Moran woke up with one hell of a headache.

  A sharp, throbbing pulse hammered in his skull, like someone had driven nails through his temples.

  Which was wierd considering he had been sedated.

  His thoughts were sluggish, tangled in the remnants of it's drug-induced unconsciousness.

  Breathing felt like dragging his mind through thick mud.

  Slowly, piece by piece, his brain allowed him access to his memories again.

  He had worked his way into the village by saving the chief, build a contraption to raise construction materials and ate often with Kai.

  After one such meal he had returned home, recieved some clothes form Lira and then something stuck a metal stinger throught his chest.

  His hand shot to it, fingers fumbling over the spot where his wound should be.

  They found nothing. Moran frowned in confusion.

  Hadn't he been impaled?

  He slid his hand under his clothes, but her found nothing besides smooth skin beneath shredded fabric and a few chesthairs.

  Only very small hole in his clothes proved his memories true.

  He exhaled shakily, the relief washing over him like cold water.

  The moment passed, and reality set in.

  The air hit his lungs in a strange way, carrying a taste of rust and damp stone.

  Metallic.

  Almost sour.

  Each breath was like inhaling the memory of old, wet iron.

  The cell around him was dark.

  Unnaturally so, no jars, no lamps, no torches.

  The walls were rough metal, tarnished and streaked with grime.

  Water dripped rhythmically from somewhere overhead, the faint sound of fluid hitting metal progessing time like the hands of a clock.

  A puddle had formed nearby, its surface trembling with each drop.

  The chill of the place seeped into his skin, reminding of a particular river he had bathed in during the last weeks.

  He shuddered as he remembered the icy fluid sucking the warmth out of him.

  His gaze to the ground he ran his fingers over the floor.

  It was cold, ridged metal, worn smooth in patches and littered with dents.

  His legs felt stiff, his back sore from being leaned against the cold wall for too long.

  A though flickeder through his brain. Why exactly could he see?

  The whole scene was bathed in a faint light that came from the other side of the room.

  He looked up and saw her.

  Across the cell, tucked into a corner, was Lira.

  The glow of her hair, which looked like feathers morphing into fire, illuminated the room and her face faintly, but there was no trace of emotion in it.

  Her eyes were glowing circles that stared empty at her own feet.

  They were completely hollow.

  She made no sound

  Even her breath was silent, noticable only in the faint, rhythmic clouds that puffed softly from her lips.

  Was it really that cold? Moran frowned and exhaled deeply, watching for the same wisps. Nothing.

  Her knees were pulled tightly to her chest, arms wrapped around them like a shield, but her body remained still, almost unnaturally so.

  Moran felt a genuine ache stir in his chest as he looked at her.

  It spawned by just sadness but by witnessing the pure display of despair in front of him.

  "Everything alright?" He asked, his voice echoing in the small room.

  Lira's eyes very slowly moved to look at him.

  She wasn't angry or annyoed at his interruption of whatever she was doing. She simply looked very, very tired.

  "Your awake," she said finally, her tone devoid of emotion, so flat it didn’t even feel like acknowledgment.

  Just an observation, spoken because it had to be. So barren it could've come from a machine.

  "Yeah," Moran said.

  He waited for her to say something, anything, but she just stared at him with the same interest someone might give to a wall they were forced to watch until the paint had dried.

  After a minute he couldn't bear the silence any longer.

  "Where are we?" He asked, more to hush away the silence, then because he genuently believed she knew.

  "No idea." Those two words hurt. Not because of what they conveyed but of how it was worded.

  It wasn't a "How am i supposed to know?" or "Do i look like an oracle to you?".

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  There wasn't any offense or challange in them. No fight.

  Simply a statement of facts.

  It was heartbreaking.

  He didn't particularly like the woman. Most of their conversations were her barking words at him or telling him off.

  Yet he couldn't help but empathize, even though he had no idea what got her down like this.

  He dragged his feet to his chest, ignoring the pain in his joints, wrapped his arms around them and rested his nose on his knees, perfectly mirroring Lira's posture.

  "What happened?" he asked, his voice soft but insistent.

  "Some new drones invaded our village and took you. I tried to run after then...they got me as well."

  During the short pause was the first time something else then her hairs glow flickered in her eyes. Like a memory of something she didn't want to remember.

  She shrugged. "Now we are here."

  Moran let her words hang in the air for a moment before digging.

  "And why are you like this?" he asked finally, keeping his tone gentle. "Lira, you’re scaring me. Normally, you’d be punching walls if someone tried to lock you up. At least… that’s the person I thought you were."

  She pondered for a while before her next words.

  As she finally spoke her voice was trembling.

  "My father...," She managed to choke out before a lump in her throat shut her up.

  She took a few steep breathes to steady herself before continung.

  Moran stayed silent, his heart heavy with the gravity of her struggle. He had to supress the urge to push her to continue.

  "My father was among those... things," she said at last, the words breaking apart as tears brimmed in her eyes.

  She buried her face in her legs, curling into herself as if the world was too much to bear.

  Her sobs weren’t loud or dramatic, just quiet, stifled gasps of air, each one like a breathless cough.

  Her shoulders trembled violently, and her arms wrapped around her knees so tightly it looked like she might collapse in on herself.

  Moran hesitated, watching the sad display in front of him.

  Then, with a heavy exhale, he stood.

  His joints protested as he moved, but he ignored the pain and stepped closer.

  Slowly, awkwardly, he lowered himself to her level and wrapped his arms around her.

  For some reason he knew that was the thing to do.

  It was not an information his brain had conjured, but an emotion from deep inside his heart.

  He knew how it felt.

  Despite not remembering anything he knew how it felt when the world was just too much.

  Lira’s body stiffened at the contact, and she gave a weak shrug, trying to push him away.

  Though It wasn’t much of an effort, and Moran didn’t let go.

  She cried harder against her knees, her sobs gaining a ragged edge.

  After what felt like an eternity, her trembling began to subside.

  Her breathing steadied, the jagged edges smoothing out little by little.

  Moran didn’t move, waiting until what she was doing.

  Finally she got him off herself with a firm push of her ellbow.

  "Get off," She said, her voice still far from what it normally was.

  Her eyes were still teary and she was forced to sniff between every other word, but aparently her will not to make herself look like a complete tool had won over her despair.

  The weak force of her push made Moran stumble back and land on his backside.

  He stayed where he was, seated on the damp, cold floor, watching her in silence.

  His lips felt dry and cracked as he licked them, unsure what to say, unsure if he even should say anything.

  Lira sniffled, rubbing her eyes and nose over and over again, using her tattered clothes like makeshift tissues.

  The fabric, already worn thin, became even more frayed under her rough movements.

  Minutes passed in thick silence, broken only by the soft drip of water from the ceiling.

  Slowly, the tears stopped. Her trembling lessened, and a deep frown settled across her face, furrowing her brows like storm clouds gathering.

  "I’m pathetic," she muttered, the words like a venomous hiss directed at herself.

  Her voice, rough and raw, carried more bitterness than self-pity.

  "Sitting here crying like a little girl. Pathetic." Her fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs, nails biting hard enough to leave marks. "Pathetic."

  Her words grow quieter and quieter, almost ending before they left her throat. "...same girl....nothing's changed....pathetic..."

  Moran opened his mouth, then hesitated, unsure how to respond to that. Lira clearly wasn't speaking to him and didn't even think of wasting a look at him.

  The only bright thing in the room was the light of her hair that cast their shadows at the walls and the ground, through calling it bright was a stretch.

  "Want to talk about it?" Moran offered after a while of listening at her scolding herself. Her mood seemed to swing from the verge of tears to selfloathing and back.

  Her eyes flicked to him, widening like she had just now realised she wasn't alone.

  Her lips twitched, froming three differen't letters before she finally settled on what to say.

  "No," she said sternly.

  Lira’s lips parted, and she drew a breath as if she were finally about to speak, finally about to let whatever was boiling inside her spill over.

  But before a single word could leave her mouth, a sharp metallic "clang" rang out, cutting through the stagnant air like a knife.

  Moran jerked upright, his head whipping toward the sound.

  At first, the wall in front of them appeared as solid as it had been moments ago.

  Then, with a low groan, it slid aside, revealing a narrow, sparingly lit corridor.

  Still sudden influx of light stabbed into his eyes, making him squint.

  He made out the faint glow of kerosene lamps lining the corridor walls, their flickering flames casting warped shadows on the cold metal.

  In the doorway stood a woman.

  Her silhouette was oddly striking, not for any exceptional beauty, but because of her sheer averageness.

  She looked almost plain, her face undescriable, her dark hair pulled into a simple braid that hung over one shoulder.

  Her clothes had an oddly tribal appearance, with large fur straps cinching oversized pelts together into a makeshift outfit.

  Moran blinked, his mind catching on the incongruity.

  Something about her seemed... wrong, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  The woman stepped forward, holding a small candle that barely added to the corridor's light.

  Her eyes flicked over Moran and Lira like she was inspecting livestock, then settled on Moran with an unreadable expression.

  “You’re awake,” she said, her tone as bland as her face.

  He didn’t respond, his body stiffening as her gaze locked on the stranger.

  Something deep down inside him hated beeing looked at like this. Like he wasn't welcomed. It was the hut-experience all over again.

  Before Moran could answer, she waved him off. "Come. He wants to see you."

  She turned to leave but stopped, turning back when she realized he hadn’t moved.

  "First, you tell me where the hemmppffhh!"

  Moran didn’t even see what hit him.

  He staggered, his head snapping to the side.

  Blood trickled down his nose, a thin stream running over his lips.

  It wasn’t Lira, she was in no condition to strike him.

  And he was too far out of this woman’s range for her to have done it.

  He blinked up at her.

  Her expression had shifted from mild disgust to pure anger.

  If eyes could kill...well he was glad they couldn't.

  “Move,” she snapped.

  For a split second, Moran considered disobeying her.

  The idea was tempting, but the ache in his face and the thin line of blood on his lips reminded him how unwise that would be.

  Moran gritted his teeth and slowly got to his feet.

  Lira shifted beside him, her arms trembling as she tried to push herself upright. But before she could fully rise, the woman’s sharp gaze turned on her.

  “Not you,” she said coldly.

  Lira hesitated but started to stand anyway, defiance flickering in her eyes.

  Finally, Moran though, a hint of emotion. This look suited her so much better.

  He was so relieved he almost didn't feel the vice like grip around his arm, that the woman pulled him out of the cell with.

  Then it happened.

  A faint, almost imperceptible movement, like a shadow cutting through the air, and Lira choked.

  Her hands shot to her throat, thick red blood squeelching out between her fingers as her legs crumpled beneath her.

  Moran froze, his breath caught in his chest.

  “Lira!” he shouted, stepping toward her, but the woman's grib was firm and unyielding, yanking him backward with uncomprimising force.

  “Leave her,” she snapped.

  “Fuck you!” Moran twisted against her hold, panic rising, as he stared at Lira.

  That couldn't be.

  Not like this.

  Aurora.

  He had to stabelize her and then bring her to Aurora somehow.

  He pulled against the iron grip but to no awail and was pulled out of the room despite his best effords.

  Behind him, Lira lay motionless for a moment before her body twitched.

  She tried to push herself up, but Moran couldn’t tell if she succeeded, the heavy metal door slammed shut between them, cutting off his view.

  As the corridor’s silence pressed in, a muffled cough reached his ears, followed by hurried footsteps and frantic pounding against the door.

  “Lira!” he shouted again, struggling against the woman’s grasp, but her hold tightened.

  “Shut up,” The woman said firmly, and reinforced her demand with a slap that eachoed throught the halls.

  Commotion came from the other side of the door.

  "Let met out!" Lira demanded, followed by the hammering of fists against metal.

  Moran's eyes teared up. Wether from the pain of the or relieve he couldn't tell.