Ashes of Aether | Sylus x MC

November 16th, 2049

The journey back to the base felt heavier than usual. The silence between Sylus, Anastasia, and the rest of the team stretched like an endless void, thickened by the weight of betrayal and the specter of death that had followed them so closely in the days past. Cassandra's betrayal, her death, and the violent confrontation with Victor—all of it clung to them, an invisible fog wrapping tighter with each passing mile. They had lost an ally, nearly lost themselves, and survived a brutal encounter with one of their most dangerous adversaries. But survival had come with a cost, and everyone could feel it.

Anastasia stared out the window of the vehicle, her eyes tracing the jagged lines of the N109 Zone's ruins. Her reflection in the glass was distorted, the harsh, uneven terrain outside merging with her features, making her almost unrecognizable to herself. She barely registered the occasional bumps of the gravel road beneath them or the way her muscles ached from the fight. Her mind was elsewhere—on Cassandra, on what could have been, and what lay ahead now that Victor was dead.

Beside her, Sylus sat still, his hand resting on his knee, but tension radiated from his body. His crimson eyes flicked over the route ahead, calculating every possible threat, even in the absence of immediate danger. Sylus never relaxed, not fully, and tonight was no different.

Kieran slouched in the back of the vehicle, gingerly prodding the bandage wrapped around his nose. It was swollen and raw, a painful reminder of how brutally Cassandra had rearranged his face just days ago, and now it was broken once more, courtesy of Victor's men.

Despite the fact that he hadn't sustained serious injuries in the fight with Victor, his bruised pride was another matter entirely. He still couldn't believe it—of all the things to get broken, it had to be his nose. Again. "This sucks," he muttered, mostly to himself but loud enough for Luke to hear.

Luke, sitting across from him, let out a dramatic, exaggerated sigh as he gingerly dabbed some salve onto the deep cut on his arm. His forearm was streaked with drying blood, and the wound was far from small. "Oh, grow up," he shot back, glaring over at Kieran. "You barely got touched. Meanwhile, I got my ass beat just trying to keep your reckless self alive."

Kieran's face twisted in indignation, his hand still hovering near his nose. "I didn't ask you to play hero. I had it handled until you decided to get in the way like some overprotective puppy. And besides, my whole face got rearranged, again. You just got a few paper cuts."

Luke's eyes narrowed, and he was visibly holding back a laugh. "Paper cuts? Really, Kieran? This," he waved his arm dramatically, pointing at the gash that ran along his forearm like a battle scar, "is not a paper cut. You're not going to make it on any medical show if that's your diagnosis. And don't act like you weren't about to get skewered by that guy's blade if I hadn't stepped in."

"Oh, please," Kieran scoffed, "I had it under control. I was just setting him up for the finishing blow, and you—well, you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time." He raised his chin defiantly, clearly trying to sound more confident than he felt.

Luke shook his head, smirking. "Yeah, right. You were definitely in control when your nose got smashed in by him. Real heroic moment there, Kieran. Should've seen it. One second, you're all, 'I've got this,' and the next, you're crying out like a child who got their favourite toy taken."

"I was not crying!" Kieran shot back, his cheeks reddening slightly at the jab. "And it's not like you were any better, hero. You couldn't even dodge a single blow without tripping over your own feet."

"Excuse me, my feet were perfectly fine, thank you very much. It was the enemy that tripped me up. And besides," Luke said with a smirk, "I was saving your sorry butt, remember?"