When you stand close to two meters tall, people look small. But once he walked close to the cultist leader, for once, Caelan had to look up to meet his another gaze.

A shiver crawled down his spine, the hairs on his nape standing on end.

The eyes themselves had much to do with it. Irises turned into the sick purple in its entirety. Even the white cornea had a lilac hue to it. He had never met someone who allowed the Rot to take over like that.

Calm down, he’s just a man. Their rifles stayed level, steady. Not amateurs. If I made a move, I’d be dead before my foot left the ground. More could be hiding out of sight, so better comply for now.

The cultist set his massive hands on Caelan’s shoulders. Like a father welcoming home a prodigal son. “Oh, we have searched far and wide for others! Thought it would all be in vain, but here you are.”

Caelan needed to stall him. Keep the leader talking while his squad maneuvered into position. Reinforcements were coming—he had to give them time. “Who are you?”

“Oh!” He slapped at his forehead, a boom echoed through the empty ruin. “Of course, where are my manners?”

He took off the cloth covering the rest of his face. Caelan wished to jump back at the sight that awaited him.

For years, scientists studied him, and any other Type Three infected. Each occurrence kept under severe surveillance and lock and key. Most chose to work on the military, their physical augments an edge over non-infected. Most people considered them the blessed ones.

An opinion those like Caelan felt nothing but ire towards.

Still, having only the telltale purple veins in their irises wasn’t the worst fate. They didn’t die in days without treatment like Type Ones. Nor turn into abominations like Type Twos. And the less he thought of Type Fours, the better. But to him and fellows’ luck, they shouldn’t develop any other physical change.

With all that in mind, why did the leader have fungal growths covering his face?

Like a mockery of a beard, they writhed and coiled around it. Caelan thought he watched a nest of snakes all tangled around one another. Or how an inhuman monster thought that should look.

The sight of it had his stomach churn. He focused his gaze on his eyes, the less horrific alternative.

“I have renounced my name, for I am now only a Shepard. He who serves the stars!” A wave of religious fervor went through the cultists. Their voices sounded anything but human.

The soldier felt paralysis take hold of his body. He had seen the intel before, of all cultist cells under a single leader. Captured cultists gave him many names—some called him the Listener, others the Mentor.

Most exalted him as the Shepard.

His breaths came fast and shallow. Every ounce of him fought to steady them.

“At every turn, they deny the holiest of the children. But, alas, the Stars have heard our pleas!” As the leader spoke, so did the tears fall from the ‘faithful’s’ eyes. Some, to the point of sobbing. “Our foes, the heretics who deny humanity’s destiny, have delivered us another lamb!”

Something in the Shepard’s unnatural eyes told Caelan his life was over. His body knew it before his mind did. He felt the weight of the monster’s intent pressing down on him. Every inch of his, every instinct screeched for him to run. That to die gunned down by them would be a mercy in comparison.

His legs refused to obey. His whole body did.

A fire lit in his mind. Not at the men who wanted to take him. Rather, at the coward who refused to act.

The next few seconds blurred into chaos. Only Caelan, frozen in place, seemed to register it in full. For he was the only Type Three among the men that day. From the floors above a hail of precision shots. Reinforcements! The bullets cut through the air, but the Shepard moved faster.

In a blur, he yanked a woman—middle-aged, eyes filled with devotion—into the line of fire. She smiled, as if he bestowed the highest honor upon her. When all cultists around him fell, he gave the young man one last trauma-inducing look.

The others reached him, fallen on his knees in the same place. He wanted to yell for the rest to go after him. They couldn’t let the leader of all cultists escape.

He stayed frozen, staring past the carnage. Gunfire had given way to silence, but his ears still rang. The ground beneath him felt distant, unreal.

Leaning forward, Caelan threw up all the contents of his stomach. Then he slammed the ground, a guttural scream released from his lips.

In his mind, a promise to never again be that weak.

-----

Vaedra’s boots struck the floor with the same rhythm as a drill sergeant. Seraphina sat close by, legs and arms crossed, a look of defiance on her face.

As for Caelan, laid down on his bed, fresh from the blood transfusion. Memory hazy on the last few hours, he couldn’t remember much. Seraphina had explained she gave him first aid until other executors arrived. As she finished explaining what happened, the spymaster busted through the door.

Still hate hospitals.

Vaedra requested a report on what happened, then silence ensued once she got it. After what felt like an eternity, she sighed and threw herself at the couch.

“Do you have any idea how stupid you acted?” She pierced her subordinate with all the steel her eyes could muster. “Go to a dangerous site, with a suspected spy, without proper backup? And without warning anyone else?”

Seraphina lifted her chin in response. “Leopold had my back. Which, by the way, is the only reason we are alive.”

“Dumb luck, I assure you.” The spymaster shook her head at that. “What in the wastes were you thinking?”

“You need proof he isn’t a traitor, don’t you? What better way then…”

Vaedra raised her hand, the fire in her semblant enough to bring silence to the room. “Than to risk both your lives pulling a stupid stunt like that? Don’t you see you just made the situation even more precarious?”

A rush of heat flushed over Caelan. “You still think I’m not on your side? I got stabbed and broke my arm there!”

“Oh, I know you got hurt. But some would say that’s exactly what a traitor would do to throw off suspicion. You could point out the fact the attacker ran away the second Leopold punched him away!” She alternated her glare between the two of them. “Explain to me how that isn’t just a little too convenient.”

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Excuse me ma’am, but that’s a very unrefined way of thinking!” Seraphina stood up, hands turned into fists. “From the moment I told Leopold of my plan, I kept him under constant watch. Both visual contact and my blessing!”

“That’s the bare minimum.” Vaedra sighed, letting her shoulders drop. “Leave. I must speak with him in private.” The executor opened her mouth to protest, but her superior cut her off. “Do not test my patience any more, child!”

Once she left, an oppressive silence remained. Caelan broke it first. “She holds no blame.”

Vaedra took a deep breath, the kind used to hold back a yell. “Is that so?”

“Despite appearances, I’m the older, more experienced one.” He tried to sit down on the bed, his body lacking the strength. He settled for leaning against the pillows. “Should have persuaded her from trying it.”

“Then explain why you didn’t.”

Jaw tensed up, Caelan looked away from her. “Hard to make rational decisions when you can feel the rope tightening. Not to mention the idea of letting others decide my fate nauseates me.”

“Ashvale… no, Caelan.” She leaned forward, voice turned into a whisper. “You have any idea how precarious your standing is? I’m trying to prevent you being taken, or worse! But you aren’t making it any easier.”

His pulse thundered in his ears, but his face remained neutral. “Oh, now you want to help me? Funny, considering you came to our last talk armed.” His eyes darted to the knifes she carried for a moment. “Is that so it’s as painless as possible when you do it?”

She scoffed at his words. “Please, if you know me as well as your game showed, you know I suspect everyone.” She closed her eyes for a few seconds. “Listen, you know who Rikareos is, right?”

“The Ravenguard.” Caelan’s blood froze at the mention of the character from the second game. “Imperial High Whisperer, in charge of all subjects of espionage and intrigue. More important, your boss.”

“Saves me precious time, good.” Vaedra then explained how all the disappearances of agents got his attention. The fact even more executors went off the grid only worsened how it looked. “I haven’t told all the details to him yet, like you being from another world. But things keep going as they are, he’ll order me to bring you to him.” She gripped the armrest so hard the entire couch shook. “I assume you don’t require me to explain what he’ll do.”

Caelan thought back to his introduction scene at the start of the second game. It involved a room, a prisoner and a basin filled with water. Kai Garnier described what he did to the detainee as “deeply unsettling”.

“I have an idea.”

“Wonderful. Know that you gave him even more reason to suspect.” She stood up from her seat, body tensed up. “Look, I believe you are on our side. That’s the only reason I kept you free. But I don’t know how much longer I can keep his authority away.”

She got out before he could find the right words. Left with nothing but his own thoughts. If you disregarded the silent ghost who would be listening. That idea only had Caelan brood harder.

He refused to acknowledge what he felt about Leopold. Doing so would grant the bastard satisfaction he didn’t deserve.

-----

“I must say…” Dr. Moreau had a half-smirk while examining Caelan. “If anyone had told me you’d join the Executors, I would’ve laughed.”

“That’s… complicated.” He watched as he touched various points in his right arm. “So?”

She ran her fingers over the healed skin, watching for any reaction. Caelan felt no pain from it. “It’s healed in full.” She leaned back, a tap to her thigh while she scanned him.

“Isn’t that good?” The displaced moved his fingers for the first time in days. All the correct motion worked, with no discomfort.

She took a few moments to respond. “Leopold, you had multiple fractures in your fingers, wrist, and forearm. That’s the result of hitting someone’s aura without one of your own. Let’s set aside how you managed to generate that much force for now…”

“Appreciate it,” he muttered under his breath..

“And consider how we treat these types of things.” She sighed, her tapping growing in cadence. “We use a mixture of Lumos and Ignis to enhance the natural process. For simple fractures, we just use the right technique or a device mimicking it. For complex cases, we do it gradually, over a few weeks at times. With cases like yours of people with no essence, we have to be even more cautions. Less we risk essence poisoning on the patients.”

Caelan swallowed hard. “Yet, it took me six days to have everything good again.”

“Indeed.” She offered her hand to him. “Could I see the other arm?”

Bandages came undone, revealing nothing but a fading scar. With knots in his stomach, Celan recognized the signs. “What are the odds the one in my shoulder is the same?”

“Do you feel any pain?” He gave her a silent negative with his head. “Well, either you are a medical miracle, or there’s something you aren’t telling me.”

The young man thought back to his days in the army. How often he received grievous wounds, only to be back on his feet in days. Even lost his pinky once, before it regrew in less than three weeks.

Another confirmation of his worst fear.

“I’m as confused as you are, doc.” His mouth felt coarse, like he had swallowed sand.

She took hold of his hand, a gentle squeeze following. “Child, if there’s anything weighting on your mind, you can tell me. I promise you, whatever you say won’t leave this room.”

Caelan thought of Leopold’s silent treatment. Of the executors about to take him away or eliminate him. Of the idea the Rot remained within him.

Of Sam.

He put on his best smile. “Thanks ma’am, but I really don’t have anything to say.”

She gave him a pleading look before exhaling a long breath. Once she explained how a few other check-ups would come, she left the room. Alone, the image of the Shepard’s eyes flashed before him.

Stop it! That bastard is gone! You fucking murdered him already! His body tensed up at the swearing. Another broken promise…

His head turned, almost against his will, to the bathroom. The mirror waited, patient and unforgiving. His limbs shook from the effort of trying to move them. You need to make sure. Legs feeling like lead, he dragged himself out of bed. He struggled to get within five steps of the door.

What will you do if it’s true? Four steps.

That shouldn’t be possible! How could Leopold be infected? Three steps.

He buried his worries. Couldn’t let his emotions control him. Never lose authority over yourself. Two steps.

Please God. One step.

The door opened, the mirror in front of him.

He could see nothing but the usual gold. Most nobles had a variation of a metallic color to their eyes. A sign of descendance from the Matron, the Temple claimed.

He came closer, nose touching the cold surface og the glass. He scanned every bit of them, fingers running cold. Wild hope he wouldn’t find anything there. Prove his worries wrong.

A single purple line greeted him. Almost unnoticeable on the right eye.

He gripped at the sink, arms shaking. None of his efforts to hold back his breathing worked as he hyperventilated. Tears about to erupt, he looked down at the sink.

No no no no no no NO!

Hands on his face, he tried to make sense of it. Pulled all he knew of the Rot and its workings.

Only to come up empty on how this could be possible.

Then a voice came from the door. “You alright?”

Caelan stiffened, muscles tensing before his mind registered Lucien’s voice. Heart thundering in his ears, the displaced wiped the sweat off his eyes. “Yeah, just… it’s been a lot. The past few weeks.”

“I’ll bet.” He raised a plastic back filled with things. Or this world’s equivalent to plastic anyway. “Thought you could use a break from hospital food.”

I a break from life would be great. He thanked the executor, before returning to bed. Asked how Seraphina had been those days.

“Still grounded.” Lucien pulled an assortment of sandwiches and snacks in front of the patient. “Endlessly complaining too. Had to find an excuse to get away for a bit.”

“Right.”

Unlike his companion, the other “NPC” hadn’t interacted much with Caelan. He wouldn’t assert his presence over him like she did, after all. Still, the displaced felt some measure of calmness fill him.

“I heard you healed in full.” Lucien looked straight into his eyes. The bronze had hints of green here and there. Some difference from his in-game representation, but Caelan paid it no mind. “Will you be back to the dorm soon?”

The former soldier took a bite of the food. Delicious, as usual. “I hope so.”

They settled into a comfortable silence for a bit. “So, I heard you almost opened a hole on the guy with your fist.”

Caelan froze, a cookie halfway to his mouth. “Seems that way, yes. Why do you ask?”

He shrugged, a warm grin following. “Just curious. I mean, that’s impressive, considering you can’t use essence.”

“Guess so.” He could feel the weight of Lucien’s gaze on him. “Wish I knew how I did it. Everything is a blur, you know? With me almost dying and all.”

He gave a knowing nod. “I’m probably one of the few people who understand.” Lucien tapped a finger on the table, looking him over like he was studying something. Then, he spoke, as if one comment on the weather. “Your eyes are rare, you know.”

A shiver ran down Caelan’s spine at the comment. “Excuse me?”

“Gold like that? Usually only found in royalty.” He smirked. “Pairs well with your hair. Both golden, like the sun.”

Feeling the way blood rushed to his face, Caelan cleared his throat. “That’s… nice of you to say.”

He stepped away for a moment, his own face blushed. “Oh, sorry. Seraphine often scolds me from being flirtatious on accident.” Scratching the back of his head, the agent looked down. “She says I can only do that with her.”

That last sentence almost had Caelan choke. “Come again?”

“We are together. Romantically, that is.” He grinned from ear to ear. “I’m as amazed as you are, every single day.”

The displaced held himself back from asking about Julie. She acted as Lucien’s childhood friend and love interest in the games. But with so many things different from his knowledge, what’s one more?

“Congratulations, I guess.”

Feeling how awkward things became, Lucien excused himself. He talked about “Leopold” not mentioning his relationship to anyone. Seraphina in special, as she wished to keep it a secret. Once he got his assurance, he allowed the patient to be alone once more.

He laid down, turning his back against the door. Too many things in his mind, he felt Sam’s absence even more. He wished to wrap his arms around her, hear her words of comfort.

But he had never been more alone in his entire life. And for that, he fought to hold back the tears.

Couldn’t allow any weaknesses.