Lana continued to slice strips from the carcass of the vulturov, the blade slicing through the tough meat with a rhythmic precision. Her hands moved quickly, cutting around the dirt-streaked parts of the animal, focusing on the usable sections, the ones still clean.
Then came a sound—faint but unmistakable.
A groan.
It barely reached her over the rain, muffled and uneven. Lana's brow furrowed as she stopped slicing, the sword poised mid-cut. She glanced toward the entrance of the shelter, but nothing moved. The rain made it difficult to hear anything clearly.
She shook her head and went back to work. But the uneasy feeling didn't leave.
But then—another groan, louder this time. Ragged. Jagged.
Lana froze again, this time more certain of what it was. Her head turned toward the sound, her eyes narrowing. And there he was.
Vlad lay on his side, one arm—without his suit piece or gauntlet—stretched out in front of him, the other gripping his left forearm with his right hand. His face was pale, soaked in pain and sweat, his jaw clenched tight against the agony. The unnatural angle of his arm made her stomach drop.
Her voice was quiet, but sharp, carrying the concern she tried to keep hidden.
"Vlad?"
There was a long silence in response, the rain pounding against the branches like a drum. For a moment, she thought he might not answer.
Then, his voice, rough and ragged, sliced through the stillness.
"It's nothing..."
Lana frowned, her brow creasing. The words didn't match the situation—she could hear the strain in his voice, feel the way his words didn't line up with his actions. She didn't need to see his face to know he was hiding something.
She stood up and wiped her hands on a leaf and walked over.
She knelt beside him, her eyes taking in the way his body was curled in on itself, the ragged breaths he was drawing. His arm—dislocated and soaked in blood. She could see the bulge near his elbow, the way his muscles trembled and blood escaped the holes beneath the silkweave. Her voice low but insistent, she asked:
"What… What are you doing?"
Vlad winced as he shifted, trying to sit up. The movement was slow, deliberate, and his right hand clenched tighter around his dislocated left forearm. Sweat dripped from his chin as he looked at her, his breath shaky.
"Trying to fix my arm," he muttered like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Lana's eyes widened, and she took a sharp step forward.
"What fix?" she snapped. "You should leave it. Doing that yourself is way too dangerous!" Her voice cracked with frustration.
Vlad didn't flinch under her words. Instead, he let out a breath—half sigh, half laugh—and gave her a crooked, lopsided smile.
"This isn't the first time it's happened," he said, voice rough but calm. "My sister fixes me up in no time. I've watched her do it more times than I can count."
Lana stared at him, the words not quite landing. Her mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out. Her expression shifted—half confusion, half disbelief.
She blinked.
"…Your sister did?"
Vlad gave a dry chuckle looking at her freckled face, the sound tight with pain.
"Yeah. And sometimes my brother, too. Training got a bit… intense sometimes."
Lana shook her head slightly like she was trying to process what he'd just said.
"What kind of 'training' ends with someone's arm getting dislocated?" she asked. "What kind of family lets siblings do that to each other? Don't your parents stop you?"
Vlad looked at her for a moment, something quieter settling in his eyes. His smile faded in tiredness.
"Not each other," he said. "I've never managed to break a single one of their bones—yet."
That made Lana pause again. Her brow furrowed. Her confusion deepened, but it wasn't just confusion now—it was a dawning realization that she was hearing the edges of something much larger, something she wasn't prepared for.
"You've…" She frowned. "You've tried?"
"To break my sister's bones? No. My brothers? Yes. Not that I can touch him…"
What the hell?!
She just stared at him.
For a moment, everything seemed to go still—except for the rain hammering the bentree limbs and the crackle of the fire. Her expression was unreadable now, somewhere between stunned silence and disbelief. The kind of pause where no response feels right because nothing you say could make sense of what you just heard.
She didn't speak. Just watched him, half-hoping he might laugh and say he was joking. But she already knew—he wasn't.
God…
Vlad met her gaze with that same tired steadiness—and then, slowly, gave her a small, crooked smile. Not cold. Not proud. Just matter-of-fact. A smile worn down by time.
"I don't have parents," he said simply. "They're gone. For a long time."
He let the words hang there—quiet, but final.
There was no drama in it. No pity. Just truth, laid bare like the rest of him.
Lana moved her eyes elsewhere.
"I'm… I'm sorry."
"It's fine."
Vlad watched her stillness, the way her brow stayed creased, her mouth slightly parted like she wanted to say something else—but couldn't.
He let out a slow breath, eyes flicking to the fire, then back to her.
And then something in his face shifted. A flicker of realization. Like he'd just heard his own words for the first time.
He shook his head slightly.
"Wait!" He said, voice firm. "That—sounded worse than it is!"
Lana's eyes shifted to him.
He sat up straighter, despite the pain still digging into his shoulder. His expression sobered—serious. Clear.
"They never hurt me for the sake of it," he said. "Everything they did… it was for my own good."
Her eyes stayed locked on his, her expression unreadable—but listening.
"If they hadn't trained me that hard—pushed me, hit me, knocked me down over and over—" he swallowed, jaw tightening just for a second, "—I wouldn't even be here right now. I'd be dead."
He gave a faint, humorless laugh.
"Even with that training, I barely have enough strength to keep going out here. Without it? I wouldn't have made it this far. I'd be dead. Simple as that. And they said there's something even worse waiting."
His gaze dropped to the floor for a moment.
"They didn't go easy on me, because if they had… I would've broken the first time life decided to go south."
He looked back at her—no smile this time.
"They didn't go hard on me to break me. They…uh…did it so the world wouldn't?"
***
Lana's face shifted—subtle, but telling. Her expression was soft, but unsettled. Like she was seeing him with new eyes and didn't know what to say. Pity didn't touch her features—just something quieter. Something sadder.
But Vlad didn't linger in that silence for long.
With a grunt, he adjusted his grip on his arm again, biting down the pain as he shifted back into position.
"Failed twice," he muttered, half to himself, half to her.
The corner of his mouth tugged up in a crooked, defiant smile.
"But third time's the charm, right?"