Where the Sun meets the Star

1. The First Meeting

Chapter 1: The First Meeting

Kalix Santiago’s POV

The rotor blades of the military helicopter sliced through the humid air, whipping up the scent of salt and damp earth as we descended toward the devastated island. From above, the destruction was staggering – houses reduced to matchsticks, streets turned to rivers, and families huddled together under makeshift shelters. The typhoon had hit hard, leaving a trail of wreckage in its wake. We were here to help clean up the mess, to bring a semblance of order to the chaos. But for me, there was more to it than that. I craved the adrenaline rush of a mission, the sense of purpose that came with protecting the innocent. This was my element, my way of making a difference in a world that often felt too broken to fix.

I glanced down at the map in my hand, its creases worn from countless missions. The landing zone was just a few kilometers from the main village, close enough for immediate deployment, but far enough to keep us out of the worst of the debris. My team, a seasoned group of Special Forces soldiers, was already on edge, itching to get out and assess the damage. They shared my hunger for action, the thrill of facing danger head-on.

“ETA three minutes!” the pilot shouted over the roar of the engine. His voice was a strained rasp, barely audible above the din.

I nodded, my gaze scanning the horizon as we neared the landing zone. The landscape was a patchwork of destruction, a stark reminder of the typhoon’s fury. I could feel the weight of responsibility pressing down on me, a physical burden that settled in my chest. These people were counting on us, on me, to restore order, to protect them from whatever threats lingered in the shadows of the storm. But I couldn't help but feel a flicker of impatience. I wanted to be on the ground, to be in the thick of it, not hovering above the wreckage.

“Alright, team,” I called out, my voice cutting through the noise. “We’re on the ground in three. Be ready. Priorities are to secure the area, establish a perimeter, and make sure the medical teams can work without interference. We don’t know if the rebels have moved into this territory, so stay alert.”

The men responded in unison, their voices steady despite the chaos waiting below. This wasn’t our first disaster zone, and it wouldn’t be our last. We were veterans of this grim dance, trained to operate in the face of uncertainty and danger. But I knew that this mission was different. This time, I felt a sense of unease, a premonition that something was about to change.

As the chopper touched down, I hopped out, boots sinking into the mud. The ground was slick and uneven, littered with debris and the remnants of shattered lives. I signaled for the team to fan out, rifles slung but ready. The air was thick with humidity, the scent of salt and decay clinging to my nostrils. I could taste it on my tongue, a bitter reminder of the devastation we were facing. But I also felt a surge of adrenaline, a thrill that coursed through my veins. This is what I was made for.

My radio crackled to life. “Captain Santiago, the medical team is about two clicks east. They’ve set up a temporary clinic.”

“Copy that,” I replied, checking my gear. “We’ll head there now.”

We moved quickly, navigating through fallen trees and broken homes, past families who watched us with a mixture of relief and desperation. I’d seen that look too many times in too many places—people holding on to hope, even when everything around them had been torn apart. It was a look that both fueled and burdened me. I wanted to help them, to make their lives better, but I knew that I couldn't fix everything.

We reached the clinic after a short hike, a cluster of white tents set up in the middle of a field that was still soggy from the rain. Doctors and nurses were already moving with purpose, treating the wounded and distributing supplies. The scene was controlled chaos, a testament to the dedication and resilience of the medical team. But I couldn't help but feel a sense of frustration. I wanted to be doing more, to be actively involved in the rescue efforts, but my orders were to secure the perimeter, not to interfere with the medical teams.

I spotted the woman in charge almost immediately. She was giving orders, her voice calm but commanding, despite the frenzy around her. Tall, with dark hair pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail, she wore a worn but clean white coat, the universal symbol of hope in places like this. Dr. Amara Velasco. Her reputation had preceded her. A skilled humanitarian doctor, always on the frontlines of disaster zones, and known for putting herself at risk to save others. Her name was whispered in hushed tones, a beacon of hope in the darkest of times. But this would be our first encounter.

We approached, and I cleared my throat. “Dr. Velasco?”

She turned, her eyes locking on mine with a sharpness that surprised me. “Yes?”

“Captain Kalix Santiago, Special Forces. We’re here to secure the area and assist where needed. My team will be establishing a perimeter around the clinic.”

She crossed her arms, giving me a once-over that made me feel like I was the one under evaluation. “That’s not necessary. We’ve been fine without a military presence so far.”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised at the immediate resistance. “With all due respect, Doctor, the situation is unstable. We need to ensure the safety of your team and the civilians here. We’re not sure if the rebels have moved into the area.”

“And with all due respect, Captain,” she shot back, her voice laced with a hint of steel, “our priority is saving lives, not setting up a perimeter. We’re stretched thin as it is, and I don’t have time to deal with unnecessary interference.”

Unnecessary interference? My jaw clenched. “We’re here to help, Doctor. You might want to consider letting us do our job so you can do yours.”

Her eyes narrowed, but before she could respond, a shout came from one of the tents. “Doctor Velasco, we’ve got a critical patient!”

Without another word, she turned and rushed toward the tent, leaving me standing there, my gaze fixed on her retreating figure. I muttered under my breath and signaled to my team to start setting up. Whether she liked it or not, we were staying.

Dr. Amara Velasco’s POV

The heat was oppressive, but I barely noticed. We were too busy, too overwhelmed to care about the sweat trickling down our necks or the way the humidity clung to our skin like a second layer of clothing. Patients were arriving faster than we could treat them, and the supplies were running dangerously low.

Another wave of civilians had just arrived from a nearby village, their faces etched with fear and exhaustion. I knew we didn’t have enough antibiotics to go around, and the thought of turning people away sent a shiver down my spine. My mind raced with possible solutions as I shouted instructions to the medical staff. “Get more IV lines going in Triage Two, and make sure we have enough fluids on standby!”

It was chaos, but controlled chaos. We’d trained for this, lived for this. I’d been in enough disaster zones to know that the only way through was forward. One patient at a time.

But then he showed up.

Captain Kalix Santiago, the Special Forces officer sent to “secure” the area. As if that was what we needed right now. What we needed were more supplies, more doctors, more hands to help the injured. Not soldiers patrolling like we were in the middle of a war zone.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and every inch the soldier—calm, composed, and frustratingly confident. I could see the lines of authority etched in his stance, his jaw clenched in a way that told me he was used to getting his way. Well, not today.

“We’ll be setting up a perimeter,” he’d said, his voice a low rumble that held a hint of authority. As if a few men with guns could make the slightest bit of difference when people were dying of infections and dehydration.

I didn’t have time for this. I didn’t have time for him.

“Doctor Velasco, we’ve got a critical patient!”

I barely glanced back at Santiago before sprinting toward the tent. Inside, one of the nurses was struggling to keep a man in his mid-fifties stable. His leg was a mess, likely gangrenous from an untreated wound, and his blood pressure was dropping fast.

“We’re going to need to amputate,” I said quickly, already snapping on gloves. “We don’t have time to waste.”

The nurse nodded and handed me a scalpel, but just as I was about to make the first incision, the tent flap opened. Of course, it was him.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” I snapped, glaring at Santiago. “This is a sterile environment!”

He looked unfazed by my outburst. “I’m checking the area. I heard you have a critical patient.”

“We do, and you’re not helping. Get out.”

He stayed for a moment longer, his eyes sweeping over the scene before nodding curtly and stepping back out.

I turned back to my patient, focusing on the task at hand. The operation was quick, though not without its risks. By the time we finished, I was exhausted, but the man was stable.

“Good work,” I told the nurse, giving her a tired smile. “Let’s get him on antibiotics and keep a close eye on his vitals.”

As I stepped out of the tent, I found Santiago waiting just outside, arms crossed, watching the camp like a hawk. For a second, I felt a pang of guilt for snapping at him, but it was quickly overridden by frustration.

“Captain,” I said, more calmly this time, “I understand you’re here to help, but we’re barely keeping up as it is. I don’t need more distractions.”

He looked at me, his gaze unreadable. “I’m not here to distract, Doctor. I’m here to make sure you get the chance to save more lives. Whether you realize it or not, your safety is my responsibility.”

There was a sincerity in his voice that caught me off guard, but I wasn’t ready to let go of my annoyance just yet. “Just… stay out of my way.”

He gave a slight nod, and without another word, he walked away, leaving me standing there, more conflicted than I wanted to admit.

This mission was going to be harder than I thought.