Damian treated himself to a feast of natural food.
He sat on the tiny balcony, bathed in sunset, and ate until he was full.
Only when the plates were empty did he rise, step back inside, and leave his home.
The outer zone was noisy and alive.
Laughter rang out.
Shouts echoed.
Boots pounded through the alleys.
A pack of young men barreled past him, knives in hand, chasing their prey.
Damian only smiled faintly.
How alive this chaos felt, compared to the silence that had come after.
At the relief station, he paused. The line of children shuffled forward for their rations, hollow-eyed and silent.
Without thinking, Damian flicked two bottles of nutrient solution toward the boy at the very end.
They landed against the boy's chest with a sharp clack.
Silver hair caught the light for an instant.
The boy froze, then clutched the bottles tight and bolted.
"Oi! You little rat!" one of the older kids cursed, giving chase.
Damian only shrugged. His lips curved with an ease he hadn't felt in years.
He kept walking.
He had somewhere to be.
Two days from now, his old squad—Iron Fang—would set out on a mission.
And in his last life… they had never come back.
The tavern was loud and warm, lanterns flickering above the smell of cheap beer.
This was Iron Fang Squad—the family he had once claimed as his own. He had grown from D-rank to C-rank in their company. And two days after his confession… they had all died. The first, and deepest, of his regrets.
"Damian!"
The moment he saw them, his chest tightened. Ten years. Ten long years since these faces had vanished from his life. For a heartbeat, his nose burned.
Marcus Hale, their captain, rose first. Steady as always, with a warmth that made the whole squad trust him, Marcus clapped Damian on the shoulder hard enough to sting and shoved him toward the table.
A fist thumped his arm. Ethan Ward grinned wide, restless energy buzzing in every move.
"Well? How'd it go? The confession—don't tell me you came here without sealing the deal?"
Damian's eyes grew hot. These were his brothers.
"It's… good to see you all again," he said softly.
They blinked at him in surprise.
Caleb Ross leaned forward with a snort, sharp tongue never failing.
"Ha! So you failed. If you'd succeeded, you'd already be too busy with your lover to remember us."
Damian rubbed his nose awkwardly. "I'm not that kind of guy."
"Yes, you are," everyone shot back at once, laughter spilling around the table.
In the corner, Noah Briggs sat quiet. He barely spoke, but his steady gaze felt like it could cut through lies. He gave Damian a brief look—calm, analytical, seeing a little too much—before turning back to his drink.
Damian's fingers curled around his mug. His heart ached.
Because they were right.
Last life, he had been that kind of man.
Wrapped up in Elian, blind to everything else.
And when the mission came… he hadn't gone.
Two days later, Iron Fang Squad was gone.
That regret had carved a hollow in him that never quite healed.
But this time… he was in time.