Tuesday, June 15th, 2099
Meanwhile, at an abandoned building on the outskirts of the city, it's been a day since the intense battle between Drake and the woman. People have been gathering at the building, most of them clad in robes to conceal their identities.
A hushed conversation takes place among some of them.
"Are you sure about the information?"
"Crystal clear. I saw it myself. Seraph was captured during the raid on Sunday by the regime."
"Oh my god. We're all doomed if it's true. How could the second-in-command of this group get caught?!"
"I don't know. That's why this meeting was called."
As the crowd murmurs in concern, a man with long golden hair enters. The crowd falls silent, all eyes turning to him. He walks through the throng with an athletic, confident, and charismatic demeanor. Reaching the front, he sits on a chair meant for the leader of the organization.
"Hello, my friends, fellow citizens who seek justice against this corrupt regime," he begins, his voice carrying a mix of authority and reassurance.
"Some of you may have already heard the news: one of our own, Seraph, our second lieutenant and a commanding officer in this organization, was captured in a raid on Sunday by the regime's agents."
The crowd stirs, whispers of disbelief and worry spreading through the room.
The man continues, raising his hand to quiet them. "I understand your fear and concern. Seraph's capture is a significant blow to us all. But we must remember that this is exactly what the regime wants. They aim to break our spirit, to make us doubt our cause and each other. We cannot allow them to succeed."
He stands, his presence commanding the attention of every person in the room.
"Seraph's capture was a part of a larger plan. We knew the risks, and Seraph knew them better than anyone. She has bought us time, a precious window to strike back."
A murmur of surprise runs through the crowd.
"They think they have us cornered, but they are wrong. We will use this time to our advantage. We will regroup, strengthen our resolve, and when they least expect it, we will strike."
The crowd listens intently, the initial shock giving way to a renewed sense of determination.
"But we must be smart. We must be strategic. We cannot afford to make mistakes. Our actions in the coming days will determine the future of our cause. Remember, we fight not just for ourselves, but for everyone suffering under this oppressive regime."
The man's words resonate deeply, galvanizing the crowd.
"We will rescue Seraph!" he declares, his voice firm.
"We will disrupt their plans. And we will show them that the spirit of The Silent Dawn cannot be extinguished."
The crowd erupts in quiet but fervent agreement, their fear replaced by a steely determination. The man, their leader, looks over his people, knowing that the battle ahead will be the most challenging yet.
As the meeting adjourns, the members of The Silent Dawn disperse, each one more resolved than ever to fight for their cause and for the freedom of their captured comrade.
***
Seraph sits alone in her temporary holding cell, deep in thought. The encounter with Drake during their battle keeps replaying in her mind. The white light in Drake's eyes, a rare and powerful manifestation, seems hauntingly familiar. She struggles to recall where she has seen it before.
The door to her cell creaks open, and Drake steps inside, carrying a tray of food.
"Hey," he says, interrupting her thoughts. "Here, eat this." He kneels down and hands her the meal.
Seraph takes the food, her energy depleted from the intense battle. She begins to eat, almost forgetting that Drake is still kneeling there, watching her.
"Seraph, right?" Drake opens the conversation. "You're not afraid of your situation?"
She stops eating and looks at him, her eyes searching him.
"Why?" she asks, her voice steady. "I know all of you are the same, but there's something different about you."
Drake is momentarily taken aback by her answer, his expression unreadable.
"Why do you fight for them?" Seraph asks, her voice probing yet steady. "There's something in your eyes... something that says you don't belong here."
Drake, taken aback by her directness, hesitates. "It's my duty."
Seraph leans forward, her gaze intense. "Duty to whom? To a regime that crushes the innocent? Or to a higher calling you've forgotten?"
He remains silent, unsure how to respond.
Seraph continues, her tone softening. "Your eyes... they remind me of someone who believed in justice, in true freedom."
Drake's eyes widen slightly. "Pardon?"
Seraph's lips curl into a faint, sad smile. "I had a mentor once, who spoke of them with great reverence. They were supposed to be the protectors of the people, not enforcers of tyranny. And your eyes... they resemble hers."
…..
"Mr. Drake..." Seraph continues, her tone curious and slightly hesitant. "Could you please tell me your family name?"
"It's Grayheart," Drake replies, his voice firm.
A moment of silence passes between them, the weight of recognition settling heavily on Seraph. Just then, a big tall man enters the room, his presence breaking the tense silence.
"Drake, let's go," Mark says, his voice authoritative.
Drake rises and exits the room with Mark, leaving Seraph alone in her cell. She resumes eating, her mind racing. As she takes another bite, a whisper escapes her lips, filled with a mix of shock and awe.
"He's alive, teacher," she says, her voice trembling with emotion. The revelation stirs something deep within her, a memory long buried and now resurfacing with newfound clarity.