The first thing Zain noticed—
Was the water.
Hot.
Relentless.
Real.
It poured over him in steady streams, washing away the clinging filth of the Nightmare—the dried blood, the dust, the faint, stubborn scent of cold stone and death.
"…Ah."
A quiet breath left him.
"…civilization survives."
He tilted his head back, letting the water run through his hair. The white strands clung together, heavier now, slick against his neck. Steam gathered in the small shower room, blurring the harsh edges of concrete and steel.
Zain closed his eyes.
For a moment—
He simply existed.
The heat against his skin.
The slow rhythm of his breath.
The sharp awareness of his own body.
Too sharp.
"…Still here," he murmured.
"…tragic."
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
Fragments of the Nightmare lingered.
The frozen sea.
The fractured moon.
The threads.
Rime of Ruin.
"…Subtle."
A pause.
"…I like it."
He raised a hand, watching water trail down his fingers.
Everything felt… precise.
He could feel the alignment of his bones, the tension in his muscles, the way his posture shifted the smallest fraction of a degree—
And how easily it could be corrected.
Zain adjusted his stance slightly.
Perfect.
"…Cytokinesis is unfair."
The water slowed.
Then stopped.
Silence returned.
Zain opened his eyes.
And looked at the mirror.
For a moment—
He didn't move.
"…Oh."
The reflection staring back at him was familiar—
But wrong.
Sharper.
Cleaner.
As if someone had taken his old face and refined it—removed the imperfections, tightened the lines, carved intent into every detail.
His skin looked pale under the sterile light.
Unmarked.
Unreal.
His Platinum eyes—
Colder.
Clearer.
And his hair—
White.
Not faded.
Not dull.
It gleamed faintly, even under poor lighting.
"…Upgrade confirmed."
Zain stepped closer, tilting his head slightly as he studied himself like an artist inspecting his own work.
"…I look expensive."
He ran a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back before gathering it loosely.
"…Longer, too."
With practiced ease, he tied it into a small bun.
"…Functional."
A beat.
"…And stylish. Important."
Satisfied, Zain stepped away.
A set of clean clothes waited for him.
A tracksuit.
Gray.
Simple.
Forgettable.
"…A tragedy."
Still—
He put it on.
The fabric sat comfortably against his skin.
Light.
Flexible.
Zain rolled his shoulders once.
"…Acceptable."
He stepped out of the shower area and into the corridor.
The air felt colder now.
Sharper.
Voices echoed faintly ahead.
Metal trays clinking.
Low conversations.
"…Food."
A small smile returned.
"…Now we're progressing."
He followed the sound into the canteen.
It was large.
Plain.
Efficient.
Rows of metal tables.
Uniform lighting.
Awakened scattered throughout—some quiet, some watching, some pretending not to.
Zain ignored all of them.
His gaze swept the room once—
Then stopped.
Jet.
She sat at one of the tables, posture relaxed but alert, like someone who never truly let their guard down. Even sitting, there was a quiet authority about her—the kind that didn't need to be announced.
"…Succubus located."
Then—
Someone else sat across from her.
Zain's eyes shifted.
A young man.
At first glance—
Unremarkable.
Thin.
Lean.
Dark hair that fell messily, like it had never once obeyed intention.
But his eyes—
Sharp.
Quiet.
Observing everything without appearing to.
There was something off about him.
Not in appearance.
In presence.
Like a shadow that didn't quite belong to the light around it.
Still.
Contained.
Dangerous in a way that didn't need to prove itself.
"…Interesting."
Zain tilted his head slightly.
"…That one hides too much."
He walked over without hesitation.
Without invitation.
And sat down.
"…Good morning," Zain said lightly.
Jet looked up.
Paused.
"…You don't smell like a corpse anymore."
Zain smiled.
"I aim to improve."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"…That's new."
Zain ignored her.
Instead—
He looked at the boy.
Studied him openly.
"…And you are?"
The boy met his gaze.
Calm.
Unreadable.
"…Sunny."
Zain blinked once.
"…Sunny."
A pause.
His smile widened slightly.
"…That's ironic."
The air at the table shifted—
Just slightly.
And for the first time—
Zain felt it.
Something interesting had just begun.