The first thing he felt—
Was smell.
Not cold.
Not pain.
Not even the faint echo of the Spell.
Smell.
Sharp.
Sterile.
Artificial.
Like chemicals trying—and failing—to hide something worse beneath.
Zain's nose twitched slightly.
"…Disinfectant."
A pause.
"…And regret."
Then—
Weight.
His wrists.
His ankles.
Cold metal bit into his skin.
Restrained.
Zain opened his eyes.
A gray ceiling greeted him.
Flat.
Cracked.
Boring.
"…Ah."
A slow breath left his lips.
"…Back to the glamorous life."
He didn't move immediately.
Didn't struggle.
Didn't test the restraints.
Instead—
He listened.
A distant hum of electricity.
Footsteps somewhere far beyond the walls.
The quiet rhythm of his own heartbeat—
Too clear.
Too precise.
Zain blinked once.
"…Right."
The Nightmare.
The Spell.
The frozen sea.
Rime of Ruin.
His lips curved faintly.
"…Not a dream, then."
He shifted slightly.
The restraints tightened.
Steel cuffs, linked to the chair.
Not crude.
Not sloppy.
"…Professional."
Zain flexed his fingers slowly.
Carefully.
Every tendon responded.
Every muscle aligned.
Every imperfection—
Visible.
"…Cytokinesis."
His body unfolded in his mind like a diagram.
Adjustable.
Correctable.
He inhaled.
Slow.
Measured.
Cold answered.
Not outside.
Inside.
"…Frost."
A faint chill spread along his skin before fading.
Contained.
Zain smiled slightly.
"…Good."
Then—
He noticed.
Someone else was in the room.
That was… strange.
Zain hadn't heard her enter.
Hadn't sensed her presence until now.
"…Interesting."
He turned his head.
And saw her.
A woman stood near the bars, arms crossed.
Watching him.
She was wearing a dark blue uniform with silver epaulets and black leather boots. The jacket of her uniform was casually unbuttoned, revealing a black tank top beneath.
With Short.
Black Shoulder-length hair and icy blue eyes.
Sharp features.
Composed.
Beautiful.
Zain blinked once.
"…Well."
His gaze lingered.
Open.
Unapologetic.
From her face—
To her stance—
To the quiet tension in her posture.
Balanced.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
"…Definitely not a civilian."
His eyes drifted lower.
To her shoulder.
Three stars.
A pause.
"…Ascended, huh."
Zain leaned back slightly in his restraints, studying her like a puzzle worth solving.
She didn't react immediately.
Just watched him.
Then—
Her voice cut through the silence.
Flat.
Unimpressed.
"What are you looking at?"
Zain didn't hesitate.
"A succubus."
Silence.
A long, heavy pause.
"…Excuse me?"
Zain tilted his head slightly.
"You heard me."
A beat.
"I'm being generous, by the way."
Her eyes narrowed.
"…Generous."
"Yes," Zain said calmly. "You could've been something less flattering."
"…Like what?"
Zain considered that seriously.
"…Authority."
Silence.
She stared at him.
"…You woke up in restraints," she said slowly, "and decided flirting was the correct response."
"Flirting implies intent," Zain replied. "I'm just making observations."
"…That's worse."
Zain smiled.
"…I try."
She stepped closer.
Measured.
Quiet.
Zain watched her approach without moving.
Without tension.
"…Name," she said.
"Zain."
A pause.
"…Rime of Ruin, if we're being thorough."
Her expression didn't change.
"…We're not."
"Shame."
She studied him for a moment longer.
"…You're not reacting correctly," she said.
Zain blinked.
"…To what?"
"…This," she gestured vaguely at the restraints, the room, the situation. "Most people panic."
Zain glanced down at the cuffs.
"…They seem secure."
A pause.
"…Panicking wouldn't improve that."
"…You're in custody."
"…Temporarily," he corrected.
Her eyes narrowed again.
"…You're very confident."
Zain tilted his head.
"…No."
A beat.
"…Just curious how this plays out."
Silence stretched between them.
"…You're unstable," she said flatly.
Zain smiled.
"…Statistically likely."
Another pause.
She exhaled slowly.
"…Name's Jet."
Zain blinked.
"…Jet."
A small nod.
"…Efficient. I like it."
"…It's a name."
"Everything is," Zain replied lightly.
She ignored that.
"…You smell," she said.
Zain paused.
Then sniffed lightly.
A beat.
"…Ah."
His nose wrinkled slightly.
"…Yes."
A slow grin spread across his face.
"…That would be the Nightmare."
Jet stared at him.
"…Go take a shower."
Zain looked up at her.
Still smiling.
"…Is that an order?"
"…Yes."
A pause.
"…Tragic," Zain murmured. "I was starting to enjoy the atmosphere."
Jet turned away.
Done with the conversation.
"…Move."
The restraints clicked open.
Zain stood slowly, stretching slightly as if he hadn't just woken up chained.
"…Lead the way, succubus."
Jet didn't even turn around.
"…Keep talking," she said flatly, "and I'll put the restraints back on."
Zain followed anyway.
Still smiling.
"…Worth it."
And just like that—
The game continued.