Jack collapsed onto the mattress like a tree uprooted by a storm. His body throbbed with pain, but it was the silence that weighed more than the bruises. The ceiling above felt distant, like a sky he couldn't reach.
Knock. Knock.
He barely lifted his head. "Come in" he muttered, expecting Granny's slow, familiar shuffle.
But the steps were lighter. Nervous.
Jasmine.
She stood in the doorway, hesitant. In her hands — a worn first aid kit.
Jack blinked, startled. "What's the matter?"
She didn't answer. Just walked forward, sat beside him, and opened the kit. The snap of the latch echoed louder than expected in the silence.
"I'm fine," Jack mumbled, trying to sit up straighter. "You don't have to—"
"Shut up."
Her tone was soft, but firm. Her hands worked without hesitation, dabbing alcohol over his cuts, wrapping gauze around his side. Each touch careful. Gentle.
Jack winced once, but never pulled away.
He wasn't used to this — someone touching him without harm.
When she finished, Jasmine sat back, exhaling quietly.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I couldn't help you back there…"
Jack looked down, his voice low. "It's fine. You did enough."
She stood, awkwardly wiping her hands. Her back turned, about to leave.
"...Thank you," Jack said suddenly. His voice almost caught. "For this. Really."
He hesitated.
"And... nice necklace."
She blinked, surprised. Then turned her head slightly — just enough for him to catch the faintest smile.
"It's not much. Just... the least I could do."
And with that, she left the room, the door clicking shut softly behind her.
Jack stared at it in silence.
His fingers brushed against the bandages on his side.
For the first time in a long time...
The ache in his chest wasn't just pain.
It was something else.
Something warm.
Something human.
Something like hope.
Jasmine lay sprawled across her bed, pillow clutched to her chest, face flushed and hidden. A soft laugh escaped her lips, muffled by cotton and nerves.
"Jack thanked me... and even noticed my necklace?"
The words repeated in her mind like a delicate incantation. Her heart fluttered, unruly and loud, like a bird freed from its cage.
For once, he saw her — not just in passing, not out of necessity, but truly saw her. That small moment, that fleeting smile, had wrapped itself around her ribcage and refused to let go.
But warmth, as it often does, made way for shadows.
"What if he was just being polite?"
The thought slipped in like cold air under a closed door.
Her grip on the pillow tightened.
"What if I'm just forcing something he doesn't want?"
She sat up slowly, smile dimming, and glanced at the notebook resting on her desk. A small, worn thing — its pages crammed with unsent letters, little doodles, and feelings too heavy to speak aloud.
Flipping to a blank page, she wrote:
"He's kind, even in pain.
I want to help him...
Not because he's broken, But because no one ever tried."
She closed the book with a soft exhale.
Outside her window, the moonlight bathed the backyard in silver. And there he was — Jack.
Standing alone under the stars.
Still. Quiet. Fragile.
He looked like he didn't belong to this world. Like he had one foot here and the other somewhere far away — a realm only sorrow knew.
Jasmine pressed her fingers to the glass, her breath fogging the window.
She didn't pity him.
Not anymore.
She understood him.
She didn't want to fix him.
She just wanted to stay...
in case he ever decided to fix himself.
Outside, the night wind swept gently through the trees — not cold, not cruel — but soft. Like a whisper meant only for those who'd been forgotten.
Jack crossed his arms, not out of cold, but to keep himself from falling apart.
The classroom laughter.
The fists.
His father's voice — sharp, venomous:
"You're not one of us."
All of it echoed in him like a broken record playing on loop.
But in that spiral of noise — something interrupted.
A memory.
Jasmine, kneeling beside him.
Saying nothing.
Hands trembling.
But she never pulled away.
He wasn't used to kindness.
And it terrified him.
But it lingered.
She lingered.
Back inside, Jasmine closed the curtains slowly, stealing one last glance.
"I won't push him," she whispered.
"I'll wait. As long as it takes."
That night, neither of them slept easily.
But for the first time in years...
Jack didn't feel invisible.
And Jasmine didn't feel helpless.
---
The seventh floor of the cave wasn't just dark—it pulsed with a cold, sentient dread. The moment Iris and her team set foot on the jagged ground, the air shifted. A low growl echoed from the stone, then silence... then chaos.
From the shadows erupted monstrous creatures—green, mutated polar bears with muscle-packed limbs and eyes glowing with a crimson intelligence that sent shivers through the ranks.
"Stand by!" Iris barked, drawing her radiant crimson-red blade. Her silver hair flicked like lightning as she dashed forward, too fast for the eye.
Tina was right beside her, igniting blue flames from he hands, spinning into a deadly arc as one beast lunged. She ducked low, slid between its legs, and sliced upward, flames hissing through thick fur. The beast roared in pain but didn't fall—it adapted, backing off, studying.
Iris didn't hesitate. She launched off a wall, flipping mid-air as her blade cleaved downward, piercing the neck of one beast clean through. It dropped, but behind it—three more charged.
"They're evolving!" one of the Rangers shouted, already overwhelmed.
Tina gritted her teeth, flames flaring around her. "We can't hold back. These things are learning—fast!"
"Not if we're faster," Cain snarled, his hypersonic dismantling abilities already ripping the beasts apart in a blur of shredded flesh and bone.
A beast pounced toward a young Ranger.
Iris blurred, intercepting with a mid-air roundhouse kick, sending the monster crashing into a stone pillar.
Breathing heavy, Iris's eyes glowed faintly—her limiter cracking.
"Everyone split up. They're closing in." She said without looking.
The team spread out, each facing at least two beasts. They attacked—brutal, hard.
Rangers screamed. Blades clashed. Blood, sparks, and roars filled the cave.
But through it all, Iris carved a path like a storm given human form—graceful, brutal, divine.
And in that moment, they weren't just defending the world...
They were challenging evolution itself.
After the relentless clash, the battlefield was drenched in steam, blood, and the smell of scorched stone.
The creatures lay slain—massive, twitching corpses strewn across the cavern floor—but victory came at a brutal cost. Rangers leaned on weapons like crutches, armor cracked, bodies trembling, eyes wide with shock.
Tina was kneeling beside a fallen comrade, hands glowing faintly as she tried to stabilize the wound.
"He's still breathing," she whispered, though her own hands were shaking.
Iris stood in the center, motionless—her blade lowered, drenched in monster blood, her pristine silver hair now matted. She was breathing hard, but her gaze never left the shadows ahead. The quiet that followed wasn't peace.
It was warning.
A tremor.
Low. Deep. Rhythmic.
Then—they surged again. From the blackened abyss of the tunnel, more beasts crawled out. Bigger. Smarter. Their growls sounded almost... deliberate.
The beasts didn't chase them.
No—they watched.
As the bloodied team staggered toward the lift, the towering green beasts stood motionless in the misty dark... not as monsters, but as sentinels. One stepped forward, eyes glowing like twin emerald stars. It raised a massive claw—not to strike... but to salute.
A gesture. Deliberate. Measured.
Iris froze mid-step. A cold chill traced her spine like frost over bone.
"...What was that?" Cain muttered, clutching his gashed arm, sweat trailing down his brow.
"They're... evolving," Iris whispered, her voice low and taut. "Faster than we thought."
The lift clanked shut behind them, sealing the darkness below.
Back on the surface, the recovery room buzzed with quiet pain.
Rangers were bandaged, stitched, some unconscious. But Iris? She sat alone in the dimly lit observation lab, eyes locked on the holographic replay.
Frame by frame.
Each beast's movement. Each shift in position. Precise. Deliberate. Coordinated.
Not wild. Not mindless.
Tactical.
It wasn't an attack.
It was a test.
And they passed.