks, shops, and other structures designed to foster a semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos. The sight of them was a stark contrast to the militaristic origins of the base, and it left him with a strange sense of detachment.
Turning a corner, John's gaze fell on one of the newer establishments—a small café with a cheerful sign reading Café Sweety. Its lights were still on, spilling a warm glow into the otherwise still night. He hesitated. It was late—far too late for a place like this to still be open. Curiosity nudged him forward, and he pushed open the door, the soft chime of a bell announcing his presence.
The interior was warm and inviting, with soft music playing faintly in the background. A faint aroma of coffee and baked goods lingered in the air. Behind the counter, slumped over with her head resting on the surface, was a woman with silver hair. She wore a red jacket, and a black sleep mask obscured her eyes. Her steady, even breathing made it clear she was asleep.
John glanced around the empty café before his eyes landed on a set of vending machines in the corner. Not wanting to disturb her, he walked over and scrolled through the options. Selecting a caffeine-free coffee, he waited as the machine hummed and dropped the can into the tray below. He grabbed it, then made his way to a small table near the window and sat down.
The chair creaked slightly as he leaned back and cracked open the can. He took a slow sip, savoring the bitter taste. His eyes flicked briefly toward the sleeping woman, her posture unguarded and peaceful. For a moment, the scene felt strangely ordinary—so removed from the chaos that usually defined his life.
The soft chime of the bell above the door broke the silence, pulling his attention. A tall figure entered, their presence immediately shifting the atmosphere. A Nikke, John noted, as her black hair framed her pale face, tied into a neat ponytail with a few loose strands brushing her cheeks. She wore a lab coat, its hem slightly rumpled, and her red-rimmed eyes betrayed recent tears.
John's grip on his coffee tightened slightly as he watched her approach. "Can I help you?" he asked cautiously, his tone even.
The Nikke stopped a few feet from his table, her gaze dropping to the can in his hands before lifting to meet his. "You're Commander John, aren't you?" Her voice was soft but strained, the kind of tone that carried the weight of an unspoken purpose.
He studied her for a moment before nodding. "I am. And you are?"
"Mihara," she said quietly, the name falling from her lips like a formality. She didn't elaborate, her red-rimmed eyes scanning his face, searching for something.
The silence stretched as John waited for her to speak, but she seemed hesitant. Finally, he set the can down, leaning forward slightly. "What's on your mind, Mihara?"
Her lips parted, but the words came slowly, trembling as if they'd been buried for too long. "Yuni," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "She… was everything to me. And she's gone." She took a shallow breath, gripping the edge of her lab coat as though it were the only thing keeping her steady. "I know you were there when it happened. Please, tell me what… what happened to her."
John exhaled softly, his eyes dropping to the can in his hands. The memory of that day surged unbidden to the surface, the chaos, the desperation, the futility of it all. "She was unconscious when I found you both," he began, his voice measured. "Chatterbox…" He hesitated, searching for the right words. "He absorbed her. It happened so fast. I tried to stop him, but… there was nothing I could do."
Mihara's hands trembled as she processed his words. Her gaze dropped to the table, her knuckles whitening against the fabric of her coat. "She always kept me grounded," she murmured, her voice distant. "Even when everything fell apart, when I was with Yuni… we never did. And now…" Her voice cracked again, and she blinked quickly, trying to force back the tears threatening to spill.
John leaned back slightly, his eyes softening. "You couldn't have done anything, Mihara. You were unconscious. There's no way you could have stopped it."
Her head lifted slightly, her expression tightening as if trying to reconcile his words with her own guilt. "And you?" she asked quietly, her voice trembling but firm. "You were there. Why couldn't you stop it?"
The question wasn't accusatory, but it hit like one. John's lips pressed into a thin line. He hesitated before responding. "Sometimes, no matter what we do, it's not enough," he said, his tone steady. "But I tried. I can promise you that."
Mihara's eyes lingered on him, her tears threatening to spill over. "I believed in us, you know," she said softly. "Believed that we could be more than what we were made for. I thought… if I could ask you, maybe it would make things clearer. But now…" She shook her head, looking away. "Now I don't even know what to do with this."
John watched her, his sharp features softening as he took in her pain. He didn't have answers for her—there were none to give. "You keep going," he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. "One step at a time."
Mihara's lips twitched slightly, a faint shadow of a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Do you believe that?" she asked, her tone pointed, though not unkind.
His jaw tightened, the words caught in his throat. He held her gaze for a moment before looking away. "I do," he lied, the words heavier than the silence that followed.
Mihara's gaze faltered, her hands trembling slightly as she stared down at them. "Yuni and I… we were like two broken gears," she murmured. "Twisted, imperfect. But we fit together. Without her, I… I don't know what I am anymore."
Mihara then turned to leave, her movements slow and deliberate. She adjusted her lab coat, her posture stiff but composed. "Thank you, Commander," she said softly. "For telling me." Her gaze lingered on him for a moment before she turned and walked toward the door. The bell chimed softly as she left, her figure disappearing into the quiet night.
John remained seated, his gaze falling to the coffee in his hands. The silence returned, louder than before, pressing against his chest. He exhaled softly, leaning back in his chair.
"One step at a time," he muttered again, but even he could hear the hollowness in the words.
The snow crunched beneath their boots as they made their way north, the biting chill seeping into every exposed gap in their gear. The transport ship had dropped them off a fair distance from the research base, leaving them to trudge through the unrelenting cold. The landscape stretched out in endless white, broken only by jagged ice formations that loomed like silent sentinels over the frozen expanse.
John led the group, his coat pulled tightly around him as he trudged through the snow. Each step sent a dull ache through his barely healed body, the cold biting mercilessly into his body where his wounds hadn't fully closed. His breaths came out in visible puffs, each one a reminder of how far they still had to go.
Behind him, Neon and Anis were locked in their usual banter, their voices cutting through the eerie stillness of the tundra.
"Speed beats size every time," Anis declared, expertly forming a compact snowball in her gloved hands. "Quantity is quality all on its own."
"Ha! We'll see about that," Neon shot back, crouching down to pack an enormous snowball. "One good hit, and you're done."
John glanced back briefly, his face hidden by the scarf wrapped around his neck. Neon hurled her oversized creation at Anis, missing by inches and sending a spray of snow into the air. Anis retaliated with a rapid-fire barrage, her snowballs hitting their mark with uncanny accuracy.
"Gotcha!" Anis crowed as Neon tried to dodge, laughing as one of her snowballs hit squarely on Neon's arm. The two dissolved into laughter, the tension of the cold and the mission briefly forgotten in their playful rivalry.
Rapi, walking a few steps behind them, finally stopped. Her sharp voice cut through the air like a blade. "Enough."
The two froze, Neon still mid-throw and Anis smirking behind her makeshift snow fort. Rapi's glare left no room for argument.
"This isn't the time for games," she said flatly. "Focus. We have a mission."
"Relax, Rapi," Anis said with a shrug, brushing snow from her coat. "We're just letting off some steam."
"Save your energy," Rapi replied curtly, her tone brooking no further discussion.
Shifty's voice crackled over their comms, breaking the tense silence. "Hello? Can you hear me now? I've been trying to get your attention for five minutes!"
Rapi reached for her comm device, her irritation shifting focus. "We hear you, Shifty. Go ahead."
Shifty's exasperation was palpable even over the static. "Finally. I was saying that the Alva Particle concentration here is low—no need for a purge sequence. Your path to the base looks clear. Just watch your footing; the terrain gets worse the closer you get."
"Understood," Rapi replied. "Thanks for the update."
John flexed his fingers in his gloves, his body stiff from the cold and his injuries. He adjusted his coat, his jaw clenched against the ache radiating from his side. Every step felt heavier, the cold gnawing at his resolve.
"Let's move," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind. "The sooner we get there, the better."
As the group trudged forward, Neon and Anis exchanged a glance, their earlier antics subdued. Rapi stayed close to John, her sharp eyes flicking over his movements. She noticed the way his steps faltered slightly, the stiffness in his shoulders.
"Commander," she said quietly, her voice cutting through the wind. "Are you sure you're good?"
"I'm fine," John replied curtly, his tone leaving no room for argument. But as he adjusted his coat, he avoided meeting her gaze. The cold wasn't the only thing biting at him—it was the nagging reminder of how much weaker he felt.
The snow crunched steadily beneath Rapi's boots as she led the group forward, her eyes scanning the endless white horizon. The cold bit at her exposed skin, but she ignored it, her focus honed on every step, every sound around them. She had always been able to do this—channel herself into the present, block out distractions, push aside emotions. It was second nature, something she had once been proud of.
But lately, cracks had begun to form.
John's words echoed in her mind, quiet but persistent. "Do you… wonder if you're still human?" It had been such a simple question, but the way he had asked it—the flicker of something vulnerable in his voice—had unsettled her. It wasn't because of the question itself; it was because she hadn't hesitated to answer. We're weapons first, she had said, as though it were an immutable truth. And for a long time, it had been.
Her grip on her rifle tightened slightly. That had been the problem, hadn't it? Believing that truth too fully, letting it define her, letting it excuse her.
The weight of her past pressed against her, a familiar ache she could never quite shake. She had wanted to carry on the legacy of the one who had come before her—the one who had shown her what it meant to fight with purpose, to protect. She had thought it was about strength, about being unwavering, about doing what had to be done no matter the cost. But there had been moments when she had misstepped, when the line between following orders and losing herself had blurred.
Her chest tightened as a memory surfaced, one she had tried to bury. It wasn't the act itself that haunted her—not entirely. It was the aftermath. The way she had felt nothing at first, the way irritation over the protocol had overshadowed the gravity of what she had done. And then, the realization—the hollow, gut-wrenching realization of what that detachment meant. For all her efforts to carry on the legacy, she had failed in the most fundamental way.
The wind howled around her, pulling her back to the present. She glanced over her shoulder briefly, her sharp eyes flicking to John. He was trailing slightly behind her, his movements stiff, his breath visible in short bursts against the frigid air. She could see the strain in him, the way he carried himself like a man trying to convince everyone, including himself, that he was fine. His words from before tugged at her again, unspoken questions lingering between them. She knew that feeling too well.
Had Red Hood ever doubted herself like this? Rapi had always imagined her as unshakable, a figure of pure conviction. But maybe that wasn't the whole truth. Maybe that strength had come from somewhere else, from something deeper. Rapi wasn't sure she had that. She had spent so long trying to emulate it, trying to live up to an ideal she didn't fully understand. And every misstep, every failure, only made that legacy feel further out of reach.
The others' voices cut through her thoughts. Neon and Anis were bickering again, their laughter breaking the stillness of the frozen landscape. It was the kind of moment Rapi would have brushed off before, filing it away as inconsequential. But now, as she watched them, she felt something stir—a faint warmth beneath the cold. They trusted her, relied on her. Maybe that was enough.
Rapi slowed her pace slightly, letting herself fall in step with John. She didn't look at him directly, her gaze remaining forward, but her voice was calm when she spoke. "You asked me if I thought I was still human," she said, her words quiet but deliberate. "I think… I've spent so long trying not to be, I don't know what the answer is anymore."
It wasn't an admission, not fully. But it was a crack in the armor, a small acknowledgment of the doubts that had lingered too long in the back of her mind. She didn't expect a response, and John didn't give one. But the weight of the silence between them felt a little lighter now, a shared understanding settling into the space.
The wind picked up again, and Rapi squared her shoulders, her focus sharpening once more. The path ahead was still unclear, the snow obscuring everything but their immediate steps. She didn't know what the future held, what her role would be, or if she could ever truly live up to the legacy she had inherited. But for now, she had a team to lead, people to protect.
And for now, that was enough.
The faint noise of the Ark-issued portable heater filled the otherwise silent night. It was their only solace against the freezing cold, tucked between the group like a makeshift campfire. Neon and Anis lay huddled nearby, wrapped tightly in thermal blankets, their soft breaths fogging the air. The snow around them glowed faintly under the moonlight, its stark whiteness blending into the endless horizon.
John sat against a jagged ice formation, his right hand resting across his knees, while Rapi sat a short distance away, her posture rigid and watchful. The cold bit into the exposed edges of their gear, and though the air was still, tension hung heavier than the frost.
For a while, neither spoke. John stared out into the endless expanse, his thoughts a storm of unwelcome memories and regrets. Rapi's gaze stayed trained on the horizon, but her mind wasn't on the landscape. There was a weight in her chest that had nothing to do with the cold.
Finally, she broke the silence, her voice low but clear. "Earlier, when you asked me if I thought I was still human… why did you ask?"
John didn't look at her, his eyes fixed on the rifle in his lap. His hands tightened around it briefly, the metal cold even through his gloves. "Because I've wondered about it myself," he admitted, his tone rough but subdued. "Not about you. About me. If I'm still… whatever that means."
Rapi's eyes flicked toward him briefly, her expression calm but searching. "And?" she prompted.
John let out a quiet, bitter laugh. "And I don't think I am. Not really. A human doesn't keep going when everything else stops making sense. A human doesn't survive by just… fighting."
Rapi's gaze lingered on him, her own doubts surfacing as his words echoed in her mind. Her grip tightened slightly on her rifle as she turned her eyes back to the horizon. "You keep fighting because you have something left to protect," she said evenly. "That's human, isn't it?"
John shook his head, the motion stiff. "I keep fighting because it's all I know. It's all I'm good for. Protecting people? I've tried. It doesn't work. People still die. I'm just a tool, Rapi. Tools don't protect. They get used."
Rapi's jaw tightened, the faintest flicker of something crossing her face—frustration, maybe, or hesitation. Finally, she spoke, her voice calm but with an edge to it. "You think that makes you not human?"
John let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Humans don't only feel a thrill in nothing but fighting, don't get used to killing. I don't even... I Just keep moving forward because I'm afraid of stopping."
Her eyes drifted briefly to the sleeping forms of Neon and Anis, her expression softening. "I've thought that too. That I wasn't human anymore. That I didn't deserve to be."
John's gaze shifted to her, surprised by the admission. "What changed?"
Rapi was quiet for a moment, her hands tightening slightly around her rifle. "I met people who made me think I could be more. That maybe I didn't have to stay the way I was."
John frowned, the skepticism clear in his voice. "And that worked?"
She hesitated, her voice dropping slightly. "Not always. I still… I still don't know if I deserve it. There's a lot I've done that I can't take back. Things I let happen. People I failed. Someone I…" Her voice trailed off, but the weight in her words lingered, heavy and unspoken. She exhaled softly, her breath fogging in the cold air. "But I try. Even if I don't feel worthy of it."
Her words hung in the air, her posture tensing as though bracing for judgment. John studied her quietly, the sharpness in his gaze softening.
"What keeps you going, then?" he asked eventually, his voice quieter now. "If you don't feel like you're worth it?"
Rapi's eyes returned to the horizon, her expression distant. "I think… it's because someone believed in me once. They gave me a purpose when I didn't have one. I've tried to carry that forward, even when I've failed. Maybe that's enough. Maybe it isn't." She paused, her voice dropping. "Sometimes it feels like I've let that legacy down."
John's brow furrowed. "What legacy?"
She didn't answer immediately, her gaze fixed on the snow as if searching for something buried there. "Someone who was better than me. Stronger. They… left something behind, and I thought I could take it up. But the more I've tried, the more I've realized I don't measure up."
John leaned forward slightly, his voice even. "Sounds like you're the one holding yourself to that standard. Maybe no one else would see it that way."
Rapi's lips quirked into a faint, almost wistful smile. "Maybe. But that doesn't change how it feels."
Her words landed softly. John exhaled quietly, his breath curling into the frigid air. Leaning back against the ice, he allowed the silence to stretch, his voice subdued when he finally spoke. "Carrying on a legacy means you're still holding onto something worth fighting for. That's more than a lot of people can say."
Rapi's gaze shifted to him, her sharp eyes locking onto his. She studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. "And you, Commander? What are you fighting for?"
John hesitated, his fingers flexing in the night air. The question hung in the air, pressing against him in a way that felt heavier than the cold. "I don't know," he admitted finally, his voice low and strained."Maybe it's because… fighting is the one thing that makes sense to me. I don't just do it because I have to—I like it. The rush of it, the clarity it brings, even when everything else feels like chaos. It's simple."
He paused, his eyes dropping to the snow. "But it's not just that. Maybe I still think—hope—it can mean something to someone. That it can help people, even if I don't know how or why anymore."
His words were halting, as if he was trying to piece together a truth he hadn't fully accepted. He looked down at the snow, his grip tightening on his rifle. "But that's it. It's not noble or grand," he added quietly. "It's just… what keeps me moving."
Rapi's expression softened—not with pity, but with something quieter, harder to define. "That's more than nothing," she said after a beat, her voice carrying a rare note of reassurance. "Even if it doesn't feel like it."
The silence stretched between them again, but it felt less heavy this time. Rapi turned her focus back to the horizon, her thoughts still tangled in the weight of the past, the legacy she carried but didn't feel worthy of. John stayed where he was, his mind quieter but no less troubled, the cold biting into them both as the night pressed on.