The soft golden glow of an oil lantern cast a circular dome of light, like a gentle shield holding the darkness at bay. The fire crackled in the stone hearth, sparks snapping as warmth pushed back against the chill that seeped in from the fog-draped hills beyond. Mist rolled heavily down into the valley, and the gentle rain carried a penetrating dampness that wrapped around everything like a cold breath.
Gunsuke sat quietly at the head of the table, eyes fixed on the flickering lantern light. His thoughts churned over Sophia's words from earlier. After bringing Lemo back safely, he couldn't help but feel a bit frustrated—maybe even angry—that the old man hadn't told them about his illness sooner.
Sophia had said the bear wound, while severe, was healing faster than expected thanks to a regenerative gel brought from the Homeworld. It was lucky she had kept a supply with her on the trip.
Within three to four days, she predicted, Lemo's left arm would be usable again. But the real danger wasn't the wound—it was the lung cancer. The medication he had could only hold it at bay a little longer. The specialized treatment, especially the radiation therapy he needed, was available only on the Homeworld—or in advanced hospitals. But the interdimensional gate was shut.
Sophia wasn't even sure if hospitals on Ether stocked that rare drug. Most cancer treatment here relied on radiation, which modern hospitals administered effectively. But hospitals were now infested with zombies.
She had told him it was pure luck that Jonathan had dragged her out on a vacation just two weeks before the outbreak. Otherwise, she might've become one of the undead stuck in a hospital ward too.
"How am I supposed to get him in there?" Gunsuke had asked before leaving the RV.
"I don't know," Sophia had replied. "That's for you to figure out. But if he gets into a radiation room, I can guide you through the procedure. It's not that complicated. The problem is getting him there in one piece."
Her words haunted him throughout the evening like a tide lapping at the edge of his resolve. Though they hadn't known each other long, Lemo already felt like family.
Back in the wooden cabin, the fire flickered softly, warming the room. Gunsuke sat in thought until the sound of footsteps drew his attention.
"So? Mari said you wanted to talk to us," Issie said, entering the dining area, followed by Meenda and Molly.
"Mari, is Mr. Lemo asleep?" Gunsuke asked.
"I heard snoring. Pretty sure he's out," she said, settling in.
Gunsuke exhaled deeply before speaking. "You all deserve to know this."
He told them everything Sophia had told him—about the cancer, the limited medication, and the slim window for treatment. The girls listened in growing silence.
Mari looked ready to cry. She leaned on Molly's shoulder, while Molly sat pale and quiet.
"What do you plan to do?" Meenda asked, her voice tinged with worry.
"I don't know. But I can't do it alone."
"We should start by locating a hospital," Issie suggested. "Jonathan said Sophia worked at Normington General."
"Where is it?" Gunsuke asked.
"North of the city," Mari replied, wiping tears away. "I took my dad there once to visit Grandma. She had cancer, too."
"Molly, think you can send one of Lemo's drones there to scout the place?"
"Yes, but we'll need to fly at dawn."
"That's fine."
"I'll help," Mari said, taking Molly's hand.
"You're not thinking of taking him there tomorrow, are you?" Issie frowned.
"I don't know. But starting now is better than doing nothing. I understand why he didn't tell us—he didn't want to put us in danger. He probably knows more about the equipment and treatment than we do, but he kept it quiet to protect us."
"…Mr. Lemo…" Mari whimpered and buried her face in Molly's shoulder again.
"How long does he have?" Meenda asked quietly, hugging her knees.
"If he keeps taking the meds, maybe six months before the cancer reaches stage three. But once the meds run out—which will be soon—he'll only have about a month for radiation to still be effective."
A heavy silence fell over the room.
"There's nothing more we can do tonight," Gunsuke said. "Get some rest. We train early tomorrow."
Despite the fire's warmth, the room felt cold in the wake of what they'd learned.
"Let's go," Issie said, rising. Molly and Mari followed her up to the second floor.
Meenda lingered.
"You're not going with them?" Gunsuke asked with a tired smile.
"I thought I'd stay with you a bit longer." She gave him a soft, lopsided smile.
"Want some coffee? I'll make a cup."
"I'd like that."
While the kettle boiled, Gunsuke checked every door and window. Outside, Pink and Green—Ether's twin moons—glowed behind the fog, invisible to the naked eye. Wind howled through the valleys, carrying with it a wolf's distant howl.
"Looks like a storm's coming," he said, returning to Meenda, who held two mugs in her hands.
As she placed them down, he stepped closer—and embraced her.
Her warmth, her breath, the softness of her slender form in the thin tank top—all of it made him feel alive again.
"I'm scared, Gunsuke," she whispered against his chest. The howling wind and Lemo's condition made her feel as if the world was slipping.
"I'm here," he murmured, kissing the top of her head. His breath was warm, steadying her heartbeat.
She looked up, and in that moment, their eyes spoke volumes. Sadness. Fear. Connection. Unspoken feelings took shape in their silence.
He leaned down and kissed her—softly, gently.
The warmth of the kiss spread through them, a balm against the cold. It deepened, lingered, sweet and unhurried.
Their coffee sat forgotten as the night wrapped around them like a blanket. Nothing existed in the room now but the hush of their breathing and the quiet rhythm of hearts drawn close.
Tonight would be long—but neither of them felt alone anymore.