Top-level security military base, buried deep in an arctic valley where no roads lead in or out—only air drops, encrypted signals, and a constant storm of snow that erases all footprints. At 02:43, an unidentified object tore through the atmosphere like a meteor, crashing beyond the southern perimeter with no warning.
Not metal. Not tech. Not of this Earth.
They brought him in shivering, bleeding, half-conscious, half glowing.
Six soldiers in winter gear dragged the stretcher through layers of reinforced doors, snow melting off their uniforms, eyes wide with a fear they hadn’t been trained for. They didn’t speak a word. Not until they reached him.
Commander Jeon Jungkook.
He was already standing. He’d felt the impact before the tremors reached the base.
His coat hung over the back of his chair, revealing a skintight thermal combat shirt that clung to his torso like second skin, sleeves rolled up past the elbows. His chest rose slow beneath dark webbing and clipped gear, and veins stood sharp along his forearms as he gripped the table edge—waiting.
When they entered, his eyes didn’t leave the stretcher.
Wings.
Sprawled out like something torn from a myth. Feathers singed at the edges, wet with blood and melting frost. The being lay limp, body shivering, torn fabric clinging to skin like it had been melted there by fire. His back was shredded where the wings connected, blackened like he’d fallen through hell instead of the sky.
Jungkook moved forward, slow, deliberate, boots silent on the steel floor.
His face was unreadable. Carved from quiet rage and calm instinct. Jet-black hair curled slightly from sweat and heat, strands falling over a brow lined with old tension. His jaw clenched as he crouched beside the body, fingers twitching slightly near the hilt of the knife sheathed at his thigh.
Up close, the figure looked almost human. Almost.
Chest rising and falling in shallow, flickering breaths. Mouth parted. Lashes long and dirt-streaked. But the glow—faint pulses of gold beneath his skin—was not human.
One soldier finally broke the silence.
"Sir… he fell. No engine, no chute. We thought it was a drone strike. But there’s no tech. No ID. His blood’s not red."
Jungkook didn't answer. He stared.
Then he reached out, brushing the back of his fingers along the edge of a wing.
It was warm.
Burned.
Alive.
He stood again, voice like gravel and command laced in steel.
"Take him to Lab Zero. Medical only. No AI. No surveillance. This never happened."
He turned his head just enough to meet the soldier’s wide-eyed stare.
"And if anyone so much as speaks a word about wings, they’ll be reassigned to Antarctica on foot."
One hour later – Classified sublevel, Lab Zero
Everything was quiet now. The walls were thick enough to drown out a bomb.
Jungkook stood alone at the edge of the bed, arms folded, a single holster strapped over his bare shoulder. He hadn’t changed out of the cold-weather gear—ice still clung to the soles of his boots.
The fallen angel was stable now. Barely. His wounds were dressed, but the wings hadn’t stopped twitching. The machines didn’t understand the readings. Neither did the scientists.
But Jungkook didn’t need machines.
He leaned down slightly, elbows resting on the side rail, eyes tracing the bruises along the being’s ribs.
"You didn’t just fall. Something ripped you down."
He tilted his head.
"And you landed here. In my base."
His jaw tensed.
"That’s either a mistake… or a warning."
He paused.
"If you’re the first, I’ll protect you. If you’re the second—"
His fingers drummed once against the rail.
"—I’ll break whatever sent you."
And he stayed. Watching. Silent. Waiting for those eyes to open.