The first thing was the sound—muffled, metallic. Kiran's eyes snapped open to a ceiling he didn't recognize. For a moment, he didn't breathe. Panic tightened his chest, his mind flashing with jagged pieces of the fight—claws striking stone, the wolf's roar vibrating through his bones.
Instinct made him try to push himself upright—but the moment he shifted, pain ripped through his ribs and arm like a live wire. His breath caught in his throat, forcing him back against the mattress. Every movement sent sparks of agony through his side, his body reminding him it was still half-broken. He lay still, chest rising in shallow, painful pulls with every breath, scanning the shadows with darting eyes. The air smelled of antiseptic instead of blood, but his body hadn't caught up—his pulse still thudded like the beast was here.
Slowly, shapes took form. A bed beneath him. A vitals monitor casting a cold blue glow. Scratched polyglass windows filtering in streaks of pale afternoon light. Beyond thin partition walls, the hum of old machinery and the clipped voices of overworked staff seeped through.
It was a public hospital, funded by the NMA—a world apart from the private clinics run by powerful families or elite institutions. No sterile marble, no polished steel, no tuned recovery lighting—just the basics needed to keep people alive, nothing more.
The bed creaked when he shifted. The blanket was thin enough to see the fabric weave. The IV pole leaned slightly to one side, like it had been kicked too many times. Above him, a cracked display panel flickered every few seconds before settling into static biometrics.
Kiran let out a slow breath.
"Figures," he thought. "Even after all that… I'm still just a low-priority case."
No background to bump him into priority transport.
No clan name to trigger elite triage.
No awakened mutation to make him worth extra attention.
Just… lucky.
Lucky the beacon had gotten through.
Lucky the response team was close enough.
Lucky the Rift-Wolf hadn't killed him.
Luck wasn't a strategy. And after what he'd seen, after the way its claws tore through the air like the world's laws didn't apply, he knew it wouldn't save him again.
The ache in his ribs deepened when he shifted. Bandages wrapped his torso and left arm in stiff layers. His legs felt heavy, muscles tight from bruising. Breathing too deeply sent a sharp warning up his side.
He touched the bandages lightly.
And yet… he'd lived.
Somewhere in that breach zone, the Rift-Wolf was dead—brought down not by power or bloodline, but by steel piping and his refusal to be still and die.
The memory flickered behind his eyes—its eyes locking on his, the sound of claws carving into concrete, the stench of its breath as it bit at him. The feeling of his bones cracking under the strain, the sound of his own flesh tearing, and the crushing pressure of the pipe against his chest as it lodged into the back of the wolf's skull.
He had trained for months, thinking he understood the stakes. But facing it… He realized he was too passive, too optimistic. This world wasn't a challenge to overcome; it wasn't some game he could beat. It was reality--hard, dark, and absolute.
A nurse peeked her head in. "Oh! You're finally awake. Hold on, I'll get the physician." She was gone before he could answer.
He tried to sit, but pain clamped down on his ribs and shoulder, forcing him still. His body felt heavy, uncooperative. He wanted to follow, to ask questions, but he was forced to wait.
His uniform shirt was folded in a tray nearby—torn, stained. His battered NexBand sat on top, the screen faintly scratched but still functional. He'd check it later.
The footsteps approaching weren't hurried. They had the slow, deliberate weight of someone used to making others wait.
The curtain pulled back.
The man was tall, broad-shouldered, with a white coat that had seen years of use. Serious eyes sat behind data-glasses, scanning before they spoke. His badge read:
Dr. Ansel Kaive – Emergency Coordinator, Zone 4B
"You're lucky," Kaive said. "Found barely alive. Three deep lacerations, four cracked ribs, a shattered arm, a broken femur, a dislocated eye, heavy blood loss, and concussed. One more minute and you'd be a corpse."
He scrolled the datapad at the bed's foot, eyes flicking.
"Kiran Ren. No recorded mutation. No clan affiliation. Government stipend. Good academic record. Most unawakened don't survive a direct hit from even a low-tier wolf."
The statement hung there, a question without being asked.
Kaive's eyes narrowed briefly—maybe reading biometric tells—before continuing. "Stable now. We were able to stop the internal bleeding, and fortunately, no major arteries were severed. Your dislocated eye has been reattached and stabilized. We reset the femur and reinforced it with a med-brace, and your arm's been set and sealed. The lacerations along your ribs were closed before infection could set in, and the concussion's being monitored. Even with all that, you're looking at a minimum of a week here before we can clear you to leave—and that's if you follow instructions and don't push yourself."
He studied Kiran for another beat, then added: "The wolf was already injured. Claw patterns were uneven. You're alive because it wasn't at full strength. Don't mistake that for invincibility."
Kaive angled the datapad toward him. "Also, I need your statement for the breach report. Keep it short."
Kiran told it exactly as it happened in a low, pained tone: The rift tearing open. Seeking cover like protocol demanded. The rock—stupid, desperate—to draw its attention away. The pipe, the dodging, the moments where his body moved before he thought. The beacon activation seconds before the world went black.
"I didn't do anything exceptional," he finished. "Just didn't want to die. Luck. Grit. That's all."
"I don't know about that," Kaive said, voice flat but certain. "You acted. Most would've hid. And most would've died."
He adjusted the saline drip before leaving. "Not bad for a civilian with no mutation."
Then he was gone, leaving only the hum of the machines.
The next week or two blurred into a haze of beeping monitors, antiseptic, and the slow crawl of healing. The public facility had no luxuries, but the staff kept him alive. Students caught in breach zones got priority in public hospitals for basic recovery if their injuries were critical enough.
The routine was dull: Rest. Basic scans. Meals of nutrient packs and steamed protein mush. Reading his battered training notebook, now marked with dried blood.
No visitors. No messages.
And in the hours between nurse rounds and sleep, the nightmares came.
Not dreams. Not visions. Pieces of memory sharpened to a knife's edge.
The rift splitting the air, its colors twisting wrong.
The weight of that gaze—the Rift-Wolf's eyes locking on him like prey.
The wet sound of teeth closing inches from his face.
The smell of its breath. Iron. Rot. Heat.
Sometimes he woke gasping. Other times, he just stared at the ceiling, unable to close his eyes again.
Rumors drifted in from the hallway:
A clan junior had taken down a beast solo—already ranked early-stage B.
Emergency response had been delayed again—blamed on system lag in low-tier sectors.
Three breaches near schools this month.
Each one a reminder. Status mattered. Background mattered. Power mattered.
Week 19, Day 6 – Discharge
The nurse signed him out. "Don't tear the stitches. Light training in three weeks if you're careful. Full strength? Five, maybe six. You got lucky once—don't test it."
She hesitated before adding, "What you did was… smarter than most. But you may not make it out next time, remember that"
The words didn't feel like praise. More like a warning to not test my limits too often.
The tram ride home was quiet.
Bandaged shoulder aching, movements deliberate, Kiran stared at the city sliding by beyond the scratched glass.
"12 weeks," he thought. Three will be gone due to recovery. That means I will only have 9 weeks left to train before the NMADEX.
Training like before wouldn't cut it. Not after seeing what lived on the other side of a rift.
He needed to awaken. He needed to grow stronger.
What has it cost him to survive? What will it cost him in the future?
Only time will tell.