Chapter Three — First Night

  The forest didn’t care that Aethyrion was free.

  Branches scraped at his arms as he pushed through the undergrowth, boots sinking into mud with every step. The rain had eased into a steady drizzle, but the cold had settled in deeper now, clinging to his skin and soaking through his clothes.

  He hadn’t realized how far he’d walked until his legs started shaking again.

  The Helix-9 Serum kept him moving, but even it had limits. His body felt stretched thin, like a wire pulled too tight.

  He slowed near a cluster of rocks at the base of a hill, half-hidden by thick roots and fallen leaves. It wasn’t much, but it was sheltered from the wind.

  Good enough.

  Aethyrion crouched and rested his back against the stone. He slid down until he was sitting, knees pulled close to his chest. For a moment, he just sat there, listening.

  Rain. Wind. Distant thunder.

  No alarms.

  No voices.

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  The silence felt… loud.

  His stomach twisted painfully.

  He realized he was hungry.

  Not the dull, controlled hunger the facility allowed him to feel—measured portions, calculated calories—but real hunger. The kind that made his head ache and his hands shake.

  He pressed his palms into his eyes.

  “I should’ve taken food,” he muttered.

  He hadn’t even thought about it. All those years of being told what he needed had trained him not to think ahead.

  Aethyrion opened one of the small compartments in his armor. Empty. Another—empty again. The suit had been designed for combat, not survival.

  Of course it was.

  He let the compartment snap shut and leaned his head back against the stone, staring up through the branches. The sky was darker now, clouds swallowing what little starlight there had been earlier.

  Sleep tugged at him, heavy and tempting.

  He shook his head hard.

  Sleeping out in the open felt wrong. Dangerous. In the facility, sleep had always meant vulnerability—and vulnerability meant pain.

  Still, his body was losing the argument.

  Aethyrion forced himself to remove the armor’s upper plating, wincing as cold air hit his skin. The suit retracted just enough to let him breathe easier. He set the helmet beside him and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to trap what little warmth he had left.

  Minutes passed.

  Then hours—maybe.

  Time felt strange without schedules.

  He must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew, a sound snapped him awake.

  A crack.

  Not thunder.

  Aethyrion’s eyes flew open. He froze, heart slamming against his ribs as he strained to listen.

  Another sound—soft, deliberate.

  Footsteps.

  His hand moved instinctively toward the helmet.

  Then he stopped.

  Whoever was out there wasn’t moving like a guard. No boots. No weapons clanking. Just slow, careful steps through wet leaves.

  Aethyrion held his breath.

  A shadow shifted between the trees.

  A figure appeared at the edge of the clearing, holding a dim light—yellow and flickering. A lantern.

  An older man stood there, bundled in a worn coat, staring straight at him.

  Their eyes met.

  Neither of them moved.

  The man swallowed.

  “…You okay, kid?” he asked cautiously.

  Aethyrion opened his mouth.

  No command came out. No practiced response. No lies they had taught him.

  Just the truth.

  “I don’t know,” he said quietly.

  The man lowered the lantern slightly.

  “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “That makes two of us.”

  The rain continued to fall as the distance between them slowly, carefully, closed.

  End of Chapter Three