Kai sat in a dimly lit corner of the camp's medical tent, wrapped in a blanket he didn't ask for, placed on a cot he didn't move from.
He was the only one.
Out of all the children held in that nightmare of a lab, only he remained.
Everyone knew it. The air around him felt heavier because of it. No one approached. No one dared speak loudly near him. Not even the other survivors from the raid. He was like a ghost in the flesh.
Alia stepped in, carrying a cup of warm broth.
She watched him for a moment. He hadn't moved since earlier. He barely reacted to anything. Even when Ruki spoke to him, even when Taural checked on him. Even when someone screamed from another tent nearby—he didn't flinch.
"Kai," she said softly, kneeling beside the cot.
"I brought you something. It's not much… but it's warm."
He didn't look at her. He didn't blink.
Alia set the cup down on a small table nearby, folding her hands in her lap.
"Do you know you're the only one left?"
Still no reaction.
She smiled bitterly.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that alone. I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner."
"I kept hoping you were alive. Even when everyone else gave up, I just… couldn't stop looking. I knew you were still out there."
She took a slow breath, trying to stop her voice from breaking.
"The others... the children in the files—they were gone by the time we arrived. We were too late."
"But you... you were in a room. Not a cage. Not an experiment pod."
Alia stared into his blank eyes.
"Someone protected you. Hid you, maybe. We don't know who, or why."
Finally, Kai's eyes moved—just a tiny flicker—toward the cup of broth.
Alia noticed.
"Are you hungry?" she asked gently, voice hopeful.
He didn't respond, but that single movement was enough.
She picked up the cup and held it out to him.
His hands were slow, trembling, unsure of what to do. But he reached for it. And that was enough to make her heart ache.
"There you go," she whispered. "Take your time."
Kai brought the cup to his lips, sipping just a little. Then more.
Alia smiled through her tears.
"You're safe now, Kai. You're not just Subject 12 anymore. You're my little brother. Kai Alen."
The name hung in the air.
He paused mid-sip, eyes staring into the cup—processing.
Something about that name… felt distant. Like a sound heard through water.
But he didn't drop the cup.
That was something.
Kai slowly drank the soup, letting the warmth settle inside him. It was… strange.
"Why is this scientist giving me this?" he thought. "This is warm... not like the hard blocks they gave me every day."
He glanced up.
The blonde woman—he couldn't remember her name—was watching him. Her eyes were wide, and her hands were clutched tightly in front of her. She looked... eager. Was that the right word?
"Is my name Kai Alen now?" he thought, staring into the bowl. "Kai…"
He whispered it to himself.
"Kai…"
And then, something unexpected happened.
Water.
It started dripping from his eyes.
He blinked. Touched his cheek.
"Huh…? There's more… water?"
It didn't stop. In fact, it started coming faster, running down his face like a broken faucet.
He didn't understand.
"Why? What is this?"
Around him, the tent was quiet—only the soft sound of his breathing and the distant rustling of fabric. But it felt like everything had changed.
No more white ceiling.
No more cold steel.
No more pain in his limbs.
Just… warmth. A soft bed. A bowl of soup. A woman with blonde hair watching him like she'd found something precious.
And then, suddenly, arms wrapped around him.
Kai stiffened.
It was her.
The woman.
She pulled him into a hug, gently pressing his head against her shoulder.
"Kai…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "It's okay. Let it out. I'm here. You're safe now."
His shoulders shook. And the water—no, the tears—came rushing out.
He didn't understand why it felt so right.
But it did.
Something heavy—something he never even knew he carried—was gone. Like chains breaking apart, vanishing from his chest.
He cried.
Uncontrollably.
Everyone in the medical tent turned toward him, their expressions soft, sad, and silent. No one said a word. They just watched.
Alia didn't let go. She held him tighter, patting his back with slow, gentle motions.
Her face was filled with sorrow. But in her heart, there was also something else:
Relief.
Relief that her little brother, after so long, after everything, could finally cry.
She held him as he broke down, and whispered again:
"You're not alone anymore, Kai."