The emergency response team was dispatched immediately. What they returned with was not debris.
Two soldiers crashed through the reinforced doors of the command center, boots slick with mud and blood, uniforms torn from the crash zone. Between them on a stretcher was a figure—bare skin streaked with soot and blood, long limbs slack, body still warm.
And wings.
Massive. White. Scorched. Bone twisted beneath torn flesh and feathers.
Commander Jeon Jungkook rose from the center table, where glowing digital maps and intercepted communications flickered in the dim light. His shadow stretched across the steel floor as he approached.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His presence alone froze the room.
Jungkook was tall, lean muscle wrapped in matte black combat gear, the kind not issued to standard units. His uniform was customized—extra plating on the shoulders, minimal insignia save for a single silver star stitched near the collar. His gloves were off; veins lined his forearms like wires, hands steady and scarred from years of close combat.
His face was a study in contradiction—youth carved into a soldier’s discipline. Soft lips under a sharp jaw. Hair in disarray from late nights in the field, but his gaze? Ice-cold. Focused. Dangerous.
He stepped up to the stretcher.
The creature—man?—angel?—lay unconscious, breath shallow. Blood had dried against pale skin. The wings were cracked and splintered, feathers falling like burnt leaves onto the floor.
Jungkook’s eyes narrowed.
He crouched slowly, one gloved hand resting near the being’s shoulder—not touching, just hovering.
The air around the creature felt strange. He could feel it—energy. Not radiation. Not heat. Something older. Something holy and broken.
One of the soldiers broke the silence, his voice unsteady.
"Sir. He fell from the sky. No tech. No chute. He just… dropped. Like he was thrown."
Jungkook didn’t look away.
"Thrown by who?"
No one answered.
He stood up.
"Take him to Medical. Lock the floor down. I want the best trauma medics we’ve got, and I want every test possible. DNA, tissue scans, vitals—do it all. If anything spikes off the charts, I want to know first."
He turned his head slightly.
"And keep this off record. If this is divine, I don’t want Command getting its claws in it before I do."
Two hours later – Base Medical Wing
The lights were dimmed to ease recovery. Jungkook stood beside the bed now, arms crossed, sleeves pushed up to the elbow. His eyes hadn’t moved from the being in front of him.
The wings had been treated—splinted as best as possible, cleaned with surgical precision. Machines monitored vitals, but the readings were erratic. Too slow, then too fast. Too faint, then surging like thunder.
He leaned in closer.
The angel’s face was cut, but not broken. Dirt clung to his cheekbones. His lips were cracked. Even like this, he didn’t look fragile.
He looked fallen.
Jungkook spoke low, as if not to wake him.
"You’re not human. And you didn’t land here by chance."
He tilted his head, studying the way the chest rose and fell.
"Whatever war you came from… it’s not over."
His voice lowered further, almost a whisper.
"And if it follows you here…"
He stared at the wings, the way they trembled faintly even now.
"Then I need to know which side you’re on."
He stepped back, just slightly, jaw tightening.
"And why the hell the sky threw you at my feet."
Jungkook didn’t leave. Not yet. He stayed as the machines kept beeping and the wind howled against the thick bunker walls, waiting for the fallen angel to wake.