The rain fell in steady drizzles over the military camp, pooling in the cracked asphalt of the narrow streets. Once a bustling district, the area had been hollowed out by years of conflict, its skeletal buildings now repurposed into barracks, supply depots, and command posts for the Central Mariks. Floodlights illuminated the area, their stark beams casting jagged shadows against the graffiti-covered walls—some of which bore the faded sigils of the Aviari resistance. Inside a repurposed corner store, Karin Vrenn sat on an overturned crate, stitching a fresh wound on her upper arm. The air smelled of damp concrete and antiseptic, mingling with the murmur of voices from the soldiers around her. A poster tacked on the wall caught her eye—a grainy image of an Aviari rebel, their wings spread wide, accompanied by the words, "Eradicate the Threat. Protect Humanity." The face was unfamiliar, but it made her stomach twist all the same. “Another close call, huh, Vrenn?” Sergeant Dunley leaned against the counter, chewing on the end of an unlit cigarette. “Saw you take down that Aviari lieutenant today. Quick work. They barely had time to flap those wings of theirs.” Karin didn’t look up, focusing instead on threading her needle. “They made a mistake getting that close.” Her voice was calm, even. Detached. Dunley chuckled, his laughter carrying the roughness of a man too accustomed to war. “Ain’t that the truth. Makes you wonder, though—why don’t they just surrender? Wings or not, they’ve got no chance against us.” “Desperation,” Karin replied curtly, tying off the stitch. “It makes people do foolish things.” She felt the eyes of the room on her but refused to meet them, unwilling to let her mask falter. Across the room, Ellis, a young recruit, chimed in. “They’re stubborn, though. Gotta give ’em that. I heard some of ’em even clip their own wings, just to try and blend in with us. Like we wouldn’t notice.” Karin froze for half a second before continuing to pack up her field kit. She forced herself to smile faintly, though her heart pounded in her chest. “Doesn’t seem to work for long,” she said, her tone steady. The conversation shifted, the soldiers’ voices growing louder as they shared exaggerated stories about their missions. Karin slipped her kit into her bag and rose. “I need some air,” she muttered, heading toward the door before anyone could stop her. Outside, the rain had eased to a drizzle, the wet pavement glinting under the harsh lights. Karin moved quickly, weaving through the camp until she reached a quieter stretch of the district. Her boots splashed through shallow puddles as she turned into a narrow alley, away from the floodlights and watchful eyes. Leaning against the wall of an abandoned building, she let out a slow, measured breath. Her hand brushed the bindings beneath her uniform, and her wings throbbed with a phantom ache. The memories of the day clawed at her mind—of the Aviari rebel whose life she had taken to protect her cover. Their defiant gaze in those final moments haunted her, as did the words they spat at her: “Traitor.” The sound of distant voices faded into silence, leaving her alone with her guilt and the rain-soaked cityscape. She longed to tear away the bindings, to spread her wings and fly far from this place, but she knew better. The sky was no sanctuary—not anymore. A soft crunch of gravel behind her made her tense. Her hand instinctively moved toward the knife at her belt as she turned her head slightly. A figure emerged from the shadows at the end of the alley, stopping a few feet away.

Her heart raced as the figure approached, the details growing sharper in the dim light. Though he carried himself with an air of confidence, his features betrayed a hint of loneliness that tugged at her instincts to protect. Her hand moved no closer to her weapon, but her body tensed nonetheless. As he neared, she forced herself to meet his gaze, silently daring him to acknowledge their shared connection. The air between them crackled with unspoken words and hidden truths. It was a moment that could change everything, if either of them were willing to take the risk. But for now, they remained locked in silence, each bound by their own self-imposed chains. *The Aviari-hybrid drew closer still, close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek. For a heartbeat, she thought he might speak. Say something that would change everything

She blinked in surprise, taken aback by the offer. Despite her suspicion, something about him felt... different. Like he was more than just a tool of the Mariks. Yet still, she couldn't shake the fear that trusting him might be a mistake. Her gaze flickered between his face and the medkit in his hand. After several long seconds, she hesitantly extended her arm, palm up. "Alright," she muttered. The Aviari-hybrid nodded once, gently placing his hand on her upper arm to steady himself before opening the medkit. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he cleansed and dressed her wound with practiced efficiency. She couldn't help but notice that, despite their shared history, there was no hostility in his movements. If anything, he seemed almost... sympathetic.

It was then that she realized what she must do. As he

She swallowed hard before speaking, the sound barely audible above the rain. "I- I need to tell you something." Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but it carried enough conviction to catch his attention. "You see... I'm not human. Not anymore," she continued, wincing as she forced out the words. The Aviari-hybrid looked at her, his expression unreadable in the dim light. For several heartbeats, they stood there, the distance between them felt like it had grown impossibly wide. Then, slowly, he nodded once. "I knew." His voice was soft but steady. "I sensed it."

It was her turn to study him now, seeking some sign of betrayal or judgment in his features. But all she saw was a mix of sadness and determination that mirrored her own conflicted heart. "It is the race I was born in," she admitted finally, the words catching in her throat. "I can't hate them." "So, you don't hate them?" Iervan echoed, tilting his head slightly as if puzzled. "Then why are you still here? Why not leave with them?" His voice was gentle, almost... hopeful. The question hung between them like a weight, pressing down on their shared burden of guilt and regret. It was a question she had asked herself countless times, but never found an answer that satisfied her. Now, as it echoed through the alleyway, it struck at the core of her identity crisis. Was there even an answer? Or was she simply trapped in this endless cycle of betrayal.

Her eyes flickered in surprise at his offer, the corner of her mouth quirking into a faint smile. It wasn't what she expected, but perhaps it was exactly what she needed to feel alive again. "Alright," she finally breathed, reaching out to clasp his hand briefly. "I understand." Together, they walked back toward the barracks, their steps in sync despite their shared knowledge of the impossibility of trust. As they rejoined the group around the crate, the weight of her secrets threatened to crush her once more. But for now, they had found an uneasy truce. An alliance of necessity born from the ashes of hope and regret. And it was enough.

Taking his hand in hers, she squeezed it gently, offering what felt like the first genuine smile in months. "I'll try not to disappoint you." It was the best she could offer; a threadbare promise that might unravel with the next mission or breath. But for now, it was enough. Together, they faced the uncertain future, bound by their shared history and the fragile threads of trust they had woven between them. And in this darkness, perhaps there was room for hope to grow.