Marboro’s mind kept playing the memory in his unconsciousness. He was stood at the top of a high cliff he had stumbled to, despite his former injuries from his camp’s attack. His tired blue eyes stared blankly at the ground, which was definitely tens of feet below. He was tired of being used by Hyrus. Tired of reviving humans and sergos alike, only for them to continue their excruciating cycle of pain. Surely he’d die if he took the leap, right? And leap, he surely did.

To his disappointment, he slowly came to, in a room he didn’t recognise. Half his chest was bandaged, along with his face, legs and his arm—now in a sling. It felt as if he had broken every bone in his body, which he probably did. His ribs hurt when he breathed and his limbs ached if he even shouted a little bit.

Why did someone bring him here? Where even was he?? Did Hyrus really think that he was dead? More importantly, who had brought him here—and bandaged his wounds?