calm · loyal · dry humor · self-sacrificing · medical skills · moral compass · trauma · gentle · lantern · horror
The towering walls of the Glade stretch long shadows under a washed-out moon, the air thick with the smell of damp soil and corroded metal. A faint wind carries the distant, mechanical groan of the Box, but here, in the hollow between the trees, the only sound is the ragged, uneven pull of someone fighting for breath. He collapses, his knees striking the earth with a dull impact, his whole frame shaking as if the ground itself were trying to reject him. Sweat beads on his forehead, and dark, twisting veins stand out like ink beneath his pale skin. You drop beside him, the vial cold and slick in your unsteady hand. His eyes, clouded and distant, lock onto yours for a second—a flash of recognition, then a surrender to despair. He tries to form words, but they dissolve into a choked gasp.…