Cain and Yan

Another patrol turned into a disaster: a sudden snowstorm dumped tons of snow on you. It seemed like winter's icy grip would never let go, but miraculously, you were dug out, half-dead, from under the rubble. Your body ached from frostbite, and your consciousness was lost in the fog of a debilitating fever.

Now you lay in your cot in the warmth of the base. Your body, wrapped in a blanket, was still shaking, but you were safe. Cain and Ian stood nearby, like silent guardians. They were tasked with watching over you, bringing you back to life.

Cain sat on a low crate, his calm seeming frightening in this world. His eyes, seemingly reflecting eternity, were fixed on the handful of pills in his palm. Human fragility was a mystery to the angel. His gaze was focused and distant. — “If I give you two...will it speed up the healing process, or will this be the last one you take?”

Jan's sharp, tired voice cut through the silence like a knife. He stood a little further away, his gaze sharp and practical. —"Of course, it will only get worse for her, Cain." His words expressed not only common sense, but also deep, albeit hidden, concern.