Project: Cayro

Chapter 2: Amethysts and Surprises

Cayro Bracton:

August 18, 2025

15:38 EST

The Autumn Med Bay

30 Miles off the Coast of VA.

The soft, steady beeping of medical monitors pulled me from a dream where I was soaring through clouds on my skyboard. As I reached up to wipe the sleep from my eyes, a tug on my arm stopped me. Turning my head, my stiff neck protesting with a dull ache, I noticed an I.V. taped to my right arm, the line leading to a half-empty bag hanging above me. I sighed and leaned my head back, the reality of my situation sinking in—I was in a hospital. Great, I thought. I must have scared the hell out of Grandpa.

The relentless beeping of a heart monitor to my right caught my attention. The machine's leads were attached to my bare chest, barely covered by the thin hospital blanket. It felt invasive, a constant reminder that something had gone wrong.

I spotted a cup of water on a rolling table beside the bed. Gratefully, I reached for it, bringing it to my parched lips. The cool liquid was a welcome relief, washing away the dryness that had coated my mouth. Leaning back once more, I took a deep breath, trying to piece together how I ended up here. The last thing I remembered was a splitting headache and... my eyes turning green? My eyes don't turn green. I must have imagined it. The pain must have been so intense that it caused me to hallucinate. That happens, right?

As I lay there, mulling over the possibility that I had hallucinated, distant voices began to filter through the haze. I didn't recognize the woman's voice—it was soft, probably a nurse. But then I heard my grandfather's voice, rough and edged with barely restrained anger.

"Listen, I don't care about your problems! Right now, all I want to know is if Cayro will be okay?" His growl was menacing, the kind of tone that meant he was beyond pissed. A shiver ran down my spine; whatever had happened to me, it must have been bad to get him this worked up.

"He will be just fine, Mr. Bracton. He just needs some sleep," the woman's voice replied, gentle and placating, like she was trying to calm a raging storm.

"Fine... I would like to talk to your Captain, please," he grumbled, his tone gradually leveling out, though the tension was still there.

"I'll go get him; please wait here," she replied, her footsteps quickly retreating into the distance.

I lay there for a moment, my mind reeling from what I had just overheard. Why did Grandpa want to talk to a captain? We're in a hospital—or at least, that's what I assumed. And there's no way he would have taken me to Langley for treatment. My thoughts started to spiral, trying to piece together the fragments of memory and the bizarre situation I found myself in.

Then I heard my grandfather muttering to himself, his voice low and heavy with something that sounded like regret. "Jeez, son, how could you do this to your own child, your own flesh and blood? You shouldn't have left Cayro like this. Why did it have to be you who had to save the world?"

I frowned, my mind grasping at the pieces of what he was saying. What the hell did he mean by what my father did to me? Dad's been dead for twelve years. He hasn't done anything to me since. How could he? The man died overseas during the Twilight Winter, dealing with that weapon of mass destruction. I never understood why they called him a hero for it—he was gone, just like that. The Medal of Honor they handed me when I was fifteen felt more like a curse than a badge of honor. It didn't save him, and it sure as hell didn't save me from the mess it left behind.

Before I could dwell any further on the confusion and rising anger gnawing at me, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. The door slid open with a hiss, pulling me back to the present.