Sovereign of the Deep

District 4 [Sector 9] - Present…

——

"…that's all. I remember blacking out. Then I woke up here."

Ren's voice didn't even sound like him. It came out dry and scraped raw—like it hurt to speak.

He didn't look at Kevin. Just stared ahead at the white wall across the room.

The hospital bed creaked as he shifted, wincing. His whole body felt like a ruin.

His ribs were taped. Skin bruised. A bandage pressed into the side of his scalp, half-hidden beneath the strands of his hair.

His inky-black hair—forever damp, even now—clung to his face in cold, stubborn threads.

He still didn't know why it stayed like that.

But what was strangest…

He still hadn't cried. Not really. The tears came, yes—but they felt distant. Like a leak in a pipe. Not grief. Not rage.

Just… water.

Kevin sat beside him, elbows on his knees, rubbing slow circles into his temple.

He let out a long sigh—one of those quiet, heavy ones—like he was still trying to make sense of everything Ren had just said.

"So… the Kyrios of the Iron Will was your mother."

He didn't ask it like a question. It was more like he needed to hear the words out loud—to make sure they were real.

Then he looked over at Ren.

"Did you know she was a Viran?"

Ren's fingers twitched under the blanket. His voice was low.

"No."

Behind Kevin, Ange wrote something in her notebook. She didn't speak. She didn't need to.

"And the man… Anele?" Kevin asked.

Ren nodded.

Kevin looked at Ren for a bit.

From everything he'd said—the way he spoke, the gaps in his knowledge—it was obvious.

'This kid has no idea what he is. That explains why he's leaking Vira like this.'

He glanced toward the other bed, where Anya lay with her back to them.

'A shame. The little girl has to endure the cold… and she probably doesn't even know why.'

Eventually, Kevin stood. He looked older somehow—like the weight of everything had finally settled on his shoulders and decided to stay.

He cleared his throat.

"District 4's a bit... tight with its entry laws," he said, trying to soften it, but his voice still had that no-nonsense edge.

"Since you're a special case, you can stay here for a while. But once you recover… you'll either need a permit, or you'll be moved to a lower district."

Fair enough. This was Virelia.

The higher the district, the stricter the laws. The greater the wealth. And the deeper the suspicion.

Right now, Ren was in District 4—the Platinum City. Which sounded better than it was. To stay here long-term, he'd need a permit. And those weren't exactly handed out like candy.

You needed to prove a stable income. Not just stable—excessive. The kind that screamed "I belong here." Either that, or get sponsored by a District 4 resident, a corporation, or some powerful institution willing to vouch for you.

Basically, doors stayed closed unless someone rich decided you deserved to walk through.

From the look of things, the Department of Civil Recovery had pulled strings and secured him a temporary permit. But temporary meant exactly that.

Eventually, the time would run out. And when it did… Ren would need a plan.

He let out a quiet sigh, his breath barely warming the hospital air.

Kevin reached out, took a folded slip of paper from Ange, and turned back to him.

"We're done for now," he said, offering it to Ren. "Call us if you remember anything else."

Ren took it without a word.

Kevin gave him one last look—like he wanted to say something else but didn't. Then he turned and headed for the door. Ange followed without a word, her notebook tucked under one arm.

The door clicked shut behind them.

Silence. Again.

Except for the slow, steady beeping of the heart monitor.

Ren leaned back and stared at the ceiling, letting his mind go wherever it wanted.

***

Outside, in the hospital lot, Ange exhaled hard.

"God, I couldn't wait to get out of that room. You feel that cold?"

She rubbed her arms through the sleeves of her jacket like it might shake the feeling off.

Kevin walked beside her, silent. His steps were steady, eyes down, lost somewhere else.

"There's something off about him," she added. "Not just the trauma kind of off. Like there's a pressure around him you can't hear but still feel. You know what I mean?"

Kevin stopped walking. His voice came low.

"He's a Viran."

Ange blinked.

"What?"

"His clothes were soaked. Hair's still leaking water. Skin already starting to crack. You've been with me three years, Ange. You should've caught that."

Ange looked back toward the building, visibly rattled.

"...Well, damn. But he doesn't talk like one. Didn't even know his mom was one. Wait—does he even know he's one?"

Kevin's voice was quiet, but final.

"No. He has no idea. Which means we've got a Viran on our hands with no training, no discipline—and a life-threatening affliction."

He reached into his jacket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it with a slow flick. The flame trembled briefly in the wind before catching.

"This city won't be kind to him," he said, smoke curling from his lips.

Ange frowned.

"Why not?"

"Because District 4's a maze of glass towers and climate-controlled haze. Not the ideal place for a water-core Viran who knows nothing to stay—unless he learns fast. Learns how to pull Vira from the air, from the cracks, from anything he can get."

Kevin took another drag, flicked ash to the curb.

"Otherwise, the city'll suck him dry."

Ange crossed her arms. "So even if he keeps drinking water—"

"It won't be enough. He'll just think he's sick. Keep getting weaker until something inside snaps." Kevin exhaled, long and slow.

They stood there for a moment, surrounded by the distant hum of traffic and the low whistle of wind between buildings.

Eventually, Kevin spoke again—low and deliberate.

"The Crimson Architect."

Ange looked over.

"That his alias?"

Kevin nodded slightly, eyes fixed on some faraway point.

"We only ever knew the Kyrios of the Vein by that name," he said, voice carrying the weight of old files and unclosed cases. "Now we've got something better. A face. A name. Anele."

He turned, walking over to a concrete post with a built-in disposal slot—one of the city-mandated cigarette dumps. District 4 didn't tolerate littering, especially not on government property. He tapped the dying stub against the edge, then slid it in and shut the lid.

Returning to the car, he continued like the thought had never paused.

"We've also got a glimpse of what he's capable of."

His voice dropped.

"Shame the cost was District 6… and everyone in it."

A silence settled, heavy. Ange didn't fill it. She just stood there for a second, jaw tight.

Kevin muttered almost to himself.

"Blood manipulation. Damn. That's a terrifying derivative."

He opened the passenger door, pausing just before getting in.

"These water affinity Virans…" He shook his head. "I didn't know they could be this dangerous."

Ange slipped into the driver's seat without a word. Kevin followed, shutting the door behind him.

He exhaled—long, deep, tired. Then his voice sharpened, back to business.

"Send a full report to Supervisory Special Agent Marcus. Make it detailed."

"Will do," Ange replied, starting the engine.

The car rumbled to life as they pulled out of the hospital parking lot and back into the blinding light of the afternoon.

***

Back in the hospital, Ren lay still.

The ceiling was blurring again. That damn beeping hadn't stopped since he woke up. 

And the thirst…

He swallowed, but it hurt. His throat felt like it was shrinking. Like he could peel it open and it still wouldn't help.

His body felt… off. Hot in the wrong places. Cold in the right ones.

His hands trembled as he lifted them.

His veins were glowing faintly blue. Visible. Stark against his pale skin.

'What the hell…'

He sat up slowly. Pain echoed down his ribs, but he didn't care.

Then—

Tears began to stream down his cheeks. 

"Huh?" he murmured, confused. His body was reacting on its own. Of course, he knew he was crying, but he couldn't explain why his eyes wouldn't stop leaking — as if his entire being was unraveling from the inside out.

"What is happening to me?"

He stood. Almost fell. His legs felt like branches.

"I'll be back, Anya," he mumbled. His voice was raw, shredded. He glanced once at her small frame in the hospital bed, still curled in that fetal position. Still silent.

As the door creaked open, he heard Anya's sleepy voice whisper behind him, "Don't stay out too long..."

He stepped out into the hallway to find the shared restroom.

The hallway spun. His footsteps echoed too loud, like they weren't his.

Every second that passed, the thirst grew worse. A gnawing, searing thing in his throat.

'I need water. Just a sip… anything…'

He took a step, then another. 

"Ah..." he winced, stumbling and clutching his skull. The pain exploded in waves. He felt something warm run down from his ears — blood.

Leaning against the wall, he gasped, panting. The headache intensified, overwhelming, as if his mind was being squeezed shut.

And then—

A hand closed around his wrist. Cool. Steady.

"Here," the voice said softly. "I've got you."

Ren blinked through the haze.

The boy looked his age—maybe a little older—but almost ghostly.

Translucent skin. Pale hair that shimmered silver beneath the lights.

And his eyes—like broken glass. Cold. Clear. Sharp.

"Take this," the boy said, offering a jug.

Water.

Cold. Pure.

Ren reached for it with both hands, trembling.

He didn't ask who the boy was.

Didn't care.

The only thing that mattered—

was the water.