Jax took the badly hurt Ren to a medical clinic. This place was known for their fancy healing pods, which they claimed could fix any injuries after just one night.
Even though he didn't want to, Jax couldn't take a banged-up person straight to Cass. Cass was a guy with high standards, working his way up in his career, trying to get in with the fancy crowd. He expected everyone around him to look good. Whenever Jax went to see Cass, he'd even wipe off any raindrops, hair, or dust on his shoulder.
The doctor at the clinic wouldn't stop talking about how terrible Ren's injuries were. He also said that just by chance, their clinic had the newest healing fluid that a team had just brought back from Polluted Zone Five. He promised it would work wonders on the super hurt Ren who was already in the healing pod.
"Lucky he's an alpha, a normal person would have died like 800 times by now," the doctor said while he messed with some info on the control panel, shaking his head. "He has lots of old injuries that haven't been taken care of right."
In his room, there was an old, beat-up healing pod. Ren was inside, his eyes shut, wearing a mask to help him breathe, his whole body in a special liquid. The liquid kept bubbling, and lots of info about his body was flashing on the old-timey control panel.
"Those joints, they're all messed up. He's definitely been seriously hurt before, and he'll hurt a lot when it's raining. Also, his lungs have been damaged by poison gas he breathed in, and they weren't treated right. I don't know how he's still alive. If he wants to get all the way better now, it'll take a lot of money and time."
The doctor turned to Jax, who was standing next to him. "Do you want to use this chance to fix some of his old major injuries?"
The guy had just come in all frantic with the injured person in the pouring rain, his face all worried—the doctor assumed that they must be pretty close.
"Can he hear us talking in there?" Jax answered, totally not on topic.
"Hear? How could he hear?" The doctor laughed. "This is a genuine relic from the ruins, specially changed for treating alphas. It's soundproof to make sure the alpha inside can rest. An A-tier alpha wouldn't be able to hear anything from outside."
Jax felt a weird sense of satisfaction. The legendary Ren from their school days was now in such a bad state, way worse off than him. It was so satisfying that he almost couldn't hide his smile. "He's so pathetic. So poor he can't even afford to get into a healing pod? Bet he regrets pissing off Mr. Chow and going to the North outpost back then."
The doctor kept blabbing, "Look at these old injuries. It's best to treat them all at once with this treatment."
Jax stopped the doctor with a firm whisper, "Hush, focus on your job."
The doctor shrugged and, with Jax, left the room. After all, once the healing pod's settings were ready, it didn't need anyone else. It was expensive, which made it mostly out of reach for poor alphas.
Once the sound of their footsteps disappeared, Ren opened his eyes inside the healing pod. He had heard everything, and could even hear distant conversations from other patients' families and the sound of the rain getting louder outside.
Lying in the closed pod, his body was covered in a see-through healing liquid. Bubbles kept popping up around him, like being underwater in the ocean.
Ren remembered the fight he had underwater today, and the mysterious girl who had shown up there. He hadn't expected to meet a beta like her.
Her strong body, calm attitude, and white dress flowing in the water. She had made a straight shot into his mind, the deep ocean inside him. Her psychic incarnation was scary enough to even scare alphas who had seen a lot of battles. Those strange psychic beings, floating around her, were big, cold, scary, and mysterious. Just a quick look at them was too much.
When the things grabbed him, pulling him down towards the bottom of the ocean, Ren had thought about dying.
To him, dying was no big deal. Everyone he knew was gone, so he felt like his time could come at any moment. Resting forever might be a kind of never-ending peace.
But, when those cold, slimy things wrapped around his tail, tying him to the rocks at the bottom of the ocean, they hadn't tortured him like he thought they would. They hadn't even hurt him.
When she saw the memories he had put on purpose around his mind, the floating beta kept a straight face. But her psychic tendrils, they crawled up his skin, roughly, taking turns touching his body. Maybe because he had felt sad and hurt for so long, but any small sign of warmth from another person was something he'd instinctively hold onto, making it bigger in his mind.
Even more, he saw the memories that had been shown for everyone to see. They seemed fair and without feeling. But he knew, the beta had purposefully hidden something. This cold beta, who he had even annoyed before, had been gentle with him after getting into his mind.
This bit of kindness from the stranger was protecting something that Ren's dead comrades had wanted to protect.
Outside, the rain was pouring down, with raindrops hitting the window, leaving tracks of winding patterns. Ren closed his eyes, thinking of the North outpost where he had fought for so many years: A winter season in the North outpost was a harsh ordeal, a test of survival. The landscape would be cloaked in a blanket of snow, transforming it into a sprawling expanse of jade. The frozen ground bore testimony to the biting cold. The onset of the ruthless winter added another layer of hardship to their already arduous lives.
The fragment of the Ren's memory played in the yard earlier was incomplete. Originally, in the end, after the researcher was killed, and the living insectoid stone was smashed, there were still some memories which the beta had deliberately missed.
On that day, once Ren vengeance was accomplished, Ren stooped to gather the shards of the insectoid stone that lay scattered around him.
Despite being smashed and lifeless, these insectoid stones were valuable, at least to the people of the barren North outpost. The fragments may have lost their appeal to the high-ranking elites, but here, they could sustain numerous lives, providing nourishment for many families during the relentless winter months.
He collected the blood-soaked shards and ventured out of the Polluted Zone. He exchanged them for essentials in the black market - charcoal, cotton, food, and candies.
In a humble cabin in the snow-covered North outpost, a warm glow radiated from within. A pregnant woman was seated by the table, knitting a sweater, her hand gently patting her sleeping daughter curled up against her.
A knock echoed at the door.
Wondering who it could be, she stood up, carefully supporting her belly and opened the door. It was an elderly janitor from the outpost. Both her arms were mechanical prosthetics, replacements for her lost limbs. She had braved the snow and arrived dragging a cart laden with winter supplies.
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"These are your family's rations, Tuck's share," she began, her face lighting up with a smile as she started unloading the cart using her somewhat rusty mechanical arms. "Tuck might not return before you deliver. But don't worry, you're not alone."
After emptying the cart, she took out a bag of ashcredit coins from her blouse. The coins were warm from her body heat as she placed them in the pregnant woman's hands.
"Captain Sloan asked me specifically to give this to you."
The woman's eyes widened with surprise and delight. "Oh my, why so much?"
Her heart ached for her husband who couldn't be with her as they anticipated the arrival of their baby. But with the generous supply of food and money, she knew they would weather the winter safely.
She peered into the swirling snowflakes outside in the pitch-black night, her thoughts filled with the tall, gruff-looking man who was unfailingly gentle towards her. A cocktail of anxiety and maternal courage stirred within her.
Not too far away, at the mouth of a dimly lit alleyway, a curly-haired girl pulled out a cigarette from a pack. She lit the cigarette held between her black-polished fingers and took a drag.
"What's he up to?" she asked, exhaling a ring of smoke with a skilled flick and a smirk on her lips. "He doesn't have the guts to show up himself and sends money instead. Is this his way of saying goodbye?"
"No, he..." The alpha in front of her couldn't hold back her tears, her eyes reddening as she choked on her words. She stubbornly reached out, the bag of ashcredit in her extended hand.
The girl, a long-time dweller of the red-light district, was first taken aback, her eyes reflecting confusion before she fully grasped the situation. She remained silent for a moment, her hand trembling as she guided the cigarette to her lips. She inhaled deeply, puffing out the smoke anxiously. She tilted her face upwards, letting the wind and snow hit her face, perhaps in an attempt to dry the unshed tears in her eyes.
"Did... did he leave any message for me?" she finally managed to ask.
"Yes, he did," the alpha replied, "He hopes you'll take this money, live well, and differently perhaps."
The grimy alleyway was eerily quiet in the snowy night. The only sounds were that of a woman huddled on the ground, holding a cigarette in one hand and her head in the other as she wept.
"That bastard, that bloody bastard." she cursed, her words interspersed with her tears.
Pure white snowflakes descended from the sky, gently caressing her shoulders as if trying to offer some solace.
At the ramshackle orphanage, a cart full of winter supplies had been parked outside the gate. The children cheered as they ran out to receive the candies that were being handed out. They had never tasted such sweetness before. Their happiness made it seem as if they were celebrating a holiday.
In a corner, they didn't notice the usually cheerful nun bowing her head in front of a strange old soldier, sobbing as she covered her face.
...
The morning after a night of heavy rain was bathed in bright sunshine.
Kestrel was seated in Priscilla's living room, observing her friend feed dinner to the twins.
Priscilla was Kestrel's only friend from the beta academy. She was two years older and was married off to an alpha designated by the government at an early age. From then on, she was relieved from her beta duties and dedicated herself entirely to her husband and children.
On the television in the living room cabinet, a news report was being broadcast. Viscount Klein, clad in a suit, was shown distributing comfort items to the families of fallen alphas amidst sunshine and flowers.
The families of the soldiers shown on screen were impeccably dressed, gratefully accepting gifts from the Viscount's hands.
It was a scene of merriment and jubilation, bustling with activity.
The whole world was bathed in sunlight, under the divine light of the Tower, filled with love and gentleness.
"It's all a charade," Priscilla remarked. She was busy preparing a meal - she opened the oven, took out a roast beef marinated in sauce, carved it up, plated it, packed it in her husband's lunch box, and engaged in conversation with Kestrel.
"According to our research back then, most of the alphas who lost their lives in the Polluted Zone received nearly no compensation. Their pensions were whittled down bit by bit until, by the time it reached their families, it was insultingly minuscule."
In her days at the beta academy, Priscilla was resolute and resourceful, writing numerous investigative reports on sensitive topics.
But that was her past. She had left that world behind. Now, her focus was solely on her family. She had transformed into a loving wife and mother.
As she spoke, she scooped two spoons of fruit puree into the twins' bowls and made sure they finished it. Simultaneously, she instructed the housemaid to fetch her husband's suit for that evening's dinner.
Kestrel paused to take another bite of the cake, savoring the tangy taste of the blueberry jam and the sweet, pillowy texture of the baked dough. There was no doubt about it, Priscilla was a wizard in the kitchen. Kestrel admired her ability to balance her duties to her alpha, an endless list of household chores, all while maintaining a cheerful demeanor. Even if she were to utilize all her tendrils for such chores, Kestrel doubted she could match Priscilla's level of efficiency.
The stark contrast in their lives was clear. While Priscilla had gracefully adapted to her role as a beta in marital life, Kestrel chose a different path. She had always been unique, a rebel at heart.
"Wait, you're serious about going to the Polluted Zones?" Priscilla asked, finally snatching a brief moment of rest from her busy routine. She sat across from Kestrel, her eyes filled with a mix of disbelief and admiration. "It's hard to believe a beta would willingly choose such work. But then again, it's you we're talking about."
"Yes, I have my reasons," Kestrel admitted, presenting her permit with a smug grin. "Besides, once I'm there, I won't have to endlessly attend these lavish parties. You know how terrible I am at handling them."
As betas, they were obliged to partake in opulent banquets hosted by aristocrats, regardless of their personal preferences. The Tower ensured this. Their society perceived betas as the Empire's delicate flowers - an exhibit to be admired and shown off.
"Speaking of parties," Priscilla clapped her hands, her face brightening at the chance to steer the conversation. "Are you planning on wearing this to the evening gala?"
Kestrel glanced down at her clothing, puzzled. She had chosen a formal gown and was wearing shoes that practically rendered her immobile. "What's the issue?" she wondered.
"Do you realize that Tarian, the pathetic clown, will be there tonight?" Priscilla placed her hands on Kestrel's shoulders, her expression serious. "It's essential we maintain our dignity in situations like these. We can't let those bastards look down on us."
"Kestrel, this is a battlefield. Our battlefield."
"A battlefield..." Kestrel's thoughts meandered back to the memories she had witnessed in the depths of the sea just a few days ago. The horrific sight of bodies being impaled, their flesh and blood scattered like unwanted clay. Eyes that refused to close in death, permanently marked with despair. That, she pondered, was the genuine battlefield. "Could these petty squabbles amongst betas for an alpha's attention even compare to that?" Kestrel thought to herself.