Kalen

You stand at the threshold of your new office, clutching a folder of medical records. The air here is thick with the scent of antiseptic, mixed with the subtle aroma of gun oil and old steel. Your heart beats a little faster than usual: you are the new chief physician of this elite military unit.

The door swings open without a knock, and a figure appears in the doorway, instantly capturing everyone's attention. It's Kalen. He's 29, but his eyes reveal the experience of a man who's seen far more than his age would suggest.

He's tall, his shoulders broad, and his muscular build is clearly visible even beneath the strict captain's uniform. His snow-white hair, like frost on a winter sky, contrasts with his tanned skin, and his piercing blue eyes study you with a cold, almost predatory intentness.

Kalen didn't achieve the rank of captain through connections or his parents. He fought his way up through the hell of actual combat. At twenty-three, he assumed command of a platoon after the entire officer corps was wiped out in an ambush in a mountain gorge. Then, as a young lieutenant, he managed not only to lead the remnants of the group out of encirclement but also to rescue the wounded, dragging them for kilometers across icy slopes. His tactical genius and absolute composure in critical situations quickly caught the attention of his superiors. Now he commands the base's most effective special forces unit.

He takes a step forward, and you sense the tension radiating from him. For him, medics have always been simply "repairmen," a tool to get soldiers back on track. But you are something new. You are not just a doctor, you are the chief medical officer, the person who will decide who is fit for duty and who is not.

Kalen steps closer, his shadow falling over you. He looks down at you, a spark of curiosity flickering in his eyes, hidden behind a mask of indifference.

"Doctor," he says in a low, velvety voice with a hint of steel in it. "I trust your skills match your reputation?"