GATE: First Encounter

Chapter 23

I had no idea where my feet had taken me.
My head was still foggy. After the bar's chill, the corridors felt even quieter, as if the walls weren't breathing—­only watching me. I couldn't say how long I'd been walking, but when I finally blinked myself back to awareness, the Velocironix who'd been beside me was gone.

I stopped at a corner and drew a deep breath. The warmth inside me had faded, leaving a cool, misty hollow. The numbness was gone, yes... yet my mind remained clouded.

I looked at my wrist.

The symbiote was still there. A flicker of hope surfaced—­maybe it could tell me what had happened while I was woozy. Silently, speaking only in my head, I asked:

"System... what happened while I was drunk?"

No answer.

I hesitated.

A blank space opened inside me. I'd given it a name, hadn't I?

I frowned, digging through the depths of my memory, but the images were blurry. I just... remembered saying something. But what?

I rubbed my wrist, as if a reply were hiding just beneath the skin.

"Hey," I whispered. "System. Can you hear me?"

Nothing.

No voice, no tremor. The symbiote—­whatever it was—­had gone completely silent. Drawn inward.

"Maybe... it's broken," I muttered, half to myself. The thought lodged in my throat like a knot. The idea that I might have lost it sent an icy shiver through me.

Just then, a shadow fell across my path.

Footsteps approached, their sound sharpening as they drew near. In the dim light stood a familiar figure.

Commander Virel.

As always, his uniform was immaculate, his posture rigid. His gaze was steady, not judgmental—­more the gaze of one who measures and weighs.

"I won't ask what you're doing out here," he said. The voice carried the usual authority, yet there was a subtle softness curled inside it.

I swallowed. I wanted to speak, but my tongue felt dry. Maybe from fatigue. Maybe from shame.

Virel stepped closer, hands clasped behind him as though standing watch. His eyes never shifted.

"Isn't it a bit early in your life to be getting drunk?"

There was no mockery in his tone, no condemnation—­just an observation, plain and direct.

I turned my head a little, letting my eyes latch onto the corridor lights.

"I... just..." The word hung on my lips, incomplete. Perhaps I didn't want to invent an excuse.

Virel's boots clicked on metal as he came to stand beside me. For a moment he said nothing.

Then, in a voice pitched to a conversational murmur, he offered, "You know... when I was your age, I wound up in a similar situation. Training camp. A few friends and I snuck some liquor. We were caught, of course."

The words ended before they could echo. Short, but weighty.

I glanced at him. There was no remorse in his face, nor the grin of someone reliving a fun story. He had simply told it—­without unnecessary ornament.

"What happened after that?" I asked, almost against my will. My voice was still tired, but it had clarity now.

He shrugged lightly. "They dumped every camp chore on us for a month. No free time whatsoever. But to be honest..."—­a faint crease touched the corner of his mouth—­"...it was worth the fun. A warrior ought to know, once in a while, what it means to drink until you fall."

This time I managed a small smile. For a fleeting instant I saw him not just as a commander, but as a person—­more human, more real.

Virel fell silent again, eyes on me—­not just my face, but my posture, my balance, the rhythm of my breathing. Like a commander inspecting his weapon before battle.

Then he leaned in, bringing his face level with mine. His voice dropped, still carrying that core of authority:

"Your eyes are focusing. Balance looks decent. You can speak. Your consciousness is intact."

A beat of silence.

"So... you're not completely drunk."

He knitted his brows, as though tallying one last assessment. Straightening, he walked a few steps, speaking without turning fully back:

"This place is safe—­but still not the best time for wandering."

He angled his head slightly toward me.

"Looks like you can make it back to your room on your own. Can you do that?"

I nodded. "Yes... I think I can." My voice was weary, but clear.

Virel dipped his head in acknowledgment. He gave me one last look.

"When you've fully recovered... find me. We have things to discuss."

With that, he turned and strode off into the corridor's dimness.

After Virel vanished, I lingered for a while. My muscles trembled with a fine fatigue, but I kept control. I placed my steps carefully. The floor hardly vibrated, yet something inside me still hadn't settled.

The blue lights along the walls looked colder than usual.

I didn't exactly remember the route to my room. The System was still mute. I had no idea what was happening to it. Maybe it was inside, maybe it was asleep. Maybe... The thought didn't hurt, but it unnerved me. It was a silent companion now. But was it really there?

Turning a corner, I paused. A symbol on the wall—­one I'd burned into my memory. If I turned there... yes, that was the way. I moved on, slow but resolute.

With each step my body felt a bit lighter. The confusion inside me was sinking into a tiring quiet. Even thinking felt heavy now.

When my door slid open, the familiar dimness wrapped around me as though it recognized me. I stepped inside. Even the smell was familiar. Funny how fast you adapt to things—­a disturbing thought.

As the door closed behind me, I sat on the edge of the bed without bothering to take off my shoes, head bowed like a soldier sheltering behind his own hands. I looked at my wrist once more.

"System," I said again. "If you're there... whatever's happening... let me know."

Still nothing.

A heavy exhaustion flooded me—­as if it wasn't my body but my soul begging for sleep. Maybe I just needed to rest.

I lay back slowly.

The soft ceiling light painted a trembling reddish glow behind my eyelids.

"Tomorrow," I whispered. "Tomorrow I'll try to remember..."

And my eyes closed.

Thoughts, voices, and shadows melted together and drifted away.