D-Animal
— "I don't need this."
Elara's voice came out firm, almost automatic, like so many other times she had told herself she could handle it. That she could endure. That she could keep moving forward without cracking.
Rafael didn't answer.
He simply turned and leaned his back against the metal door of the training room. The sound was low, solid, final. He crossed his arms slowly, occupying the entire exit with his broad frame, impossible to bypass without physical confrontation — and he knew Elara wouldn't do that.
Then, without saying a word, he raised his hand and pointed at the punching bag hanging at the center of the room.
Elara stared at it for a few seconds.
Then she let out a long, exasperated sigh, the kind that comes from deep in the chest when you realize there's nowhere left to run — not outward, not inward.
— "You're impossible…" — she muttered, more tired than irritated.
Her mismatched eyes drifted slowly to the bag. Black, worn, scarred by old impacts. A simple object. Silent. One that didn't judge. That didn't remember names. That didn't carry memories.
She stepped closer.
She raised both hands, curling them into fists. Her fingers tightened hard, the joints whitening. She took a deep breath. Once. Twice.
The first punch landed.
A dull, heavy thud — too low to be just anger. The chains creaked in protest, metal complaining under the force, and the bag swung violently, tracing a wide arc before coming back.
Elara didn't step back.
The second punch came faster.
The third, stronger.
The fourth, without hesitation.
Soon, she was in constant motion. Straight punches, hooks, blows driven from shoulder, from hips, from her whole body. The bag groaned, spun, came back, took the hit again. The sound of impact echoed through the room, blending with her breathing as it began to grow uneven.
Rafael watched in silence.
For a few seconds, he only observed. Then he uncrossed his arms.
— "Stance." — he said, firm. — "You're opening your flank too much."
Elara adjusted her feet without answering.
— "Rotate your hips." — he continued. — "Don't hit with just your arms. Use your weight."
She obeyed.
The next impact sank deeper. More violent. The bag was nearly thrown backward, chains snapping loudly against the ceiling.
Rafael nodded once.
— "That's it."
Elara didn't speak. She didn't need to. Each strike now carried something different. This wasn't pure technique. It wasn't empty training. It was everything she had been holding back since that stadium, since the day she heard the metallic sound of the needle piercing her skin, since she decided to hide three seeds, since Kael's first arrogant look, since her broken nose in the corridor, since Iron's roar, since the warm blood on the asphalt, since Seung-Woo's body on the ground.
The punches began to lose structure.
Faster. Heavier. Less precise.
Elara growled low between her teeth, the sound almost animal. The bag took a crooked punch, snapped back too fast, and slammed into her shoulder, the impact making her stagger a step.
— "Hey." — Rafael's voice came immediately. — "Don't pull back."
She steadied herself.
And then something broke.
The air left her lungs in a sound caught between a grunt and a sob, and the next punch came with everything she had. Another. Another. Another. Her hands started to hurt. Her skin burned. Her knuckles screamed, but she didn't stop.
— "He wasn't supposed to be there…" — it slipped from her throat, barely audible. — "He wasn't supposed to die…"
The next strike was so strong the bag spun fully on its axis.
— "It wasn't supposed to be like this!" — her voice cracked, but her fist didn't. — "I took the D-Armilla… I did everything right!"
Rafael stayed where he was. He didn't interrupt. He didn't touch her. He just listened.
— "And still…" — she gasped, her eyes burning. — "Still they took Iron…"
Another punch. Another. Her hands trembled.
— "They use everything." — she spat the words through clenched teeth. — "People. D-Animals. The dead."
The bag swung nonstop now, chains shrieking as if they might give way. The rhythm of the blows was almost steady, but loaded with something ugly, raw, deep.
— "I'm tired of burying good people."
The final punch had no strength.
Her fist hit the bag, but her body didn't follow through. Elara stayed there, leaning against it, her chest rising and falling erratically. Sweat ran down her forehead and neck, mixing with tears she hadn't noticed starting to fall.
She didn't cry loudly.
It was a silent, heavy cry that shook her entire body. Her forehead pressed to the punching bag, fists still clenched, as if letting go would be too dangerous.
Rafael moved away from the door.
He took a few steps, stopping at a respectful distance.
— "Breathe." — he said quietly. — "Just breathe."
She tried.
It took time.
When she finally pulled away from the bag, her arms dropped heavily at her sides. Elara dragged her forearm across her face, wiping away what remained of the tears with a rough motion, almost angry at herself.
— "Satisfied?" — she asked, her voice hoarse.
Rafael looked at her for a long moment.
— "No." — he replied. — "But now you're not pretending."
She let out a short laugh, completely humorless.
— "Damn it…"
He tilted his head slightly.
— "Welcome to the club."
---
In the infirmary wing, Lucas was sitting on the floor, exactly where he had placed himself before. His back against the cold wall, knees bent, arms wrapped around his legs.
The world felt too small there.
Knowing that Iron was active again ate at him from the inside like slow acid. It wasn't just the D-Animal. It was everything it represented. Seung. The strange laughs. The way he was far too serious for his age. The fact that he had died protecting people.
Lucas squeezed his eyes shut.
He tried to remember something good.
He tried to remember the future Elara always said they would build.
But the image of Iron walking under another D-Armilla refused to leave his mind.
He clenched the fabric of his sleeve so hard his fingers hurt. He breathed deeply, again and again, trying to loosen the knot in his chest.
— "You're not alone…" — he murmured to himself, repeating the words he had said to Rafael hours earlier.
But there, in the cold silence of the infirmary, the emptiness seemed to answer louder.
And somewhere within the Green Fortress, three different people were facing the same truth, each in their own way:
The past did not let go easily.
And the future would charge dearly for every wound left unhealed.
Lucas slowly lifted his gaze, his chest still tight, releasing a low sigh that came out like a thin thread of exhausted air.
Then he froze.
Between the slats of the ventilation duct, partially hidden by shadow and tangled cables, a pair of red eyes glowed, fixed on him. They didn't blink. They didn't move. They simply watched.
A rat.
A D-Animal rat.
Lucas's heart slammed violently against his ribs.
He swallowed hard, a chill running down his spine. It wasn't rational fear — the rat didn't advance, didn't make a sound — but there was something deeply wrong about that presence. Those eyes didn't hold animal curiosity. They held attention.
Lucas hated rodents.
Not because of a specific trauma, not because he had ever been bitten or attacked. They had never harmed him. It was instinctive. Visceral. Too small. Too fast. Too silent. Always watching.
— "No…" — he murmured, taking a slow step back.
The rat tilted its metallic head slightly, as if analyzing every micro-expression on his face. An almost imperceptible click echoed inside the duct, something like gears adjusting.
That was enough.
Lucas jumped backward, his body reacting before his mind, and snapped upright in a sharp motion.
— "Green Fortress!" — his voice came out louder than intended, loaded with tension. — "Activate protection protocol in the ducts! Now!"
The response was immediate.
A deep hum ran through the walls, vibrating the floor and climbing through the metal structures. Blue lights ignited along the ducts, forming geometric lines that pulsed in sequence. Small panels opened automatically, revealing electromagnetic containment fields and retractable grates that slid into place with a dry grind.
The rat retreated.
The red eyes blinked once before the small metallic body moved with impressive speed, vanishing into the darkness of the duct seconds before the locks slammed shut with a loud, final clack.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Lucas remained still for a few seconds, his heart pounding in his ears. He dragged a hand over his face, breathing deeply, trying to calm his racing pulse.
— "Great…" — he muttered, irritated with himself. — "Just great."
He looked again at the now-sealed duct, eyes narrowed.
It didn't feel like a common Ferus.
Nor a Deletio.
It was too small. Too silent. Too observant.
Lucas swallowed hard.
Somewhere inside the Green Fortress, something had tried to get in.
And for the first time since they had arrived there, Lucas was absolutely certain of one thing:
They were not as safe as they thought.