(POV - Victor Hale)

Inside the bathroom, Victor wore a closed-off expression, visibly upset. He gripped his communicator tightly, trying in vain to make contact. The repeated failed attempts were bothering him more than he wanted to admit. For a few moments, he seriously considered that something might have happened.

Still, it had barely been five minutes since he last spoke with Emily. Was that really enough time for something serious to occur? Despite the growing doubt, Victor knew he couldn’t let anxiety take over.

Given the current situation and the risks involved, he judged it wiser to stick to the original plan Emily had laid out — she’d always been meticulous, and he trusted her judgment, even in the most uncertain moments.

Trying one last time to reach Emily — or anyone else still alive in the facility — Victor let out a deep sigh, heavy with frustration and exhaustion. The silence following his failed attempt felt even more oppressive than before.

Beside him, Rupert, who had remained silent until then, watching everything with a grim face, finally broke the silence, his deep, low voice cutting through the air like an omen: “Looks like the news isn’t good”

Without looking away, Victor simply nodded silently, confirming what had been said. The next moment, his voice broke the brief silence, firm and serious: “Forget communication. I don’t even know if this system’s still working... There’s no signal. No noise. Not even static”

Hearing Victor’s words, Rupert let out a long sigh, as if bearing the weight of a decision already expected. Silent, he slowly walked over to the unconscious body lying on the floor. Stopping beside the man, he used the tip of his boot to turn him face up, studying his face for a few seconds, perhaps searching for some sign, some clue.

Without looking away, he murmured in a calm, almost automatic tone: “So that’s it? We follow the original plan and take this guy to Emily?” He paused briefly, as if calculating the situation: “I imagine she’s still somewhere near the last area where the exhibit was supposed to happen... given when we lost contact, that makes sense”

Hearing Rupert’s words, Victor drifted for a moment into his own thoughts, carefully assessing their situation. His mind ran through several possible scenarios, weighing risks and consequences, trying to figure out which one would be the smartest way forward given the current circumstances.

Beside him, Rupert remained silent, patiently waiting — and somewhat expectant — for Victor’s response. As tense as he was, Rupert had unwavering confidence.

For him, trusting Victor wasn’t just the safest choice; it was the most logical one. No one knew Victor’s survival skills better. He’d seen him act under pressure before, and he knew if anyone could lead them successfully through this deadlock, it was Victor.

Anyway, after mentally outlining a plan, Victor prepared to share it with Rupert. But just as he opened his mouth to speak, the bathroom lights flickered. It was only for a brief moment — maybe a fraction of a second — but enough to freeze them both. They exchanged a silent glance.

Without exchanging words, they both knew something was wrong. The lights in this place never failed. The whole facility was equipped with redundant generators, emergency systems, and constant monitoring. There was no room for technical glitches. If the lights flickered, even briefly, there was only one possible explanation. And they both knew exactly what it meant.

Rupert and Victor fell silent. For a moment, the atmosphere seemed frozen in time — until the lights flickered again. This time, though, the darkness lasted longer than before. They exchanged silent looks, but their eyes communicated a clear, almost desperate message: something was wrong. Seconds later, the lights went out completely. No flicker. No return.

Just absolute darkness. Instinctively, Victor and Rupert crouched down, their bodies tense and still like statues. Their eyes turned almost simultaneously toward the bathroom door leading to the hallway — a passage now swallowed by shadows.

One thought formed in both their minds, synchronized as if they shared the same primal fear: something was outside. And whatever it was... it definitely wasn’t human.

Both remained utterly silent. Even their breathing was held carefully — soft enough not to be heard, but enough to keep from losing breath. Would it work? Neither of them was sure.

Silence was a risky gamble, but given what surrounded them, what other choice did they have? They exchanged a quick, tense glance, as if seeking confirmation from each other that they were doing the right thing — or at least trying not to panic.

Then, at that exact moment, Victor and Rupert felt a presence silently passing just outside. There was no sound — no snap, no whisper, not even the faintest air movement betraying the approach. It was as if the shadow itself had come alive and slid invisibly along the wall.

Still, after years dealing with all kinds of anomalies, the two men noticed one unmistakable thing: the hairs on their arms stood on end, a cold shiver running down their spines like a warning. Their instincts, sharpened by experience, screamed without words: move, and you die.

***

(POV – Protagonist)

While being closely watched by the visitors, as well as Laura and Emily, my eyes fixed carefully on the belly of the little girl’s mother, who was holding my hand firmly. It didn’t take long — with a single subtle touch, I somehow sensed that part of her body had been severely damaged.

With that thought anchored in my mind, reflecting especially on the little girl’s parents — including Emily and Laura — I focused all my intent to reach all four at once, making my voice echo clearly in their minds: (It’s damaged)

The moment I said those words, the little girl’s mother’s eyes widened, visibly shocked. Beside her, the husband froze, his face full of concern. Emily and Laura, meanwhile, were momentarily confused, trying to decipher what I meant.

But a closer look at where my hand rested was all it took for both of them to exchange quick glances, their faces lighting up with clear understanding and recognition in seconds.

Next, I removed my hand from the mother’s belly. Then, my eyes turned to the girl, still holding my hand tightly, her look innocent and curious — a stark contrast to the strange feeling that had washed over me.

I paused for a few seconds, piecing clues together, mentally trying to solve the puzzle of the moment. If I considered some assumptions... maybe the damage was directly related to her.

With that idea in mind, I murmured, almost unconsciously: (Was... it because of her?)

Of course, it wasn’t like I was really blaming anyone — or rather, it would be a lie to say I actually cared. Still, there was a latent curiosity inside me, hard to ignore. I wanted to understand, even if I didn’t have the courage to admit it aloud.

Deep down, I knew my words could be misunderstood; after all, you can’t expect everyone to see things the way I do. And just as I imagined it would, the little girl’s mother reacted. Her voice cut through the air, full of emotion and echoing like thunder in the silence around us.

Her tone was full of anger — but not at me, nor at the little girl. It was a contained, muffled fury, coming from somewhere deep inside her. There was something bitter in that voice, like she was silently battling herself. Deep down, it seemed clear: she wasn’t angry at the world... she was angry at herself.

“No! She had nothing to do with this!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with pain: “It’s because I was born this way... with this cursed weakness! It’s all my fault! Always has been!”

The little girl holding my hand jumped a little, startled, when her mother suddenly raised her voice. The father, noticing his wife’s emotional breakdown, quickly approached and placed his hands on her shoulders, a clear gesture of comfort — or maybe an attempt to hold back something threatening to spill over. I just watched the scene silently, keeping my usual indifferent expression. Deep down, I knew: this wasn’t something I could — or even tried to — change.

While I stayed entertained watching the two, the little girl’s father, eyes teary and a painful expression carved into his face, broke the silence with a choked voice: “It’s nobody’s fault... My wife has always had a fragile body. The pregnancy was complicated from the start. Actually, considering everything we went through, ending up with only a damaged uterus was, sadly, the least of our problems”

Emily and Laura just watched from the sidelines, silent. Either way, they knew this was a matter they had little say in — their opinions, though valuable, wouldn’t change the weight of that conversation.

Still, I didn’t bring it up just to drown them in melancholy. There was a reason, a purpose behind the words I chose. I needed them to understand — not just the facts, but what was behind them.

(Do you want to have more children?) My question came out suddenly, almost cutting through the air around us. The four looked at me, surprised, blinking as if trying to confirm they’d heard right. It was, indeed, an unexpected question, dropped without warning in the calm of the conversation.

But I didn’t care about their reactions. I kept my gaze steady and, with the same naturalness as before, insisted: (Do you want to have another child?)

They both remained stunned. Their expressions showed a mix of confusion and disbelief — as if unsure how to react to my words. In truth, that was a very understandable response.

When a random stranger simply states that the impossible is actually possible... shock usually comes before understanding. Still, I wasn’t speaking on impulse or trying to impress them with fantasies. There really was someone. Someone who could help her — and I was absolutely sure of it.

With that thought, I turned my gaze back toward where Althea was. Her body floated gently in the air, held by the rhythmic, almost silent beat of her wings. She hung upside down, legs crossed casually, as if that were her natural resting position. The moment she noticed my gaze, Althea spun in the air with agility and, with a quick impulse, flew to my side while straightening her posture with a slight graceful movement.

“Yes, sister” she answered gently, tilting her head slightly: “What do you need?”

Hearing Althea’s words, I gave her an indifferent look, like someone trying to hide what they really feel. Yet inside, a genuine surprise took over me: (How did you know I wanted something from you?) I asked, intrigued — after all, I hadn’t said a word.

At my question, Althea seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if surprised by my query. Then, with a soft smile and a warmly comforting sparkle in her eyes, she answered as if speaking a universal truth, obvious to both of us: “What are you saying, dear sister? We don’t need to say anything to understand each other. Or rather, you spoke to me, and your intention was already clear to me”

She said it calmly, her loving smile lighting up her face as she looked at me with eyes full of affection and trust, conveying a deep connection that words could never express.

For some reason, being looked at by her like that gave me a strange sense of danger, as if something invisible was about to happen. Her eyes, usually deep and serene, now seemed to have turned into two big beating hearts, filled with an almost hypnotic intensity.

Also, she was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling quickly, like she had just run a marathon, even though she was standing there still. Something inside me told me my chastity was threatened — not that it made sense, considering my androgynous body and peculiar condition.

Still, this was Althea we were talking about, the living embodiment of the essence of life, an almost divine entity who could be called the mother of all. And no matter how much my curiosity tried to pull me closer, I knew it was better to keep my distance from her, at least for a while. After all, some forces are too dangerous to challenge.