Terra Preta

Partnership

Orion took a shaky breath, Jaxon's face vivid in his mind, his final moments replaying in brutal detail. Each recollection fed the anger simmering within him, igniting a fury that pulsed through Orion's veins like a raging inferno.

A heavy silence fell over the room. Elara and Ren exchanged a glance, each understanding that this was no empty threat. Ren opened her mouth as if to speak, to offer comfort or caution, but something in Orion's expression stopped her. His rage radiated outwards, an oppressive weight that settled over everyone in the room.

Orion's thoughts churned, trying to reconcile the fragments of information swirling in his mind. The Hive's attack seemed like a diversion, a smokescreen to conceal their true objective elsewhere.

"We're blind here," Orion muttered to himself, his frustration apparent. "We need intel, and we need it fast. "

"Orion," Elara said quietly, pulling him back to the present. "we'll make sure they answer for what they've done, but we need to be smart about it."

Orion nodded, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He couldn't share what he had seen—at least, not yet. Not until he understood more. He needed answers first.

A soft, urgent voice cut through his thoughts. "Orion, you're pushing yourself too hard." The medic, a wiry woman with grim eyes and hands stained from countless battle wounds, knelt beside him, immediately checking the bruises around his ribs. Her frown deepened as she examined him. "You've got fractured ribs. Normally they take four to six weeks to heal—longer if you don't take care of yourself."

Orion's breaths were shallow and uneven. It took him a moment to realize he hadn't actually felt the worst of the injuries until she'd pointed them out. He could deal with the pain, but he couldn't ignore a body that had already been pushed past its breaking point.

"Don't spend too much time lying down—walk around for at least a few minutes every hour while you're awake to keep your lungs working, but we'll need to monitor these for infection every three days." she added, voice stern. "Frankly, it's a miracle you're breathing in this state—your ribs alone are bruised and fractured enough to make breathing feel like inhaling fire."

The medic pulled back, assessing the grimy, makeshift room around them. Her expression was tight with frustration. "I can't do much, not without proper equipment and sterile conditions."

She rummaged through her kit and handed him a small packet of pills. "Take some ibuprofen for now. It'll help with the pain and inflammation, if you feel the need to cough, brace your chest with a pillow or your hand."

The medic stood back, eyes narrowed. "And absolutely no lifting or fighting."

"Appreciate it, Doc, I'll have to start bringing you gifts," Orion said, trying to lighten the mood. "A box of chocolates for every broken bone?"

The medic's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Trying to butter me up, huh?"

"Try to stay out of trouble for five minutes, would you?" the medic declared, patting Orion's shoulder lightly. "I need to check on the little ones."

Elara knelt down beside him, her hand gentle on his shoulder. "You're pushing yourself too hard." Her tone softened as she met his gaze, her eyes a calm, grounding force against the storm inside him. "You need to heal."

Orion's gaze moved around the room, pausing on the faces of his team. The toll of recent battles was apparent; exhaustion lined their features, and a sense of urgency filled the air. "Where's Marlow?" he asked, breaking the silence.

Elara glanced at Ren, a shadow crossing her expression. "I was hoping he'd be here by now... he said he would meet with the army."

"How many wounded?" Ronan inquired, his brow furrowed with worry as he took a steadying breath, bracing himself for the numbers.