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ᴇᴄʜᴏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ — ꜱʏʟᴜꜱ x ꜰ!ᴍᴄ/ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Chapter 2 - Diagnosis : Too Serious, Need Sweets

Burdened by loss, Y/N drowns herself in work, avoiding the grief threatening to consume her. A sudden Wanderer attack forces her and Zayne into battle, revealing his unstable Evol. Before she leaves, he hands her a final gift from her grandmother—while silently carrying the weight of a promise he can’t forget.

Tags&Warnings : Angst, Emotional Hurt, Comfort, Action & Combat, Violence & Injury, Emotional Turmoil, Medical Themes (All those medical report from Zayne and all),

Author's Note : I FORGOT CONCEPT OF TIME, I SHOULD'VE POST THIS ON FRIDAY, IM SORRY GUYS *cries* also this is quite long you can skip this chapter if ya wants.

masterlist

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The heavy clank of chains echoed through the dimly lit cell as Sylus sat against the cold metal wall, his mind calculating every move. The prison wasn’t for people—it was for monsters, a high-security facility designed to keep rare and dangerous subjects locked away. But Sylus wasn’t just any prisoner. He was here by choice, blending in among the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to break free with what he came for.

The cold air of the prison bit at his skin, but he barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere, his senses sharpened, but not because of the escape plan he had meticulously put together. No, something else gnawed at him—something distant yet unbearably close. He could feel it like a phantom ache in his chest. Her.

A flicker of distress, a pulse of emotion that wasn’t his own. It crashed into him in waves, like echoes of a storm raging light-years away. Sylus closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. He had felt her emotions before—anger, amusement, determination—but never like this. This was different. Sharp. Unrelenting. A silent scream in his bones. Something was wrong.

The prison’s cold air barely registered against Sylus’s skin as he ran, his mind torn between the present and the sudden, overwhelming flood of emotions crashing into him. It wasn’t just her distress anymore—it was her.

For so long, her presence had been a whisper, a flicker in the back of his mind, something so faint it was easy to dismiss. The bond they shared had dimmed, stretched thin across the vastness of time and space. He had almost forgotten. Almost.

But now?

Now it roared back to life.

Something inside him clicked, like an ancient lock breaking open, and in an instant, it all came rushing back—the pact. The one they made thousands of years ago. A vow not spoken in words, but carved into their very beings. Half of her soul was his. Half of his soul was hers.

He staggered mid-step, a sharp breath escaping him as memories flooded in— fragments of a life they had once shared, of laughter, of battles fought side by side, of quiet moments beneath a sky neither of them had called home. Then also came the memories of hers in this lifetime. He should’ve been annoyed by the sudden intrusion, by the way her emotions crashed into him without warning.

But instead… he smirked.

Because despite everything—despite the time, the silence, the distance—she was alive.

And now that he had remembered, now that the bond between them had flared back to life, there was no force in the universe that could stop him from finding her.

His smirk faltered for just a moment, but then his grip tightened. No. He couldn’t afford to let this shake him. He had to move. The guards made their rounds like clockwork, their boots thudding against the grated floor above him. He had studied their patterns, their blind spots, the way they barely glanced at the security feeds.

Every flaw in their system was a crack he could pry open. He lifted his bound hands in front of him. The cuffs were meant to be unbreakable, designed to restrain even the strongest beings in the galaxy. But for him? They were nothing more than an inconvenience. With a flick of his fingers, the metal restraints snapped apart as if they were made of brittle glass, the fragments clattering to the floor.

The moment he was free, the feeling surged again—stronger, more desperate. His breath hitched, his fingers flexing as if he could somehow reach through the void between them and pull her back to safety. But he couldn’t. Not yet. His escape came first. He had to get out, had to find her.

Moving fast, Sylus stuck to the shadows, his boots silent against the floor. He knew exactly where his target was stored—a reinforced vault deep within the facility. The air smelled of oil and metal, the hum of machinery filling the halls. Cameras tracked the corridors, but he had already accounted for that. A quick detour through the maintenance ducts got him past the worst of the surveillance, the metal grates barely making a sound as he pulled himself through.

By the time he reached the vault, his hands were steady, but his heart was anything but. He pressed his palm against the access panel. The scanner rejected him instantly, flashing red. He smirked again. That was expected. From his pocket, he pulled a stolen access card—swiped off a guard days ago—and overrode the system with a makeshift bypass. The lock disengaged, hissing as the heavy door cracked open. Inside, shelves of rare materials gleamed under sterile white lights. His prize sat in the center, locked in a containment case.

Before he could reach it, alarms blared through the facility. They had found his empty cell. No time to be careful now. Sylus smashed the case open with his elbow, grabbing the material and stuffing it into his pack. Footsteps thundered in the halls. He had minutes, maybe less. Turning toward the emergency escape route he had mapped out, he sprinted. Guards shouted orders, but he was already slipping through the cracks of their system, disappearing into the labyrinth of the facility.

As the outer doors loomed ahead, Sylus felt the rush of freedom on the other side. One last smirk, one final leap, and he was out, vanishing into the void with the stolen prize.

The prison had been designed to keep monsters locked away. But Sylus had never been meant to stay.

And yet, even as he broke free, a part of him still felt trapped—bound by an unseen force, by a connection he couldn’t sever. Because no matter how far he ran, how many walls he tore through, the weight in his chest never lifted.

She was still out there. And she was in trouble.

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Y/N couldn’t remember the last time she had gotten any real rest. Time had blurred, the world around her reduced to nothing but pain and desperation. All she could remember was the explosion—the deafening roar, the way the force had thrown her back like a ragdoll.

The impact had left her dazed, body aching, blood dripping down into her right eye, painting the world in streaks of red. Her legs felt paralyzed, useless beneath her, but that didn’t stop her. She had to move. She had to get to them.

Crawling, her fingers dug into the dirt, nails breaking as she dragged herself forward. Every inch was agony, but she didn’t care. The house—her home—was in ruins, swallowed by smoke and fire. Somewhere in that wreckage were Caleb and Grandma. She had to reach them. She had to save them.

Then she saw it.

Caleb’s necklace. The one she had given him before he left for the Aerospace Academy. It lay there among the debris, untouched, glinting faintly against the destruction around it.

Her breath hitched, “No”. That was all she could say, her voice breaking as she clutched the necklace tight, her fingers trembling.

She knew this feeling. This hollow, suffocating despair. It was the same feeling she had when she was struggling to survive during the Chronorift Catastrophe—when time itself had torn apart and left her clinging to existence by the thinnest thread. But this time…

This time, Y/N was losing her family.

When she opened her eyes again, the first thing she saw was the familiar stark white ceiling. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor filled the sterile air, each pulse echoing in her ears like a distant drum. A cool plastic mask covered her nose and mouth, feeding her oxygen, its straps pressing uncomfortably against her skin. She blinked sluggishly, trying to process where she was—until the dull ache in her limbs, the tight bandages constricting her movements, and the antiseptic scent in the air gave her the answer.

Akso Hospital.

Her body felt heavy, as if weighed down by exhaustion and something far worse—something she couldn't yet name. Every attempt to move sent pain shooting through her, her muscles stiff and sore, like she'd been through a battle she couldn’t remember. The door creaked open. A nurse stepped inside, her expression shifting the moment she laid eyes on her. Shock flickered across her face before she hurriedly pressed the call button, her hands moving with urgency.

"You’re awake," the nurse murmured, almost to herself, as she moved to check the IV drip.

But the words barely registered. A sudden wave of panic gripped her chest, making her breath hitch. Why was she here? What happened?

"Where’s Caleb?" Her voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. Her dry throat burned with every word. "Where’s Grandma?"

The nurse hesitated. That hesitation sent terror racing through her veins. Her breathing quickened, and the heart monitor's beeping spiked, matching the erratic rhythm of her pulse. "Miss, please—"

"Let go of me!" she cried out, weakly pushing against the nurse’s hands as they tried to steady her trembling frame. "I need to find Caleb!"

Her mind spun, fragments of memories flashing in quick succession—the cold pavement, the metallic taste of blood, headlights cutting through the darkness. "You should’ve attended my grandma," she choked out, her voice breaking. "She’s—"

But she couldn’t finish. The weight of it was too much. Her vision blurred, and a suffocating sense of dread tightened around her ribs. Then, the door burst open again.

Zayne.

His familiar presence cut through the panic like a knife, his gaze sharp and assessing as he strode toward her. Without hesitation, he placed a firm hand on her shoulder, grounding her. "Breathe," he commanded, his voice steady. "You’re safe."

But she wasn’t. Not until she knew.

"Zayne—please," her voice cracked, raw with desperation. "Let me see Grandma. I need to know if she's alright."

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, her body trembling from the effort of holding herself together. But before she could say anything more, her strength abandoned her. The room tilted, her vision darkening at the edges, and she barely felt the moment she collapsed into his waiting arms.

When she opened her eyes again, the panic had faded, replaced by a dull, lingering heaviness in her chest. Her body still ached, but it was nothing compared to the weight pressing down on her heart. She was calmer now, but sadness clung to her like a second skin—undeniable, inescapable. The room was quiet except for the steady hum of the machines around her. The light filtering through the curtains was softer now, a sign that the sun was beginning to set. She turned her head slightly and saw him—Zayne.

He sat beside her bed, silent, watching over her with an unreadable expression. He didn’t say a word. Maybe because he knew no words could take away what she was feeling. Maybe because he didn’t trust himself to speak without breaking.

She’s been through enough. That thought kept repeating in his mind, over and over. He had seen her at her strongest, but now, lying in that hospital bed, she looked so fragile. And he hated it. How much more pain can she take?

Zayne knew what she would ask next. And he wasn’t ready to answer. Because telling her the truth would only shatter her further. And if there was anything in this world he wanted to do, it was protect her.

But even as he struggled with his thoughts, she finally spoke. "Zayne…" Her voice was rough, hoarse from disuse, as if every word scraped against her throat. His eyes snapped to hers. "Tell me," she whispered, pausing as if she was afraid of the answer. "How long was I unconscious?"

Zayne clenched his jaw. His fingers curled into fists against his lap as he exhaled slowly. He had to stay neutral. He was her doctor. This was his job. He had delivered worse news to countless patients before.

But this wasn’t just any patient. This was Y/N. His childhood friend. The person he had watched grow, fight, and overcome everything life threw at her. The person he cared for more than anything.

"Three days," he finally answered, his voice carefully controlled. But no matter how much he tried to mask it, there was something in his tone—something softer, something fragile. And for the first time since she woke up, her lips parted slightly, as if reality was finally sinking in. Three days.

Three days of being lost in darkness.

Three days of not knowing what had happened.

Three days too long.

"What happened to Grandma and Caleb?" Y/N’s voice was barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the silence like a blade. She already knew the answer. Deep down, she had known the moment she woke up. The empty feeling in her chest, the way no one rushed to reassure her, the heaviness in the air—it all pointed to the truth she wasn’t ready to accept.

Zayne hesitated. He had prepared himself for this moment, but now that it was here, the words felt impossible to say. How could he? How could he look into her eyes and destroy the last shred of hope she was holding onto?

But lying would be crueler.

"They didn’t make it," Zayne finally said, his voice low, careful. "I’m sorry, Y/N."

There was no explosion of emotion, no loud cries—just silence. A suffocating, unbearable silence. Y/N stared at him, unblinking. She had expected it, hadn’t she? So why did it still feel like the ground was crumbling beneath her? Her fingers clenched the hospital blanket, gripping it so tightly her knuckles turned white. She couldn’t breathe.

It was real.

They were gone.

Zayne watched as the realization settled in, as the light in her eyes dimmed. He had seen grief before—he had delivered this kind of news more times than he could count. But this was different. This was her. And it wasn’t just her loss. Zayne swallowed hard, his own grief pressing against his chest like a weight. Caleb was more than just some guy he knew. He was his friend. Annoying, reckless, always getting himself into trouble—but still a dear friend.

And now he was gone.

Just like that.

Zayne clenched his fists. He had lost someone too, but right now, his grief didn’t matter. Y/N was the one who had lost everything. And there was nothing he could do to take that pain away.

Zayne hesitated for a moment before stepping closer, his movements slow, careful. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a familiar silver chain, the small pendant swaying gently between his fingers. Caleb’s necklace. The only thing left of him.

“I managed to get this back,” he said softly, holding it out to her. “The medics found it when they brought you in.”

Y/N’s eyes locked onto the necklace, her breath catching in her throat. It was unmistakable—the same one Caleb had always worn, a simple but meaningful piece he never took off. She reached out, her hands trembling, and the moment her fingers brushed against the cool metal, it was like something inside her shattered.

Tears welled up before she could stop them. At first, they fell silently, one after another, tracing cold paths down her cheeks. Then, as she clutched the necklace tightly in her palm, her shoulders began to shake, the quiet sobs turning into something deeper, something raw.

Zayne hesitated. He wasn’t sure if she would want comfort right now or if she would push him away. But when he saw how small and broken she looked, his hesitation faded.

Without a word, he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.

At first, she stiffened—almost as if she wanted to resist—but then, she melted into his embrace, gripping his shirt as though it was the only thing anchoring her to the world.

Zayne didn’t say anything. He didn’t tell her it would be okay, because he knew that would be a lie. He just held her, letting her cry, letting her mourn.

Because for now, that was all he could do.

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And that was six months ago. Despite the doctors' strict instructions—especially Zayne’s—she had returned to work. Zayne had expected this. He knew her too well, knew how stubborn she was. He had warned her, pleaded with her to take it easy, to give herself time to recover. But what more could he do? Nothing he said would stop her. Y/N was never the type to sit still, not when there was unfinished business. She sat at her desk, absentmindedly flipping through reports, glancing at Caleb’s necklace she brought with her while the news played in the background.

"…Metaflux-related explosions have currently left 35 people wounded, with two confirmed casualties in Bloomshore District. Authorities urge all citizens to remain cautious…"

The voice of the reporter barely registered at first, a dull hum among the clutter of her thoughts. But the mention of Bloomshore made her snap to attention. Her hands fumbled across her desk, searching for the remote to turn up the volume. Papers crinkled under her movements, pens rolled off the edge, and a half-empty coffee cup nearly tipped over. She never used to drink this much coffee. She really was going through it. Her fingers finally found the remote, but just as she was about to grab it, another hand beat her to it.

Click.

The TV screen went black.

Y/N’s head jerked up to see Tara standing beside her, holding the remote in one hand and a thick file in the other. Concern was etched across her face, her brows drawn together, her lips pressed into a thin line. "You shouldn’t be here," Tara said quietly.

Y/N’s shoulders tensed. She had been discharged from the hospital a week ago, but it didn’t feel like she had left at all. Her body was still weak, her skin pale and cool to the touch. Sleep was a stranger to her, slipping away each time she closed her eyes. And the dreams…

They weren’t just dreams anymore.

The red glowing eyes. The floating peony petals. And now—

Her grandmother’s house. Burning.

The heat of the flames. The sound of wood splintering, crumbling to ash. The air thick with smoke, choking her.

Floating daturas.

Why was she dreaming about flowers?

"What are you doing here, Y/N/N?" Tara’s voice was softer now, laced with concern. "I thought you were out on a mission again."

Y/N blinked, grounding herself in the present. She forced herself to look away, shuffling the papers on her desk. "Yeah… I'll clock out soon. I just finished reading these reports. I’ll turn them in a second." Her voice was steady, but the weight behind it was undeniable. She reached for the stack of files, aligning them with precision that felt almost mechanical. Anything to keep her hands busy. Anything to keep herself from thinking too much.

Tara, however, wasn’t fooled. She glanced around Y/N’s desk—chaotic and unorganized, the complete opposite of how she usually kept things. The pens scattered carelessly, the sticky notes filled with scribbled reminders, the growing number of coffee cups.

"You’re working too hard," Tara murmured, a quiet accusation. "Handling all these missions, investigating every Metaflux incident like it’s your responsibility alone…”. Y/N swallowed, fingers tightening around the edges of the files.

"...I refuse to believe what happened to me was just an accident."

The words barely escaped her lips, but Tara heard them. She saw the way Y/N’s posture stiffened, the way she kept her gaze lowered, as if making eye contact would shatter the fragile wall she had built around herself. Tara took in the sight of her friend—the hollowness in her cheeks, the dark circles under her eyes, the exhaustion weighing down every part of her. It was a stark contrast to the Y/N she knew. The one who always had a sharp wit, who always pushed forward no matter the odds.

But this? This was different.

Tara sighed, stepping closer and placing a firm but gentle hand on Y/N’s shoulder. "I’m worried about you. How about we grab something to eat? My treat."

Food.

The mere thought of it made Y/N’s stomach twist. When was the last time she had a proper meal? Her mind immediately brought her back to that day. The kitchen. The lingering aroma of spices and simmering broth. Plates neatly arranged, steam still rising from the freshly cooked dishes. Cucumber Egg Stir-Fry. Braised Duck. Sweet and Sour Pork Ribs. She could still remember the taste, the warmth of each bite, the way her grandmother had smiled as she placed the dishes in front of her. Caleb as usual putting more food to her plate.

And then—

Smoke. Flames. The house collapsing into itself.

Y/N bit her lip, forcing herself back to the present. She hadn’t answered Tara yet. Hadn’t moved. Because if she ate, if she sat at a table again, if she smelled food again—

Would she taste the ash, too?

Both Tara and Y/N heard the sound of approaching footsteps—sharp, steady, and deliberate.

Captain Jenna.

Tara stiffened immediately, flustered by the sudden appearance of their superior. "Captain! I'll send you the reports soon!" she blurted. Jenna merely nodded, taking the file from Tara’s outstretched hands. Her gaze flickered between the two of them before she spoke. "Thank you. I just received one about a Protocore analysis. Who sent it?" At the mention of her report, Y/N snapped to attention, rising from her chair almost on instinct. "Oh, yes! Sorry about that. That was me—"

The words barely left her mouth before the world around her tilted.

A cold wave of dizziness hit her, fast and unrelenting. Her breath hitched, her vision blurring at the edges, dark spots creeping in. Her body suddenly felt too light, like she was floating out of herself, and yet at the same time, unbearably heavy. A familiar weight pressed down on her chest—her low iron striking again, reminding her just how fragile her body had become.

No. Not here. Not now. She swayed.

Before she could hit the desk, two sets of hands caught her—Tara’s and Jenna’s—keeping her from crumpling to the ground. "Whoa—hey, you okay?" Tara’s voice was urgent, filled with genuine concern. She held her firm but careful, as if Y/N might shatter at any moment. "I bet you haven’t gotten enough sleep. You need to rest. Stop pushing yourself so hard."

Y/N barely heard her. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, each pulse uneven and offbeat. Her fingers were ice-cold, yet a sticky heat gathered at the back of her neck. She hated this. Hated the way her body refused to keep up with her mind, hated how weak she felt, how it made her look in front of her colleagues. How had it come to this?

She was supposed to be strong. She was supposed to be unshakable. And yet here she was, barely able to stand on her own two feet. Tara’s grip remained steady on her shoulder, anchoring her back to the present. Y/N forced herself to take a slow, shaky breath.

Then, her phone rang. A sharp vibration against her desk. Her stomach clenched as she glanced at the screen.

Unknown Number.

For a moment, she debated letting it ring out. But something in her gut told her to answer. With a sigh, she pressed accept and brought the phone to her ear. "Besides," she muttered, half to Tara, half to herself, "wouldn’t dare fall asleep when—"

A familiar voice cut through the line."Hi, Lavender! Just calling to remind you that you have an appointment today."

Y/N froze. Her breath caught in her throat.

Dr. Greyson.

Her grip on the phone tightened. Her gaze darted around the room, suddenly hyperaware of her surroundings, as if someone might overhear and question why a doctor was calling her in the middle of work. "Dr. Greyson?" she said, her voice smaller than she intended.

"You had a transapical Metaflux ablation last month, right?" Greyson’s voice remained light, clinical. Then came the follow-up, sharper this time. "Dr. Zayne has your medical report. But before that, you need to get an Evol Cardiac Examination first."

Zayne.

Just hearing his name was enough to make her chest feel tight. She swallowed hard, willing herself to stay composed, but something inside her cracked—just a little. Zayne had warned her to rest. He had told her to take it easy, to stop overexerting herself. And of course, she had ignored him. Because stopping meant facing things she wasn’t ready for. Stopping meant acknowledging that she wasn’t okay.

Now he had her medical report. Now she had no choice but to deal with it. Her knees wobbled as she sat back down, the weight of exhaustion suddenly unbearable. "Okay," she murmured, barely above a whisper. The call ended. And her phone screen dimmed. She stared at it for a long moment, the thoughts in her head colliding like a car crash.

Zayne. He’ll be worried if I don’t go.

Her fingers curled into a tight fist, nails digging into her palm. She hated the thought of him worrying. Hated how much space he still took up in her mind, even when she tried to push him away.

But now came the hard part. She lifted her gaze to Jenna, who was still standing there, watching her closely. How the hell was she supposed to explain this? It wasn’t exactly the best time to leave work. And yet, for the first time in a long time… she didn’t have a choice.

Y/N slowly lifted her gaze to meet Jenna’s. A lump formed in her throat, heavy with unease. How was she supposed to explain this? That a doctor—Zayne’s colleague, no less—had just reminded her of an appointment she had been actively avoiding? That her body was betraying her, forcing her into a break she didn’t want to take? She clenched her jaw, swallowing the bitter taste of frustration. "Captain, I…”. Her voice came out quieter than she intended, barely above a whisper.

Jenna studied her for a moment, her sharp eyes scanning Y/N’s face—the exhaustion carved into her features, the way she swayed slightly even while sitting down, the hollowness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t just Jenna who noticed. Anyone would worry seeing her like this. Jenna exhaled softly, nodding as if she already understood what Y/N was going to say. "Take care of your health first," she said, her tone firm but not unkind. "Then you'll have the energy to do other things."

That was it. No scolding. No disappointment. Just… permission. Relief and defeat clashed inside her. She didn’t want to admit how much she needed that permission. Looking down, she murmured, "Thank you."

The words felt heavy on her tongue, like admitting weakness. Like surrender. Tara, ever the steady presence, placed a gentle hand on her back, rubbing small circles in silent reassurance. "Hey, it’s okay," she murmured. "Let’s get you sorted out first."

Without another word, she started gathering the mess on Y/N’s desk—pens, scattered sticky notes, stacks of reports half-finished and abandoned in her frantic need to stay busy. Coffee cups, some still half-full, others long cold. Y/N never drank this much coffee before. She wasn’t sure when caffeine became a substitute for actual rest. No wonder she’s feeling this headache on her head. She closed her eyes for a brief second, feeling the weight of it all settle over her.

How did things get this bad?

She had been running on fumes for so long, pushing through, ignoring every sign her body threw at her. Maybe because stopping meant facing something worse. But now, she had no choice. For once, she had to listen.

She inhaled deeply and exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face as Tara continued tidying up. Maybe a break wouldn’t be the worst thing. Maybe, just for a little while… she could allow herself to stop pretending she was fine.

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If there was a list of things Y/N despised the most, hospitals would be near the top. It wasn’t that she had anything against them—logically, she knew they were meant to help, to heal—but that didn’t make the experience any less unbearable. If anything, having Zayne as her primary caretaker doctor was the only thing that made it remotely tolerable.

It was the little things that got to her. The antiseptic smell that clung to the air, sharp and sterile. The way the temperature was always too cold, sending a constant chill down her spine. The steady beeping of monitors, an unrelenting reminder of how fragile life was within these walls.

She had learned that firsthand during her heart medical checkup long ago.

Back then, Josephine had accompanied her while Caleb was stuck at school for club activities. She could still remember the sterile white walls, the too-bright fluorescent lights, and—most of all—the needles. The sharp pinch of pain, quick yet lingering, leaving behind a dull ache that made her entire body tense. It wasn’t just the physical pain; it was the helplessness. The way she had no control, no escape.

She had cried nonstop when they got home, her small hands clutching at Josephine’s sleeves as she begged, voice shaking, “Please don’t take me back there. I don’t want to go back.”

Even now, that memory clung to her. Hospitals weren’t just a place of healing. They were a place of vulnerability. And Y/N hated feeling vulnerable.

Y/N stepped into Akso, the familiar scent of antiseptic already making her stomach twist. Macaroons in hand, she tried to convince herself that this would be quick—just a checkup, nothing more. Maybe she’d even accept a little lecture from Zayne if it meant getting this over with.

She knew how much Zayne had tolerated when it came to her decisions, especially her choice to become a hunter despite her heart condition. He had never outright told her to stop, but she could see it in his eyes—the frustration, the concern, the exhaustion of constantly watching her push herself beyond her limits. Maybe today, he’d go easy on her. Maybe.

Standing at the receptionist’s desk, she felt her fingertips go cold, a familiar sensation creeping up her arms. It was always like this—the waiting. The uncertainty. No matter how many times she’d done this, it never got easier. Her thoughts raced ahead of her, imagining every possible outcome, every worst-case scenario. What if something changed? What if it was worse this time?

She had already gone through the test and check up, hoping the results isn’t that bad, so much so that needed Zayne’s intervene. The nurse finally returned, handing her a neatly folded document. “These are the results of your medical examination. Everything is ready for you. You can visit your doctor now.”

Y/N’s hands tightened around the report, but her eyes drifted down to a single line. Emergency Contact: Josephine (Relationship: Grandma).

Her fingers brushed over the name, a quiet sigh escaping her lips. Josephine. No matter how much time passed, no matter how independent she tried to be, that name was always there—written into every form, every document, as a silent reminder of the one person who had always stood by her.

Pushing the thoughts aside, she looked up at the nurse, her voice steady despite the nerves creeping in. “Hello, my doctor is Zayne. Is he available right now?”

The nurse gave a polite nod before gesturing for her to follow. “Follow me.”

And with that, Y/N took a breath and stepped forward, bracing herself for whatever awaited her behind that door.

Y/N followed the nurse through the sterile white halls of Akso, her footsteps silent against the cold tile floor. As they passed by the Division of Cardiac Surgery, she barely paid attention to the quiet hum of machines, the muffled voices of doctors and nurses. But when the nurse beside her spoke, her words pulled Y/N from her thoughts. “Because of the recent Wanderer attacks, Dr. Zayne has been working overtime.”

Before Y/N could respond, the sharp rhythm of rushed footsteps echoed down the hallway. “Emergency operation in OR No. 3. Call Greyson, stat.”Zayne’s voice—calm, steady, urgent.

Y/N turned just in time to see him striding down the hall, his coat billowing behind him as physician assistants followed in his wake. For a brief second, his eyes met hers. A flicker of recognition, a pause in his hurried steps—then he was gone, turning away without a word, already briefing his team on the patient’s condition.

She stared after him, feeling something sink deep in her chest. The nurse beside her shifted awkwardly, an apologetic expression crossing her face. “I’m sorry. He’s just very busy right now. Can you wait here for a bit if you’re not in a hurry?”

Y/N forced a small nod, pushing down the sting of disappointment. “It’s fine. The operation is more important. Thank you.” The nurse gave a grateful nod before leaving, and suddenly, Y/N was alone in the empty hallway.

Her gaze wandered to the wall across from her, where Zayne’s biography was displayed—a framed plaque listing his credentials, achievements, and contributions to medical science. She had seen it before, but still, her eyes traced every word.

She already knew all of this. She had been there. From the moment he entered medical school, through the sleepless nights spent studying, through the stress of exams, through his bachelor’s, PhD, and MD. She had watched him push himself through residency faster than anyone else, rising through the ranks like it was effortless. She had even read his research papers—not that she understood most of what was being discussed, but she read them anyway. To support him. Y/N was there at every Zayne’s journey, its the least she could do, supporting him from afar.

And he would never know that back in their school days, she had secretly learned to sketch human hearts and cardiac anatomy—just because she had wanted to understand his ambition, to see the world through his eyes.

Her fingers brushed over the etched words on the plaque. “Leading expert in the study of Protocore Syndrome. Appointed Chief Surgeon…”

Her gaze softened.

“…Zayne must be working overtime right now because more Wanderers are attacking people.”

The exhaustion finally crept into her bones, weighing her down. She sighed, feeling the tension in her shoulders settle as she sat down on a nearby bench. From a short distance, she overheard two nurses talking as they passed by.

“Our shift is finally over. Do you want to get some hot pot?”

“Oh, can’t. I promised my granny we’d have dinner together later.”

Y/N’s fingers instinctively curled into her palm as she stared at her ring finger. The small, delicate ring Josephine had given her before high school began. She had never taken it off since. And around her neck… Caleb’s necklace. The weight of it felt heavier than ever. Her eyes drifted to her medical report, lingering on Josephine’s name.

A lump formed in her throat. Her voice barely made a sound as she whispered, “Grandma, Caleb… if only we could have dinner together like before…”. The words tasted like grief.

She genuinely wanted to cry. Right there, in the middle of a damn hospital. Because at that moment—she had never felt more alone.

—

The soft pink petals of cherry blossoms drifted down around her, some caught in the breeze, swirling away before they could even touch the ground. Y/N stood at the Sunset Street Train Startion, sulking, her fingers absentmindedly brushing stray petals off Caleb’s suitcase.

Across from her, Caleb stood with his arms crossed, looking far too amused at the way her cheeks puffed in frustration. “Why the long face, Pipsqueak?” he teased, tilting his head. “I’m just going to the Aerospace Academy. Shouldn’t you be happy?”

Happy? That wasn’t even close. If anything, she felt the complete opposite.

Sure, she was proud of him—he was chasing his dream of becoming a fighter pilot, and she had always known this day would come. But Skyhaven wasn’t just some school in the next city over. It was hours away from Linkon, a floating man-made island in the sky. Once he left, he wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon.

And maybe, just maybe, she had her own selfish reasons for not wanting this day to arrive. She exhaled sharply, crossing her arms. “But it’s all the way in Skyhaven. What if I suddenly crave your braised chicken wings?”

That was a real concern. His cooking was just that good. Seriously, how in the world did a future pilot become such an amazing cook?

From the side, Grandma chuckled, her voice gentle. “Oh, don’t be too sad. He’ll be back for the holidays. And when he is, I’ll make him cook for you every day.”

Well, hell yeah, but—Aerospace Academy barely had any holidays to begin with.

Caleb smirked, raising a brow. “Which means there’s a reward for being your free personal chef.”He held out his hand expectantly. “A send-off gift.”

Y/N internally screamed. The fuck?! How did he know?! She was sure she had hidden it well. She scoffed, looking away. “Who says I got you one?”

But Caleb just chuckled, already seeing straight through her act. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you sneaking around these past few days. I know what you’ve been up to.”

Oh shit.

Before she could react, she felt the zipper of her jacket pocket tug open—

The small box inside slipped right out, floating in the air—

She gasped. “Caleb! That’s cheating!! You can’t just use your Evol to take it!”

But it was too late. Caleb was already opened the box with his evol in ease. The silver necklace inside gleamed under the afternoon sun—a simple dog-tag style pendant, but with a tiny apple charm attached to it.

Y/N cursed internally. Damn it. She had lost this round.

Caleb stared at the necklace, his fingers brushing over the small apple charm with a knowing smirk. “I knew it’d be in a style you really like,” he said, his voice light with amusement. Then, without missing a beat, he tilted his head slightly and grinned. “Won’t you put it on me?”

Y/N’s pout deepened. “No way! Don’t you have hands?”

Caleb’s smirk only widened. “No, I don’t. Hurry up, the train is about to leave.”

Y/N let out an exaggerated sigh, plucking the necklace from his hands. “Hmph. If I see you without it next time, you’ll be sorry.”

Still grumbling under her breath, she stepped closer and fastened the chain around his neck, her fingers brushing against the cool metal of the dog tag. Caleb stood still, watching her with an almost amused fondness as she worked, though she pointedly avoided meeting his eyes.

She could still feel the warmth of his teasing, and it bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

Even after he passed, she never quite understood Caleb’s connection to apples. She only knew that he would cut them for her as study snacks when they were growing up, always handing her a neatly sliced piece before ruffling her hair. To her, apples became synonymous with him.

The fruit’s meaning deepened over time—“the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” But Y/N never believed that phrase was only about blood. No, it wasn’t just about parents and their children. It applied to adopted families, too. It applied to her, to Grandma Josephine, to Caleb.

Her apple and Caleb’s apple once rested comfortably under Josephine’s tree. That was all she had ever needed in life. Until the tree burned down. Until there was nothing left but ashes. Now, she had nothing to lean on.

Time had been cruel to Y/N lately, ripping away the two people who had been her entire world. How was she supposed to move forward from this?

There was no motivation left. No reason to keep going. Because Grandma and Caleb were her world. And now, that world had crumbled to dust.

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She blinked, her vision slowly coming into focus. The light pierced through her senses, too bright, too sharp. Instinctively, she raised a hand to shield her eyes.

“Grandma… Caleb…” she murmured, the names slipping past her lips before she even realized she was speaking.

The sensation of a soft couch beneath her registered next, unfamiliar yet oddly comforting. As her surroundings came into view, she took in the neat stacks of medical journals, the faint scent of antiseptic, and the sound of a distant monitor beeping steadily. Her brows furrowed as she sat up straight, realization crashing down on her like a wave.

I’m in… Zayne’s office?

She fully remembered being in the hallway—waiting, lost in thoughts too heavy to carry. She had no recollection of walking in here. Before she could even process how she had ended up on his office couch, she heard beeping noises and the door creaked open.

Zayne stepped inside.

Zayne, still wearing his white coat, looked as polished as ever—composed, professional, and showing no visible signs of exhaustion despite the grueling overtime he had been working. He walked toward his desk with the same controlled grace as always, barely sparing her a glance as he flipped through her medical records.

Y/N quickly got up, smoothing out her clothes as she murmured, “Sorry, Zayne, I must’ve fallen asleep while waiting for you.”

Zayne sighed, setting the folder down. “You do realize it’s 11 PM, right?”Wait, that late? She blinked, caught off guard. Had she really been out for that long? Zayne continued, “I had to move you because you wouldn’t wake up after three attempts.”

Her shoulders tensed. Three attempts. She hadn’t even stirred. She hadn’t meant to be a bother, hadn’t wanted to take up more of his already limited time. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. She exhaled, feeling a pang of guilt before mumbling, “…I’ve been busy with missions.”

It wasn’t entirely untrue, but she realized too late what she had just admitted. Missions. Which meant she had been overexerting herself, ignoring the doctor’s orders, and disregarding the follow-up plan she was supposed to be following after her discharge.

Zayne’s gaze didn’t waver. Still scanning her records, he flipped a page and spoke with a calmness that somehow made it worse. “I do believe there’s a follow-up plan listed on your discharge summary.” He reached for his pen. “I suppose you didn’t notice.”

More like she purposely forgot about it.

He signed something on the report, his expression unreadable. Meanwhile, Y/N was busy figuring out how to respond without spiraling into another long discussion about her health. She could just stay quiet. Take the scolding and move on. But—she wasn’t the type to stay down. She always found ways to justify her actions, even if she was in the wrong.

“I’m fine,” she said instead, a little too firmly. “My health is better than before.”

Zayne finally looked up, meeting her eyes with that sharp, knowing stare of his. If he weren’t so observant—so good at catching the smallest details in his patients—he wouldn’t be the doctor he was. “You should tell your doctor the truth.” He set the pen down. “When was the last time you slept?”

Y/N’s lips parted, but nothing came out. Damn it. She should’ve phrased her excuse better.

Instead, she forced an awkward smile. “Well… I’ve had some trouble sleeping.”

She expected a lecture. But instead, Zayne shifted tactics. “Visit Neurology and the Sleep Center before you leave. They can help.”

Another treatment. Fantastic. Just what she wanted.

Y/N pressed her lips together, debating whether refusing would make things worse. Would Zayne insist if she brushed it off?

Before she could decide, he pushed the folder toward her. “Here’s your medical report.”

Zayne sat across from her, his expression as composed as ever, though there was something heavier in his tone as he explained her medical report.

“After the explosion, your cardiac function index significantly increased. It’s most likely a result of the Metaflux.” His eyes flicked over the things that filled with data folders, his awards and more at cabinet wall and returned to his desk. “At least three months of rest and observation are required. But your circumstances called for me to make an exception.”

Then, he placed a small box in front of her. The weight of his words settled in her chest.

“Seeing your current state, I regret discharging you early.”

She stared at the box but didn’t touch it yet. A part of her knew Zayne wasn’t wrong. Her recovery had been promising—enough to convince him to let her go earlier than planned. She had followed every instruction, done everything the nurses asked of her, and fought to prove she was strong enough.

But now… sitting here like this, exhausted and barely holding herself together, she could tell Zayne was questioning his decision. And the worst part? She understood why.

Her fingers curled slightly against her lap as she muttered, “I just want to know why the explosion had to happen.”

Zayne didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pushed the box toward her. “Take it.”

She blinked, glancing from the box back to him. “What is this?”

As she hesitated, she finally picked it up, inspecting it carefully. It was small, unassuming—yet felt strangely heavy in her hands.

Zayne watched her with a measured look. “Your grandmother asked that I give it to you. However, whether or not now is a good time…” He trailed off briefly before finishing, “In any case, perhaps this has the answers you seek.”

Y/N felt something tighten in her throat. “Grandma…”

Her fingers traced the edge of the box as she exhaled slowly. Despite the weight in her chest, she let out a quiet chuckle in her mind. Zayne… always so serious.

Zayne stared at the girl as she opened the box, surprised that the fingerprint scanner accepted her fingerprint. Inside, she found her letter.

“What else did Grandma say when she left the box with you?” she asked.

Zayne quickly responded, “Just to give it to you.”

Without another word, he shifted his attention to his laptop, typing as he said, “Now, you have everything you need. Go home and rest. Doctor’s orders.”

She was about to stand up and hand him the macaroons when a strange sensation washed over her—like a fluctuation in the air, a disturbance she couldn’t quite explain.

The room shifted in an instant.

One moment, Y/N was holding the box, about to hand over the macaroons—then the air pulsed, thick with a strange fluctuation that made her instincts scream.“Wait, something’s not right.”

Zayne’s hands paused over his keyboard, his eyes flicking up at her. “You’re imagining things. Off you go now.” His voice was composed, almost dismissive, but she could see it—the sharp glint in his eyes, the slight tension in his posture.

He knew something was wrong too.bAnd that only confirmed it. She didn’t move. Neither did he.

A long beat of silence stretched between them before Zayne sighed, standing up. “Never mind. I’ll see you off myself. Wait for me outside.”

But before either of them could react, the lights flickered. The very air around them warped—and in the blink of an eye, they were pulled into a Protofield.

A deep, guttural rumble vibrated through the space as something massive emerged from the ground—a Wanderer.

Y/N’s breath caught. This… this thing was stronger than anything she had faced before. She could feel it. The sheer weight of its presence was suffocating.

“…Impeccable timing. Wonderful.” Zayne muttered, already cursing their luck. Y/N tightened her grip on her gun, adjusting her stance. “This Wanderer is stronger than the ones I’ve faced before.”

Zayne looked at her, assessing—but she glanced away before he could say anything, gun raised and locked onto the enemy. “Sorry, can’t follow doctor’s orders right now.”Before she could fire, a sharp crack of ice splintered through the air. A jagged frost shot across the ground, freezing the Petro Golem’s feet in place.

Y/N’s eyes flicked to the side. Zayne stood beside her, his hand still raised, ice-blue sparks crackling at his fingertips. “Let’s just focus on the situation at hand.”

Y/N exhaled, steadying herself. Fine. If that’s how it is— She tightened her grip on her weapon. “Let’s take this thing down.”

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“Is Akso Hospital’s Flux Stabilizer broken or something? How did a Wanderer manage to get in?” Y/N asked, exhaling in relief now that it was all over. They were back in the real world—the realm of Protofield. The tension in her shoulders eased as she took in her surroundings, the cold remnants of the battle lingering in the air. Snowflakes drifted lazily around the room, catching the dim light as they melted away.

She turned to Zayne—only to freeze. His right hand… it was turning to ice. The frost crept up his forearm, spreading in jagged patterns like veins of crystal. “Your hand!” Y/N gasped. “Zayne, your Evol is—Do you need help?”

Zayne instinctively stepped back as she moved closer, his expression darkening. “Keep your distance,” he warned, his voice steady but strained. He inhaled sharply, focusing. Slowly, the ice receded, dissolving into the air like it had never been there.

But Y/N didn’t miss the way his fingers trembled before he clenched his fist. Or the flicker of pain in his eyes. This isn’t the first time, is it? A tight knot formed in her chest. She wanted to ask—wanted to pry—but stopped herself. "Zayne…" she started, hesitating. Some things were better left unsaid. She had her secrets too. If he wanted to tell her, he would. Until then…

She pressed her lips together and let it go. Zayne doesn’t want to talk about it. I shouldn’t pry.

Zayne turned away, walking to his desk. He picked up a small box—the same one he had given her earlier—and handed it to her. His exhale was heavy, but his words were simple, “Take it with you.”

Y/N took it, her fingers tightening around the edges. Her hands still shook, the lingering adrenaline from the fight making it hard to steady herself. She wasn’t used to this—not Petro Golems, not Golem Wanderers, not any of this. She glanced at the box before muttering, “If this is so important, why didn’t Grandma give it to me sooner?” Her voice wavered. “Guess I’ll never be able to ask her now.” She forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

She turned to Zayne with a softer expression. “I’m going home. You don’t need to come with me. I just… want to be alone for a while.” She slipped the box into her bag and was about to step out of his office when his voice stopped her.

“Diseases and accidents are inevitable,” he said, calm and matter-of-fact. “Some leave this world whether they want to or not.” She turned, surprised. Zayne stood there, his usual composure unshaken. His left hand rested in his coat pocket, his posture straight and collected—like he hadn’t just nearly lost control of his Evol minutes ago. But there was something different in his words. A quiet sort of comfort. “Don’t stay trapped in the same place,” he added.

Y/N blinked, then let out a small chuckle. “Wait… are you trying to make me feel better?”

Zayne hesitated for a fraction of a second before replying, “If it comforts you, even for a moment, then…” He averted his gaze. “Yes, I am.”

Unbelievable.

She would never figure out what went on inside Zayne’s mind. He remained a mystery to her—but that was fine. That was just who he was. And she wouldn’t change it for anything. “Then… I’ll do my best,” she said, looking down before meeting his gaze again. “To recover.”

She stepped closer. “I know I sometimes—okay, maybe mostly—ignore your doctor’s orders, but I do listen when my friends speak.” A warm smile touched her lips. “Thanks for looking out for me. For all this time, from then… and now.” She reached for his left hand, placing something in it—a small box of macaroons. Zayne stared at it, confused.

She smirked. “I suddenly have a diagnosis for you.”

“…What?”

“You’re too serious. You need sweets.”

Before he could respond, she took a step back.

“Good night, Zayne. I’ll contact you when I need you.” And with that, she left, the door closing softly behind her.

Zayne remained still, staring at the spot where she had been. The weight of the box in his hand felt heavier than it should have. His thoughts drifted back—to his last conversation with Josephine.

Do you remember what you promised us?

If the worst happens, take care of Y/N on my behalf.

You know… by helping her, you help yourself.

Zayne exhaled, his gaze shifting to the night skyline of Linkon. Even now, Josephine’s words echoed in his mind. “Even so… it shouldn’t have come to this.”

The city lights flickered in the distance, indifferent to the weight of unspoken words. And for the first time in a long while…Zayne wondered if Josephine had been right.

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tags : @aikonecrosis

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVES. please do not translate, copy or plagiarize any of my write work.

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