Chapter 39 - Transfer

Arthur awoke feeling… happy. It was one of the few times in his day that he felt happy. No—scrap that. The only time in his day he could call himself that. Not that his life was as bleak as before. It had its moments—a half-hearted joke, good weather, perhaps even the warmth of a fleeting smile. A chuckle, if he was lucky.

But sooner or later, the weight of reality always came crashing down, dragging him back into the quiet, suffocating misery that defined his days.

Except for those few twilight moments when he first opened his eyes—when, for the briefest instant, he hadn't yet remembered that it had all only been a dream.

And then it had.

He moved through the barracks silently. The others instinctively parted around him. They had learned well enough to let him be in the mornings—months of trial and error had taught them to wait a few hours before attempting conversation.

The mess hall was alive with chatter, the clatter of metal trays, the ever-present hum of military routine. Arthur ate in silence, methodical, detached. Until she arrived.

Commander Scarlet.

She sat across from him, posture stiff, eyes colder than usual. A lingering grudge, no doubt, from their exchange a couple of days ago.

 Arthur didn't regret a word of it, yet he regretted hurting her as a result. She had tried to pry into his life. Tried to act like some sort of therapist for no damn reason.

He had no idea why she attempted to get closer to him, trying to tear down the walls he put up`. So he snapped at her.

'I'm a criminal here. A prisoner, nothing more.'

He met her gaze but continued eating, unfazed.

"I have a mission for you," she said, her tone clipped.

The table fell silent. Conversations died mid-sentence. Eyes turned toward him.

Arthur didn't look up. "Do I get a choice? I just came back from one."

"You're being transferred."

That made him pause. He set his spoon down and slowly raised his head, his usually composed face twisting into a sneer. "So, is this what happens when you're angry, huh?"

Scarlet's expression remained unreadable. "Do you honestly believe I would?"

A long pause. Then, grudgingly, he shook his head. "No," he admitted. "No, you wouldn't." She wasn't like him. Unlike a certain bastard of an officer who had died for him.

"It was Commander Duleryon's orders," she continued. "You'll be accompanying a group of prisoners—acting as both escort and guard."

Arthur exhaled sharply through his nose. "Why me?"

"We expected something like this. You've proven yourself valuable. They know of your healing ability. And Officer Reftia likely gave you a glowing report before she left." Scarlet folded her arms. "This is a chance to really gain their trust. If you do, you'd be free from their suspicions, unlike the rest of us. And there's all sorts of advantages to gain from it."

Arthur leaned back in his seat. "So, that's it, then? I'm alone now."

She nodded, her voice still sharp and waspish. "You should be fine. After all, you like to think you're alone wherever you are."

Arthur barked out a laugh, short and humorless. "Never trust the jailor," he murmured. "Red would've known something about that."

The table went deathly silent.

Not the usual silence. A heavier one. A weighted thing.

Scarlet's expression darkened. And for the first time, Arthur realized he'd made a mistake.

A real mistake.

Her voice was dangerously quiet. "How do you know that name?"

Arthur held her gaze, masking his sudden unease. He hadn't meant to say that. He wasn't supposed to know who Red was.

"I'll tell you when I return." He stood, picking up his tray. "James should've told you, but since he's gone, I guess I'll take responsibility."

Her eyes were dangerous now.

"Why not now?"

Arthur smiled faintly. "I need something to look forward to, Officer." His voice softened, almost reverent. "I want to tell you about him. He was… quite the character."

Scarlet said nothing as he turned and walked away.

But Arthur could feel her gaze burning into his back the entire time.

As soon as he was out of sight, he let the smirk slip from his face.

'Shit. That was stupid.'

He sighed, rubbing his temple as he made his way to his barracks. He didn't have much to pack—just the essentials. The only two things that truly mattered were Ikaris and the Mask of Shadows.

Halfway through, Noah walked in.

"You're still a prick, huh?"

Arthur snorted. "Never claimed otherwise."

Noah leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Why'd you snap like that?"

Arthur's hands stilled. "Why should I be nice?" he muttered. "They're not our friends. Don't forget—we had collars around our necks when they sent us off to die. We were lucky. We had talent. Imagine if we didn't. Remember the others who were lined up that day?"

Noah let out a bitter chuckle. "Yeah. But I do have talent. And I remember the full picture. Like when they stopped you from going on a suicidal rampage. Or when they scoured battlefields to find intact armor for you off the dead. So don't give me that bullshit, Arthur."

Arthur exhaled heavily. "I don't know, then."

Noah pushed off the doorframe, walking away.

"No," he said. "I don't think you do."

 .......

Arthur stepped out of the barracks, his small pack in hand, and his gaze immediately locked onto the five trucks stationed outside Fort Lanai. One of them had been fitted with a crude metal cage welded onto the frame, a makeshift prison on wheels. Inside, three figures huddled together, shivering in the pale morning light.

They were gaunt, their bodies frail from malnutrition. But what struck Arthur most was their hair—stark white, just like his own before he'd dyed it black.

The first was a man who must have once been formidable. Now, his broad frame was sunken, his dark eyes hollowed by exhaustion and starvation. Beside him sat a woman with hauntingly familiar violet eyes. And then there was the boy—young, fragile, a miniature reflection of the man, from the white strands of his hair to the solemn darkness in his gaze.

Arthur's stomach twisted.

His son.

But what was a child doing in a prison transport? What crime could a boy commit against the rebellion?

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. 'War. No matter the side, it was always ugly.'

A heavy thud snapped Arthur from his thoughts as a guard hopped down from one of the trucks. The man was massive—easily the largest person Arthur had ever seen, his dark eyes assessing him with a mix of authority and indifference. A gauntleted hand extended toward him.

"Name's Ram. Officer Ram."

Arthur shook it, feeling the raw power behind the grip. "Arthur."

Ram nodded once. "You'll ride with me until we reach the meet point. Don't ask questions, do

as you're told, and we won't have any problems. Understood?"

Arthur gave a single nod.

"Good. Follow me."

As they approached the truck, Ram gestured toward the roof.

Arthur frowned. "You want me to ride on top?"

Ram smirked. "You'll learn how to hold on."

Arthur bit back a retort, climbing up with ease. 'Suits me anyway', he thought. Less chance of forced conversation. Less chance of getting too close to the rebels. He was sick of forming attachments.

The journey began rough, the vehicle lurching and rocking with each uneven stretch of road. At first, Arthur struggled to keep his balance, but his awakened abilities quickly adjusted. It wasn't just strength that came with awakening—it was balance, reflexes, perception. Soon, the swaying of the truck felt like second nature.

But no matter how much he adapted, he couldn't shake the nagging familiarity of the prisoners. Especially the woman.

'What am I forgetting?'

The thought gnawed at him, a splinter in the back of his mind that refused to be ignored.

By nightfall, the convoy had stopped to rest. Arthur, as always, sat apart from the others, eating his meal in silence. It wasn't that they ignored him, nor did they make an effort to include him. The unspoken agreement suited him just fine.

"Hey, rookie."

Arthur exhaled slowly, setting his half-finished meal aside before standing. He strode over to where Officer Ram and a few others sat.

"Yeah?"

Ram handed him a plate of food—if one could even call it that. The portions were pitiful, barely enough to keep a person functional, much less nourished.

"Take this to the prisoners."

Arthur accepted the plate without comment, though his stomach twisted at the sight. Of course, they kept them half-starved. It lowered the chance of escape.

He walked toward the cage, eyes hard as he approached. The prisoners—the family—sat huddled together, their breath visible in the cold night air. The boy's thin frame shuddered, his small hands clutching his mother's sleeve.

Arthur wordlessly passed the plate through the bars.

The man—despite his clear hunger—did not eat. Instead, he divided the food, giving the first portions to his wife and son.

"Give me what you don't want," he murmured, voice hoarse with dehydration.

Arthur felt something in his chest tighten. 'Damn. I'm a bastard, aren't I?'

He hesitated for a moment before speaking.

"Who are you?"

The man turned his gaze on him, his hollow eyes sharpening with suspicion. There was no fear in them—just raw, seething hatred.

Arthur didn't flinch. "Tell me your name, and I'll give you the rest of my meal."

The man hesitated, hunger flickering across his features. "Why?"

"Because I'm curious," Arthur said evenly. "And you're starving."

There was a long pause.

Then: "Give me the food first."

Arthur turned on his heel, retrieving the remainder of his meal. The others were too lost in their own conversations to notice him slipping back. He crouched down and passed it through the bars.

The man took it cautiously before muttering:

"Morella." He met Arthur's eyes. "Lord Adrian Morella."

Arthur kept his face carefully neutral. No sign of recognition. No hint of the cold realization sinking into his bones. He simply stood, nodded once, and walked away.

But inside?

Inside, his thoughts were a whirlwind.

Morella.

Sera's father.

His gaze flickered back to the cage, taking in the woman's violet eyes. Sera's mother.

And the boy—small, frail, clutching his father's sleeve like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

Her little brother.

Arthur exhaled slowly, tilting his head back to stare at the endless sprawl of stars overhead.

'So I've met them huh. The family I promised to save. The promise she begged me to keep.'

He laughed. It was a helpless, sour laugh. 'Fate's a sadist