𝑾𝑰𝑪𝑲𝑬𝑫 𝑫𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑴𝑺 ━━ 𝚂𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚁𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜

9 Winter is coming

Edda's dream began with a rush of adrenaline, the roar of engines and the clatter of machine guns echoing in her ears. Lieutenant Zerena Vikander was on a high-stakes rescue mission deep in German territory, the rescue chopper and her squadron below her. The radio crackled with urgent voices as two experienced German fighter jets closed in on their position.

Without hesitation, Zerena made the ultimate sacrifice, peeling away from the squadron to engage the enemy head-on. Her jet banked sharply, her hands steady on the controls. She twisted and turned through the sky, evading enemy fire with practiced precision. The German pilots were relentless, their bullets tearing through the air around her. She fought valiantly, her heart pounding in her chest.

But then, a series of deafening explosions rocked her plane. The cockpit filled with smoke and the jet spiraled out of control. Two German fighters had found their mark. Her jet plummeted toward the ground, crashing into the dense forest with a violent impact. Fire erupted, the heat searing her skin as she struggled to escape the wreckage.

Zerena's body screamed in agony as she dragged herself forward with her remaining right hand. She looked down and saw her legs were gone, her left arm a mangled mess. The pain was unbearable, her vision swimming as she tried to stay conscious.

Through the haze of smoke and pain, she saw them—men dressed in black, moving swiftly through the trees. She tried to scream, to fight, but her strength was fading. Darkness crept in, and she passed out.

She awoke to the piercing whine of a chainsaw, the pain indescribable as it bit into her flesh and bone. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. Metal and bone fused together in a grotesque union, bolts, and screws biting into her flesh. The face of a German doctor loomed over her, his expression cold and clinical. He barked orders in German, his voice a harsh, unintelligible blur.

Her world spun and faded, the pain overwhelming. The last thing she heard was the doctor's voice, dispassionate and commanding, as she slipped back into unconsciousness.

Edda woke with a violent start, her heart pounding in her chest, the remnants of her nightmare clinging to her like a suffocating shroud. She was drenched in sweat, her breathing erratic. The darkness of the room seemed to press in on her, a stark contrast to the flames that had consumed her in her dream. Her mind was a whirlwind of fragmented images: the fiery wreckage of her jet, the cold, clinical glint of surgical instruments, and the hollow, pitiless eyes of the men in black.

She could still feel the phantom pain of her missing limbs, the jagged edges of her bones where metal had been crudely attached. The dream had been so vivid, so real. Edda could almost smell the acrid smoke and hear the distant echo of the German doctor's voice, barking orders in a language that felt both foreign and terrifyingly familiar. The nightmare was a brutal reminder of the past she couldn't escape, the part of her that was both machine and human, forged in the crucible of war and suffering.

Edda's mind raced, struggling to separate the past from the present. The lines between reality and the horrors of her dream blurred, making it difficult to ground herself. The terror from her nightmare bled into her waking thoughts, casting long shadows of doubt and fear. She felt like she was suffocating, trapped in a loop of trauma and pain that she couldn't break free from. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the familiar details of the apartment she shared with Aeron. The dim light from the streetlamps outside cast a soft glow through the curtains, but it did little to dispel the darkness in her mind. The familiar surroundings felt alien, as if she was seeing them for the first time through the eyes of LT. Zerena Vikander, the woman who had died in the flames of her jet. Was that who she truly was? Or was she Edda, the woman who had built a life in Madripoor with Aeron?