This Isn't About Reya

Chapter Forty-Seven

Svetlana awoke on a warm bed, wearing new clothes, in a room she did not recognize.

She sat up groggily and almost fell back into the bed.

"Ow," she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut and gingerly touching her left eyebrow. Her fingers rubbed along four hard bumps, stitches in the side of her head.

She sat up slowly, this time, her head still pounding, darkness threatening to overwhelm her again.

Eventually, she realized that everything was quiet.

She blinked her eyes back open and looked around the room. It was plain and metal, and the door leading out of it was cracked open, a sterile light filtering into the room.

Svetlana carefully set her feet down on the floor and stood warily, almost losing her balance. Once she had stabilized herself, she took a slow step towards the door, her bare feet finding that the floor was surprisingly warm.

As she approached the door, she heard voices from outside. They sounded agitated, and there were several of them, but she couldn't identify them.

"...was in that thing, it could destroy everything we know," Svetlana heard one of the voices say. This one was clear enough that she recognized it.

The black-haired woman, Stasja.

Her memory came flooding back to her, and as Svetlana leaned on the door to open it, she almost passed out again.

She stumbled forward, the door opening, Svetlana coming into the brightness of a well-lit room.

"Svetlana!" she heard someone say. And suddenly she was wrapped in somebody's arms, the person's mouth pressed into her hair.

The embrace was warm, comforting, decisively feminine. Svetlana blinked up at the woman.

"Mom?" she murmured.

Stasja's blue eyes looked down at her with a deep sadness. "No, sweetie," Stasja said softly.

Svetlana blinked more, trying to force her eyes to adjust to the brightness of the room. Once she could see, she looked around.

Kharkevich was standing there, wearing fairly plain formal robes instead of his characteristic ceremonial armor. He looked tired, but he watched Svetlana carefully with concern.

And the rest of the Archangels were there, too. Svetlana recalled their names: Tuan Liang, Nineczka, Ieremija, Dmitri. All of them were silent, watching Svetlana.

Her eyes lingered on Dmitri for awhile, her mind grasping at fragmented memories.

She moved slowly towards Dmitri, Stasja's arms falling from around her shoulders. She walked up to the dark-haired boy, his white scars gleaming on his face in the sterile light of the room.

"Dmitri," Svetlana breathed, coming to stand just a few feet in front of him. Another wave of dizziness slammed into her, and her legs buckled.

Dmitri caught her and pulled her back to her feet, watching her with the same sadness Stasja had held in her eyes.

Svetlana could not remember him ever looking sad before.

She squinted at him. "Where's Reya?" she asked quietly.

Dmitri's eyes widened slightly, and he looked away from Svetlana.

She took a hesitant step away from him, and there was Stasja again, holding her shoulder gently. Svetlana turned and looked up at her.

It was then that she realized none of them were wearing armor at all. Instead, they all wore the same plain robes as Kharkevich.

Svetlana looked down at herself. Her robes were similar.