Isabella Solder
I don't know how long I'm floating.
Time doesn't exist here the way it should. There's no sense of before or after, no feeling of seconds passing. If I've been here for moments or years, I couldn't tell the difference.
There is nothing around me.
Not darkness.
Not light.
Just space.
It stretches endlessly in every direction, empty but not hollow, quiet but not peaceful. I don't feel cold or warm. I don't feel the weight of my body or the pull of gravity. I don't feel like I'm falling, but I don't feel stable either.
I try to move.
At first, nothing happens. Then I realize I can move — just not the way I expect. There's no resistance here, no sense of pushing against anything. I think about lifting my arm, and the thought itself drifts forward, untethered from anything physical.
It's unsettling.
Where am I?
The question forms clearly in my mind, but the moment it does, I realize something else.
I'm not scared.
That should bother me more than it does.
I know something is wrong. I know this isn't normal. I know I shouldn't be here — wherever here is — but fear never comes. Panic doesn't rush in. My thoughts feel distant, like they're being filtered through something thick and slow.
The space around me hums faintly.
Then I hear voices.
Not one voice.
Many.
They overlap, stacking on top of each other until the emptiness feels crowded despite still being empty. Some are deep, some sharp, some distant enough that I can't tell where they're coming from.
They don't sound human.
But they don't sound monstrous either.
They sound… old.
"The First Level has been cleared."
The words don't echo. They don't travel through the space. They press into me instead, like pressure against my chest. I don't understand what they mean, but something in me reacts anyway.
Another voice speaks, overlapping the first.
"Synchronization remains incomplete."
Then another.
"The vessel remains unaware."
I frown, or at least I think I do. I don't feel my face move, but the thought is there.
What vessel?
I try to speak. I want to ask who they are. I want to demand answers. My thoughts form the words easily, but nothing leaves me. It's like my voice is sealed somewhere deep inside, locked behind something I can't see.
The voices continue, unconcerned.
"Progress is within acceptable margins."
"The tether holds."
"Deviation remains minimal."
A strange sensation stirs in my chest.
Not pain.
Not pressure.
A pull.
Like something inside me is being gently tested, tugged at to see if it will resist.
The space ahead ripples.
At first, it's subtle, like heat distortion over stone. Then it sharpens, the distortion folding inward until it becomes an image.
My breath catches.
Dagian.
He's lying on the ground.
Not sleeping.
Not resting.
Broken.
One of his arms is gone entirely, torn away at the shoulder. His left leg ends below the knee, jagged and dark, like it was ripped off instead of cut. There's a hole straight through his chest — not a wound, but an absence — wide enough that I can see empty space beyond his body.
Blood runs down his face.
From his eyes.
Like tears that won't stop.
He isn't breathing.
He isn't moving.
Something tightens violently in my chest, sharp and sudden. Panic crashes into me all at once, raw and overwhelming.
"No," I think desperately. "No, no, no—"
I try to scream.
Nothing comes out.
I try to reach him, to move toward him, but the space won't respond. My thoughts stretch forward uselessly, grasping at nothing.
"She reacts," one of the voices notes calmly.
"The tether responds appropriately," another replies.
"Pain reinforces continuity."
The words feel wrong.
Cold.
Detached.
They don't care that he's broken. They don't care that he's dead. They sound like they're observing a result, not a person.
I feel something twist inside me, hot and sharp, like a thread pulled too tight. The space around me vibrates faintly, responding to my distress.
"This outcome is not final."
"Possibilities diverge."
"Intervention has not concluded."
Dagian's body flickers.
For just a second — just long enough to make my heart stutter — I think his head tilts.
I think he looks at me.
The space fractures.
Light slams into my senses.
Sound crashes in.
Gravity snaps back all at once.
I stumble forward out of the gate.
My feet hit solid ground and my stomach lurches violently. I barely manage to grab the cold stone railing beside me before my knees buckle. The world spins hard, colors smearing together, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut to keep from throwing up.
I breathe in sharply.
Then again.
The nausea fades almost instantly.
In its place is warmth.
Not gentle warmth — something deeper, fuller. It spreads through my chest and limbs, making my skin tingle like I've just stepped into sunlight after being cold for too long. My head clears. My thoughts sharpen.
It feels… good.
Too good.
I open my eyes slowly.
Alderra stretches out in front of me.
The difference hits immediately.
The streets are wide and smooth, black stone polished so clean it reflects the lantern light lining the walkways. Tall gothic buildings rise on either side, elegant rather than oppressive, their windows glowing softly. Iron railings line the paths, wrapped with living greenery — actual plants, healthy and vibrant.
The air is cool, but it isn't heavy.
It doesn't smell like smoke or blood.
It smells clean.
Quiet settles over the city, broken only by distant footsteps and low voices. No screaming. No collapsing buildings. No monsters crawling out of shadows.
I straighten slowly, my hand still gripping the railing.
"…Wow," I murmur.
Marissa steps out of the gate beside me and nudges my arm gently.
"Yeah," she says. "That reaction never really goes away."
I glance at her. "You've been here before?"
She nods. "I used to live here. Until I was seven."
My eyebrows lift. "Seriously?"
"Before the Hell Breach," she says quietly. "When it happened, millions of people were sent down to Evervale. Temporary relocation, they called it."
She exhales slowly.
"Temporary doesn't mean much when years pass."
I look back at Alderra.
At the clean stone.
The soft lights.
The calm order.
"…I think I like it here better," I admit.
Marissa smiles faintly. "Most people do."
The gate closes behind us with a sound I don't expect.
Not a slam.
Not a hum.
A soft, final click.
It's quiet enough that I almost miss it, but once I hear it, something in my chest tightens anyway. Evervale feels farther away the moment that sound fades, like the world I knew just shut its door behind me.
Ahead of us, the guards move into formation again.
Dagian's stretcher floats slightly above the ground now, surrounded by a translucent barrier that refracts the lantern light in subtle colors. He doesn't move. His face is pale beneath the protective layers, eyes closed, expression peaceful in a way that doesn't feel earned.
Calexis walks at the front.
She doesn't rush, but she doesn't slow down either. Her pace is deliberate, precise, like the city itself is bending to her presence rather than the other way around. The guards respond to her movements instinctively, shifting positions without orders, scanning rooftops and side streets as we pass.
I stay close to Marissa.
She hasn't said much since we stepped through the gate, but I can feel the tension in her posture. Her shoulders are tight, her hands clasped together in front of her like she's afraid that if she lets go, something else will fall apart too.
Alderra unfolds around us as we walk.
The streets widen, branching into clean paths lined with wrought iron fencing and low stone walls. Bridges arch overhead, connecting buildings that rise tall and narrow, their windows glowing softly. Unlike Evervale, nothing here feels like it's collapsing under its own weight.
It feels… maintained.
Watched.
People stop when they see us.
Some step back politely, others bow their heads as Calexis passes. A few stare openly at Dagian's stretcher, whispering to one another in hushed tones. I catch fragments of conversation as we move.
"…that's him, right?"
"…heard he fought it alone…"
"…no way he survived that…"
I keep my eyes forward.
I don't like the way they look at him. Like he's already a story instead of a person.
Rogan walks a few steps behind us.
He blends in with the guards easily, posture relaxed but alert, eyes constantly moving. When I glance back at him, he notices immediately.
I slow my steps just enough to fall back closer to him.
"What is it?" he asks quietly.
I hesitate, then nod toward Dagian. "Is this… normal?" I ask. "For hunters. After a hunt."
Rogan's expression shifts.
Not surprise. Not confusion.
Something closer to unease.
"No," he says simply.
I frown. "So this isn't standard procedure?"
"The Fourth Layer doesn't interfere," he says, lowering his voice. "Not during hunts. Not after. They don't send aid. They don't escort wounded. They don't add support."
My stomach tightens.
"So whatever this is—"
"It's not normal," he finishes. "And it's probably bigger than any of us realize."
I glance back at Calexis.
At the guards.
At the way the city itself seems to part for them.
"…Is that bad?" I ask.
Rogan exhales slowly. "Depends who you ask."
We continue walking.
The further we go, the quieter the city becomes. The buildings shift subtly in design — less residential, more fortified. Symbols are etched into the stone now, faintly glowing as we pass, reacting to Calexis's presence.
Eventually, we enter a wide courtyard.
At its center stands the medical base.
It looks more like a fortress than a hospital. Thick pale stone walls rise high, reinforced by metal and glowing runes embedded directly into the structure. The gates are massive, heavy, and guarded by medics and armored sentries alike.
As we approach, the symbols along the walls brighten.
The gates open without hesitation.
Dagian is moved inside immediately.
The barrier around his stretcher shifts smoothly, lifting him as medics step forward. Their movements are quick, efficient, practiced. They don't ask questions. They don't hesitate.
Marissa steps closer, her voice tight. "What kind of treatment will he need?"
Calexis answers without turning around. "Extended recovery. Continuous monitoring. His body sustained multiple fatal traumas."
Marissa swallows. "But he'll live."
"Yes," Calexis says bluntly. "Provided nothing else interferes."
That seems to be enough for Marissa.
She nods once, shoulders sagging just slightly as Dagian is taken further inside, disappearing behind reinforced doors that seal shut with a low, heavy sound.
The courtyard grows quieter after that.
People begin to disperse, some escorted away by guards, others lingering briefly before moving on. I stay near Marissa, not quite ready to move.
That's when I notice him.
He's walking along the far side of the courtyard, moving in the opposite direction of everyone else. He wears a long white coat that reaches almost to his knees, the fabric clean and unwrinkled despite the chaos around him.
His hair is brown.
Not just brown — Dagian's brown. The same shade. The same slightly messy way it falls, like it never quite listens.
Something tightens in my chest.
I don't know why.
I take a step forward without thinking.
The man doesn't look at me. He keeps walking, hands tucked casually into his coat pockets, posture relaxed.
Another step.
I feel drawn to him in a way I can't explain. Like if I don't follow him now, I'll miss something important.
Then someone steps directly into my path.
I stop short.
The man in front of me wears dark clothes and a black hat pulled low over his face. He leans lightly on a cane, posture relaxed but deliberate, like he knew exactly where to stand.
I look up at him.
He smiles easily.
"Ah," he says. "Apologies. Didn't mean to startle you."
I stare at him, unsure what to say.
"My name is Nairix," he continues, tipping his head slightly. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
There's something about the way he says it that makes my skin prickle.
Not fear.
Recognition.
And I don't know why.
I glance past him instinctively, trying to spot the man in the white coat again.
He's gone.
When I look back at Nairix, his smile hasn't changed.
"I imagine today has been… overwhelming," he says lightly.
I hesitate. "You could say that."
He nods, as if that confirms something for him. "You're adjusting remarkably well."
I don't know how to respond to that.
"I won't take up much of your time," he continues. "I simply wanted to introduce myself."
"Why?" I ask.
He chuckles softly. "Curiosity."
Something about that answer doesn't sit right with me.
Before I can press further, Marissa calls my name from behind me. I glance back at her, then return my attention to Nairix.
But he's already stepping away.
"We'll speak again," he says over his shoulder. "I'm certain of it."
And then he's gone, disappearing into the flow of the city as easily as if he was never there.
I stand there for a moment longer, unsure why my heart is racing.
Then I turn back toward the medical base.
Dagian is inside.
And I don't know why, but I feel like everything just changed.