Ezra jolted awake, gasping for air, his heart pounding against his ribs. He spat out mouthfuls of water, each cough sharp and raw in his throat.
The cold seeped into him, clothes heavy and clinging, plastered to his skin. His fingers reflexively searched over his drenched uniform, running down his torso, remembering—feeling—where the bullets had torn through him.
“Did I…respawn?”
He whispered, his hand pressing against the faint phantom pain in his gut.
It all came flooding back.
The sound of a gunshot, the flash of a muzzle, and Aban’s grin, like the smirk of a predator who knew his prey was cornered.
Ezra fired his shot; Aban immediately advanced, swift and lethal, sidestepping the bullets as if he’d seen it coming.
Ezra could still feel the weight of the shotgun in his hands, his face was extremely uneasy.
He pulled the trigger once again as the barrel was right in front of Aban.
Click.
It was the hollow sound of the firing chamber.
Ezra braced himself, but Aban smacked his rifle barrel into his stomach faster than he expected, it sent him stumbling back, his feet slipping on the loose gravel of the hillside.
“You’ve run out of trump cards, haven’t you?”
Aban’s sneer was low and mocking, a victorious glint in his eyes. He leveled his rifle at point-blank range, squeezing the trigger three times.
Each shot landed on his vital spots, driving Ezra backwards, his vision blurring, body numb.
But he hadn’t gone quietly.
He quickly raised the KSG-12 and fired one last round in the chamber into Aban.
The bullets tore through Aban’s guard—carving through flesh and shattering bone, a desperate last stand.
The look on Aban’s face, that split second of shock and pain, was etched in Ezra’s mind.
He watched Aban’s head jerk back, the smug grin wiped clean as the force of the birdshot exploded through him, his body crumbling like shattered stone.
Ezra let the shotgun slip from his fingers, feeling gravity claim him as he fell, the world spinning into a dizzying blur.
Then, just as his consciousness began to fade, a hand yanked him back from the void.
Carina.
She had him wrapped around her, her arms iron-tight as they plummeted through the air, locked together.
The wind tore at them, but she adjusted, her body an anchor, steering them as they plunged towards the river below.
They hit the water with a bone-jarring impact, the icy depths swallowing them whole, currents dragging them into an underground river's chaotic embrace.
Ezra was half-conscious, barely aware of Carina’s hands binding his wrists to her waist, securing him as the water twisted and pulled.
Every inhale burned, the currents surging around them, tossing them in relentless waves.
His head broke the surface, and he gasped in air, but only for an instant. The river sucked them down again, hurtling them toward the deafening roar of a massive waterfall ahead.
Carina’s grip tightened.
In one swift motion, she untied his wrists, and he felt her let go. Her body twisted, fighting the current as she clawed her way to the rocky shoreline.
Ezra could only watch, dazed and breathless, as Carina pulled herself free of the torrent.
Then she turned, eyes fierce, scanning for him.
Ahead of her, a massive boulder perched on the edge, teetering at the slightest shift.
With a burst of speed, she sprinted towards it, her muscles coiled and focused.
At the last second, she slammed her shoulder into the stone.
It tipped, then plummeted into the rushing river, blocking the flow with an earth-shaking crash.
The currents slackened, water raging against the new obstacle.
Without missing a beat, Carina threw herself back in, diving toward Ezra as he drifted in the now-stilled water.
Her arms wrapped around him, dragging his half-conscious form through the shallows until they were finally free of the river’s grasp.
…
Ezra’s vision sharpened, his senses slowly piecing themselves back together.
He blinked, focusing on the figure beside him. Carina sat nearby, her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them.
Her chin rested on her knees, her hair damp and clinging to her skin, eyes half-closed and locked on him.
For a moment, silence enveloped them.
Her gaze was steady, yet unreadable, shadows of exhaustion flickering in her eyes.
Ezra’s voice was a hoarse whisper.
“You…caught me?”
Carina’s lips tugged into a small, weary smile, one corner of her mouth lifting.
Carina nodded softly, her shoulders relaxing as the fury of the river settled into the quiet rhythm of their breaths, syncing as the tension ebbed away.
“Oh…”
Her voice was barely a whisper, like a thought slipping out.
“I’m glad...you made it.”
Ezra’s hand flew to his torso, tracing over the holes in his soaked uniform. The fabric was torn and frayed, but the wounds beneath had somehow sealed, as if they’d never existed.
Then it hit him—
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The shotgun clicked empty, the firing pin echoed crisp in the tunnel.
Ezra's heart pounded in his chest. But in fact, he'd planned it.
Every detail, the terror, the fumble with the safety.
He'd wanted Aban to think he was defenseless, to lull him into a false sense of security.
The cliff edge loomed.
Aban, eyes glinting with triumph, shoved him. Ezra tumbled, the wind whipping past his face.
In that fleeting moment, he realized his fatal mistake. Aban still had bullets.
A gunshot cracked the air. Pain exploded in his side. He fell, the world darkening.
Before he lost consciousness, he quickly flicked the safety off, and pulled the trigger as fast as he could, firing the fatal shot.
That shot was the only one Aban couldn't avoid. Because he had been consumed by optimism the moment Ezra fell from the cliff.
Yet, a final, bitter thought: had it been a brilliant gamble or a fatal blunder?
“It’s been two hours since we fell into the river. We’re behind schedule. Alduin and Farrel are still out there. If they find the keys first…”
Carina’s voice drifted off, laced with urgency and frustration.
Ezra broke from his daydream.
“Want to head out now?”
Ezra asked, shifting his weight to get up.
But before he could stand, Carina’s fist struck the cave wall beside her with a force that echoed.
The impact made him freeze, startled.
“If this were a real platoon, we’d be dead already,”
She muttered, voice cracking just enough to betray her frustration.
“Some ‘leader’…pathetic.”
Ezra said nothing, watching as she clenched her fists, biting her lip to stave off the tears she didn’t want him to see.
“Ah…”
He exhaled quietly, glancing away to give her a sliver of privacy.
Ezra moved deeper into the cave, settling himself against a wall farther inside.
He sat down, letting the exhaustion sink in.
As he closed his eyes, he could still hear her, near the entrance, pulling her knees up to her chest. She buried her face in her arms, her body folding in on itself, a silhouette etched in the dim light.
A soft sigh escaped him, and he opened his eyes.
“Hey…you know, sitting like that, your clothes won’t dry any faster.”
There was no response.
She just tightened her grip around her legs, curling into herself.
Ezra shook his head, looking up, listening to the steady trickle of water outside.
He stole another glance her way, noticing how the faint light filtered in, casting her figure in soft, shifting shadows.
The world seemed to hold its breath around her, the usual fire in her eyes banked by something far quieter.
“We don’t get sick in this world, remember?”
She murmured suddenly, her voice catching him off guard.
He turned his head, surprised to see she had moved.
She was now just two feet away, leaning back against the wall as he was, her head tipped back, eyes half-closed.
“Oh!”
Ezra sat up a little straighter, caught off guard by her sudden closeness.
He fumbled for something to say, but she spoke first.
“But still,”
she continued, barely above a whisper,
“It’s prickly cold.”
Her voice softened, and for the first time, he saw the vulnerability she so rarely let show.
Ezra let out a relieved sigh, leaning back against the wall. The silence settled around them once again.
He turned over his thoughts, searching for something to keep the conversation alive, something that wouldn’t shatter the fragile calm between them.
“Why were you chosen as the president?”
He ventured at last.
Carina’s gaze remained fixed on the dark cave entrance, her voice quiet but steady.
“Because I was the first to dream of Independence.”
“Against Retribution?”
He asked, leaning in slightly.
She shook her head.
“No. It was against the Architect.”
Ezra raised an eyebrow.
“Retribution was part of your side, originally?”
She nodded.
“They were…until their leader’s vision strayed. He had his own purpose, one that didn’t align with ours. And so, we split. War’s been the result ever since.”
“Was he the one with the oversized hood?”
A faint smile tugged at her lips, though it held a hint of sadness.
“That is a different leader. I'm talking about the first one. He went to face the Architect alone. In the name of God, no less.”
Ezra’s brows furrowed.
“That’s why he disappeared?”
Her eyes grew distant, clouded with memories.
“I can’t say for sure. It’s a mystery we’ve lived with for decades. When I heard he was gone, I gave up believing in anything beyond this.”
She gave a soft, almost bitter laugh.
Ezra absorbed her words in silence, feeling the weight behind them. She had always seemed so resolute, so sure of her path. This glimpse into her disillusionment left him humbled.
“I see…”
"I hate my life."
Carina suddenly began, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder might shatter her.
"Back then, I couldn’t speak to people—not properly. I’d open my mouth and the words just… couldn’t come out. It was like my voice was trapped."
She closed her eyes.
The memory of that cramped classroom, the desks old and scratched, the walls faded.
The students inside laughed and shouted, carefree and oblivious as she stood in front, feeling herself go smaller by the second.
"This is our new transfer student! She couldn't make it to the introduction period because of some familial issues. Hence, please introduce yourself!"
The teacher was friendly, she spoke to senior high school students as if they were children.
Carina swallowed hard, hands clenching and unclenching as her heart hammered in her chest.
“H-Hello, I’m… I’m Carina...”
Her words were barely a mumble, the kind that got swallowed by the hum of the overhead fan.
The room fell dead silent, only the noise of the people humming in confusion.
Every eye was suddenly on her, the boys whispering and smirking, the girls looking at each other and giggling.
She could feel the heat rising to her face.
The boys in the back muttered, exchanging words with each other silently.
“Is she… like, mentally challenged or something?”
“Dunno, bro. She's very quiet.”
“Yeah, looks like she's autistic.”
“Autistic?”
She pretended not to hear, but the words sank in, digging roots into her heart.
“And then, I couldn't remember what happened after that. But I believe everything went smoothly on the first day.”
—
When she entered her house, she walked on eggshells, feeling the tension in the air, like waiting for a bomb to go off.
Her father’s failing business had turned him into something monstrous, and each night he took out his frustrations on anyone who happened to cross his path.
If it wasn’t her mother, it was Carina.
It usually started with him muttering angrily to himself, pacing the length of their small, dimly-lit kitchen. Carina would try to make herself invisible, hiding in her room, praying he’d be too tired to bother.
But he wasn’t the type to let things go. His fists would pound on her door, rattling the hinges, his voice slurred and threatening.
Sometimes, he’d use a crowbar to pry the door open, his shadow looming over her as he grabbed whatever was within reach—a belt, a wooden spoon, even the back of a chair.
If her mother intervened, she’d only end up hurt too, pleading with him to stop.
Her mother was worn down, exhausted, but still, she tried to protect her.
Carina knew she wanted them to leave, but her father controlled every dollar.
He hid their savings, tore up her mother’s plans. Escape was a distant dream.
…
At school, there was no escape either. The whispers, the isolating stares, the sneers—they were relentless.
She drifted to the corners of the classroom, avoiding eye contact, praying for invisibility. But invisibility came with a cost.
Nobody wanted to sit near her.
She felt like a ghost, haunting the classroom, sitting alone, pretending not to notice the way her classmates kept their distance.
It was during a group project for literature that things took a darker turn. Carina ended up doing all the work herself, not a single student willing to join her.
Some day, the literature teacher noticed. Her face darkened with anger as she turned on the class.
Carina’s heart skipped, torn between gratitude and dread.
She knew what would come next.
The very next day, someone seemed like a bully, his name was Kevin, cornered her by the lockers. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a vicious glint in his eye.
“So, you tattled, huh?”
He sneered.
“Guess you’re too stupid to handle anything on your own.”
They dragged her into the stairwell, an isolated place no one would stumble upon during lunch. Kevin threw the first punch, a hard jab to her stomach that knocked the breath out of her.
She doubled over, gasping for air, but her classmates only laughed, the sound echoing through the empty hall.
But Carina had grown numb to fear.
She didn’t struggle or cry out. She simply endured, sinking into herself, letting them do what they wanted.
When the blows finally stopped, she picked herself up silently and walked back into class while keeping her wounds hidden.
After that, the bullying became a ritual. Every lunch break, they’d corner her in the stairwell. The girls joined in too, pulling her hair, slapping her, mocking her every step of the way.
She heard the insults so often that they seemed to brand her, echoing in her head even when she was alone. They would push her, tear at her clothes, mocking her as she tried to cover herself.
The next time, Kevin and a few of his friends decided to push further. They dragged her into a corner, holding her wrists against the wall.
“Let’s see what she’s hiding under that shirt.”
One of the girls sneered, her voice laced with cruelty. They tore at her clothes, laughing as she flinched, their laughter bouncing off the walls.
“Who’d even want this?”
They jeered.
The cruelty felt endless. Their laughter rang in her ears long after they left her bruised and humiliated.
She stumbled to the bathroom, slowly locking the door, leaning against the sink, staring at her reflection. She looked at herself—the bruises blooming across her arms and stomach, the scratches and red marks scattered across her skin.
She felt like a stranger, someone hollow, barely recognizable.
Carina’s hands picked up the cutter blade steadily from her pocket, her fingers pressing it against her forearm.
She took a breath, feeling the blade bite into her skin, then she slowly pulled the blade along it, the sharpness of the pain a strange, almost welcome sensation.
Blood began to trickle, the metallic scent filling her senses.
It was the only thing that made her feel anything at all.
For once, she thought, she had control over the pain.
…