Roenan woke with a start, sitting straight up. He was disoriented and the quick movement caused pain to sear through his head and his abdomen. He groaned at the pain as he doubled over, lying onto his side and curled up into a limp ball. His eyes were less swollen now and he blinked back tears that were caused by the sharp-white light that had pierced his eyes when they'd opened.
As his eyes began to adjust, he carefully uncurled himself and lifted his head to look around the room. He was in a hospital of sorts. There were single beds lining the long room, ten on each side, and they were accompanied by their own machines and IV drips. Most of the beds were empty except for the bed to the left of his, which was at their end of the row in the corner of the room. It was the furthest bed from the door. A boy, who looked a little younger than himself, was strapped down to the frame. He didn't look particularly injured except for a few bruises and scratches. He was out cold and there was an IV dripping fluid into him periodically.
Roenan turned his head and looked back down the length of the room and realized that there were no windows on the walls which gave the space an oddly confining feel. Everything was extraordinarily white in color except for another person who was around his age. He was standing in front of a small chair near the only door to the room. It looked as if he had hopped up in a startle movement once he realized Roenan was awake.
His blondish-brown hair was slightly disheveled as if he had run his hand through it at some point. He was pale, but his skin contrasted enough against the white of the walls to make him seem tanner. He wasn't nearly as tan as Roenan and especially not as tan as the boy in the corner. He had an appearance that made Roenan wonder whether he would even understand him if he attempted to speak to him. He was clearly from the country of Vernajja. He was tall and well built, like he was an active and atheletic person. His shoulders were rigid and he had a book in one of his hands, dangling by his side. He was standing like he didn't know what to do with himself, shifting slightly from toe to heel.
He suddenly turned and began to head for the door.
"Wait!" Roenan yelled. His voice was hoarse and his ribs seared with a new warm pain. He coughed.
The young man stopped with his hand stretched toward the door handle. He looked back hesitantly.
"Um..." Roenan began, unsure. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, running his hand across the back of his neck. "Wh-where am I...?" He asked, his voice dry, and looking up nervously from underneath his brown eyelashes.
The young man looked from Roenan, to the door handle, and back to Roenan. He stared straight for a few seconds, as if contemplating something, then curled his fingers into his palm and dropped his hand. He turned back away from the door and began to stride toward Roenan's bed.
Roenan didn't know whether to feel relieved or on edge. He carefully moved his pillow to his back and sat up straight as the young man strode up to the side of his bed to stare down at him. His carmel-colored eyes contrasted with his dirty blonde hair. His features were handsome. He had dark eyebrows and a sharp nose and his hair waved around at his ears. He still had his book in his hand and Roenan's heart sank when he saw the script written across the cover. It was written in Vernajjian and Vernajjian was both a familiar and unfamiliar language to Roenan. He associated the language with a country whose communist leaders killed innocent people for being from countries they despised or countries that had morals and beliefs that they disagreed with. Roenan couldn't read, write, or speak the language, but he understood words, phrases and limited grammar because his father had spoken it fluently.
At one time.
The thought of his father had Roenan's stomach turning. The last time he'd seen his father, his mother had shot him... just like she'd shot her own son. Roenan cringed, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing uncomfortably.
"Do you mind if I sit?" The young man asked, pointing at the edge of the bed.
Roenan's opened his eyes widely and stared up at the young man. His accent was thick but he had spoken in Jaedan.
"Go ahead," Roenan said back, eyes still wide. "You know Jaedan?"
"There is enough of it that I do know. It has been learned to me in school. Not many of our people are learned it," He responded.
Roenan blinked at him before shaking his head to gather his composure. "Where am I?" He asked again.
"You are at University Hospital of Zroskk in Vernajja," The young man answered.
Roenan felt like he was going to be sick. He began to search the side of his bed for a bucket. The boy caught on and grabbed the small bin that was next to him and handed it to Roenan. He dry gagged and panted for a moment before composing himself. If a couple of his ribs hadn't already been broken, he knew they were now. The boy awkwardly patted Roenan's shoulder twice as he retched, glancing back toward the door.
Once Roenan's panting began to slow and as his sweat was growing colder on his skin, he brushed his hand over his watery eyes and set the bin down next to his bed. He looked back to the boy.
"What's your name?" Roenan asked hoarsely.
"Drakke," Or at least that's what it sounded like to Roenan. "And you?"
"Roenan."
Drakke nodded. He was mindlessly brushing his fingers over four deep looking scabs that ran across his left forearm.
Roenan pointed his chin toward Drakke's forearm. "What happened?"
Drakke looked down as if only noticing the marks and then pointed across Roenan to the other bed, a look of contempt on his face. "That one is not right," Drakke said, shaking his head slightly. "He is going to have hard troubles here."
Roenan looked over at the sleeping boy. He didn't look particularly harmful with his soft features from deep sleep that were accompanied by even breathing. He definitely looked a little younger than Roenan by a couple of years.
Roenan looked back at Drakke but Drakke was still staring at the other boy. He was unconsciously scratching at the marks on his arm and one scratch was beginning to bleed.
"Stop," Roenan said abruptly.
Drakke looked down at Roenan in surprise and Roenan flushed before composing himself.
"You're making it bleed when you do that."
Roenan felt Drakke continue to stare at him.
"What?" Roenan asked, still looking away.
"Look at me," Drakke whispered.
Roenan hesitantly looked up at Drakke and Drakke's eyes shifted slightly as they searched his.
"Your eyes..." Drakke's said and his own eyes narrowed as he searched deep into Roenan's.
Roenan felt overwhelmingly self-conscious and he looked away quickly. "So I'm in the city of Zrossk. Is this a Military encampment? You said University, but..."
"They're very... unique." Drakke whispered, ignoring Roenan's question.
The door to the room burst open abruptly. Drakke snapped out of his reverie and shot up into a standing position. When Roenan fully processed it, he realized Drakke was in a rigid salute.
Five men had entered the room. Four of the men were wearing some type of dark-blue military uniform and the one other man was in tan scrubs. They all strode in through the door with long, quick steps that didn't slow as they moved toward the corner of the room the boys were at. One soldier stood in front of Drakke and began speaking. Drakke began to say something back but was cut-off by a backhanded blow to his cheek. It was strong enough that he half-fell onto Roenan's bed. Roenan reflexively reached out to steady Drakke, but Drakke smacked his arm away. He got up into the salute-like stance again. He glanced sideways at Roenan as he said something to the soldier. The man was heavily decorated and even Roenan could tell he was high-ranking.
Roenan shifted his gaze from the medals on the man's chest to Drakke's face which was turned toward him as he spoke. He had been hit so hard that his skin had split on his cheeckbone. Blood welled into a ball on the split and until it became too filled and began to slide down Drakke's cheek like a red tear.
The man looked down at Roenan too, before he spoke again. Roenan wasn't sure if the man was addressing him at first, but when he had finished his last word Drakke dismissed himself from the room without looking back. Each step Drakke took away from Roenan's bed sent a pang discomfort through him. He didn't want to be left alone with these men.
Roenan reluctantly met the decorated military man's eyes. They had a caramel color like Drakke's, but they had more of an untrustworthy look to them. Like the man had seen and done a lot of things most people wouldn't be proud of. But Roenan was almost sure this man was proud of them. His hair was a dark brown and his skin held the same pale color that Roenan's father had. There was a scar through his left eyebrow which left a bald gap between the hair. He also had a horizontal inch-long scar coming out of the corner of his mouth on his right side. He looked strong and had stern facial features.
Roenan made sure not to break eye contact with him. As they stared one another down, the man began speaking again as he also held the eye contact. The medic perked up and hustled over to the side of Roenan's bed to his IV drip. The medic pulled the small syringe cylinder off of the tube on Roenan's upper hand and then pulled a replacement out of his pocket. He brought the syringe down to replace the drip, but Roenan began to struggle when he realized he was being drugged. He let out a cry of help and heard the bed to his left, with the boy in it, begin to stir.
"No! Don't! Please...!" Roenan shouted, kicking out. Two of the other soldiers went to the opposite sides of Roenan's bed to pull him down and hold him. The boy next to him almost growled as he began to tug violently against his restraints. The medic finally situated Roenan's new drip and hustled to the bed next to him. Roenan turned his head to face the boy as his consciousness began to slip.
The soldiers moved to surround the other boy's bed, four of them holding down each of his limbs. The man who had struck Drakke had moved to stand at the foot of the boy's bed to watch in silence. The medic pulled out another syringe from his pocket. This syringe held a different color liquid than Roenan's had and he replaced the old syringe with the new one.
Right before Roenan was completely knocked out, the five men were exiting the room in the same fashion they had entered.
Roenan rolled his head back toward the boy.
"Hey, kid...?" He slurred.
But the other boy was already unconscious.