"In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer." — Albert Camus
An hour and forty-three minutes into the hunt.
Adissa found herself glued to a wall, her back pressed tight against it, arms and legs crouched in perfect balance. She faced a Starter Hunter crouched on top of the opposite building. Layla was on the adjacent one.
Moments earlier, the hunter had leapt from two buildings behind the one it now stood upon—straight toward Layla and Adissa, who had been analyzing their surroundings and their next move. They both reacted instantly, diving in opposite directions: Adissa to the opposite building, Layla to the adjacent.
The hunter stared at Adissa, tentacles flaring, but then turned its attention toward Layla—the stronger of the two.
The two had only recently begun working together after Layla saved Adissa from being almost killed. Layla had arrived close to two months earlier, a week after Aria's arrival. For Adissa, this was her third hunt.
Adissa Maruhn is currently nineteen years old, standing at 5'7", with long black hair tied in a ponytail, pale skin, and striking blue eyes that held both determination and loss—yet remained gentle. Born in the Scottish Highlands, she carried the quiet resilience of the land itself: cold, beautiful, and unyielding.
She had been a gymnast—strong, disciplined, her athletic frame sculpted by relentless training. Her legs were powerful, her balance flawless, her movements graceful, deliberate, and exact.
But Adissa's childhood was far from kind.
Her father abandoned them when she was still a toddler, and her mother died of illness when Adissa was six. That left her with her older brother, Kellan—her protector, her teacher, her world.
They were sent to an overcrowded, poorly funded orphanage on the outskirts of Inverness. Life there was cruel. Food was scarce, compassion even scarcer. When the administrators could no longer feed all the children, they cast out everyone older than thirteen—including Kellan. Adissa, barely eight, followed him into the streets.
Kellan grew up overnight. At fifteen, he worked menial jobs—unloading crates at docks, sweeping floors in boxing gyms, sleeping in storerooms when no one was looking—anything to keep his sister fed. Every coin went to Adissa's schooling, where she could at least eat regularly.
That was where her gift appeared.
During a school physical, her balance and coordination caught the eye of a visiting gymnastics coach. Within months, she joined a youth training program. She advanced faster than anyone expected—her movements effortless, her flexibility extraordinary. Coaches saw something rare in her: raw greatness.
By twelve, she was already a rising name in Scottish gymnastics—graceful, composed, adored. Adults praised her control; children envied her. Kellan watched every performance with pride. He was her anchor—and her corruption. Fiercely protective but reckless, Kellan lived wild. To Adissa, though, he was untouchable. Even when his jokes turned cruel, she adored him too deeply to understand.
At fourteen, Adissa had become a national icon—the Highland Star. Undefeated. Beloved. At seventeen—untouchable.
Then came the invasion.
The Vexari descended from the skies like silent storms. Cities burned, governments collapsed. Adissa was home in Edinburgh when the first ships appeared. Streets in chaos, Kellan shoved her toward the tunnel.
"Go, Adi! Don't look back!"
She cried, refused, but he pushed her through, sealing the gate as soldiers closed in.
She heard his scream—
then silence.
For three days, she wandered the ruins, surviving on rainwater and scraps. Eventually, she found an underground resistance hiding in the old Edinburgh Metro. She trained hard—vaulting ruins, sneaking through tunnels the Vexari couldn't follow. She became a scout: fast, silent.
But the resistance didn't last.
A raid on a Vexari transport exposed them. Retaliation was swift. Fire swept through the tunnels. Adissa ran, but a plasma blast threw her across the room. The last thing she saw was the obsidian armor of a Vexari soldier standing over her—and her own reflection in his weapon.
Layla Hassan, in her early thirties, stood 5'10". Her body lean, athletic, and balanced with the precision of lifelong training. Smooth bronze skin, deep amber-gold eyes reflecting both warmth and calculation. Dark mahogany hair bound in tight braids framed a face carved by resolve. Every movement carried quiet strength—controlled, deliberate, unshakably calm.
Layla had grown up in Cairo during the war between Egypt and Turkey—a conflict that spiraled into years of chaos, espionage, and bloodshed. She was sixteen when her world ended.
An assassin targeted her father, a mid-level defense official. By dawn, her entire family lay dead. Layla survived only because she had slept at a friend's house after working late on a school assignment.
At seventeen, she enlisted in the Egyptian Armed Forces, determined to protect others from what had destroyed her own. Her aptitude for endurance and combat drew attention fast. She was transferred to elite training under the Cairo Tactical Command, where she mastered Krav Maga, Systema, Silat, Aikido, and advanced marksmanship and counter-surveillance.
By her mid-twenties, she had distinguished herself through high-risk missions across Sinai and the Mediterranean front. Psychological evaluations said the same: emotionally disciplined, highly resilient, executes orders without hesitation.
That record caught the attention of the Egyptian General Intelligence Directorate. Recruited into covert service, Layla transitioned from open warfare to the invisible battles of espionage. She learned advanced martial art techniques, to read micro-expressions, to anticipate motives, to disappear.
Her final assignment was presidential protection.
Then the Vexari came.
The first strikes crippled the government before noon. Cairo burned. The president's convoy was obliterated by plasma fire during evacuation. Layla fought until her ammunition ran dry, dragging survivors from the wreckage until she was overrun.
Captured—but not killed.
The Vexari recognized her strength, precision, defiance.
When she awoke, she was no longer a soldier.
She was a runner.
At the ranch, she retrained herself in powerful martial-art techniques Yu Wo had left behind, helping Adissa whenever she could, often with Thomas and Malik's guidance. Adissa affectionately called her Big Sis—the sister she never had.
Back to the hunt.
The air between the three hung heavy, vibrating with tension. Dust drifted from crumbling ledges. Silence broke only by the hunter's scream.
Adissa's heartbeat thundered. The Starter Hunter's emerald eyes locked on Layla—the stronger prey. Instinct dictated the choice; the strongest first.
"Move on my mark," Layla's calm voice crossed the narrow divide.
Adissa nodded once, crouching tighter, muscles coiled. The hunter tilted its head, tentacles twitching in excitement—then leapt.
The impact shook the building. Shards of concrete burst into the air as Layla and Adissa launched in opposite directions.
Adissa hit the opposite wall hard, palms scraping the surface as she vaulted upward. Layla spun midair, catching the edge of a window frame and swinging through.
The hunter struck between them, hammer tearing through concrete.
"Don't fight it!" Layla shouted. "Keep moving!"
Adissa's breath came fast. "Working on it!"
They didn't fight to win—only to survive. Every motion was coordination: Adissa diving through open frames, Layla vaulting collapsed beams, both using the ruins as armor.
The hunter adapted, bounding between walls, hammer crushing everything it touched. Each step shook the ground.
Layla reached the edge of a fractured bridge. She glanced at Adissa across the gap. "Now!"
Together, they pivoted, drawing the hunter into a funnel between two buildings. Adissa sprinted the ledge while Layla dropped low, wrenching free a loosened rusted heavy steel beam.
With a grunt, she swung it down with her full weight.
The hunter dodged the first strike—but missed the second. The beam smashed into the side of his lower body, throwing it off balance.
Adissa seized the moment—sprinted, leapt, twisted midair, and drove both feet into the hunter's chest. The combined force sent it crashing through the weakened floor below.
Dust erupted. The city groaned beneath the impact.
"Go!" Layla barked.
They dove in opposite directions—Adissa through a shattered window, Layla over the edge of the next structure.
By the time the hunter's tentacles writhed free of the rubble, they were gone. It turned sharply, tracking the residual emotional pulse Adissa left behind, and launched forward through the buildings.
Adissa ran—leaping from building to building—her movements fluid, desperate, but precise. Every muscle screamed; every breath burned. The vibrations behind her grew. The hunter was closing in.
She turned mid-sprint—just in time to see the alien vault toward her.
Suddenly a wet, guttural rip.
The hunter's body jerked violently as a hand tore clean through its throat. Its roar turned into a choking hiss, green blood spraying across the floor. The alien collapsed.
Malik.
He stood behind the corpse, expression unreadable, presence almost unreal—as if he had materialized from thin air. His hand dripped with alien blood, his movements calm, deliberate. The hunter twitched once more, then went still.
He followed after Adissa, grabbed her by the head, and lifted her up.
"You're quick on your feet," he said evenly. "I almost didn't catch up."
Adissa froze, breath caught. Her voice barely a whisper.
"Malik…?"
He met her gaze, the faintest flicker of recognition in her eyes, then dropped her gently to her feet.
She asked, "What happened to the alien?"
"I killed it," he replied.
Her eyes lit with childish wonder.
"It took Layla and me everything to barely get away, and you killed it so easily! Can you teach me how to do that sometime? Layla always avoids fighting because she doesn't want me to die. If only I were stronger, then Big Sis would let me fight with her."
"Alright, kid. Quiet with the nagging," he said, a faint depression crossing his face.
She jumped onto his back, legs locked tight and arms around his shoulders as he began to walk.
He sighed. "Are you a child or what? Get down before I smash your puny head."
She ignored him and stuck her tongue out playfully.
He sighed again, shaking his head. "Let's go find Layla. She's close."