Younger Mira leaned forward eagerly, absorbing every word, occasionally interjecting with her own observations or questions. The conversation flowed naturally between them, building on each other's ideas, challenging assumptions, pushing toward deeper understanding. It was clear from their interaction that this wasn't a teacher and student dynamic, but rather two passionate researchers who respected each other's intellect completely.

This guy, Mira remembered with a pang of loss so sharp it was almost physical, was her older brother. His name had been Marcus, though she'd usually just called him Marc. He'd been brilliant, genuinely, remarkably brilliant in a way that had nothing to do with sibling bias. By the time he was twenty-three, he'd already published two papers on Dabba biology that had been recognized by the academic community as groundbreaking work.

One of the primary ways they used to bond was through Dabba research. While other siblings might have connected over sports or music or shared hobbies, Mira and Marcus had bonded over their mutual fascination with the creatures that had nearly destroyed humanity. They'd spent countless hours together like this, discussing theories, examining specimens when they could get access to them, sketching anatomical details, hypothesizing about the mechanisms behind various mutations.

Those had been some of the happiest times of Mira's life. Not because the world was better then but because she'd had Marcus. Because she'd had someone who understood her obsession, who shared it, who never made her feel strange or morbid for wanting to cut open monsters and see what made them tick.

Her brother was dead now. The memory shifted, becoming darker, and Mira forcibly pulled herself away from thinking about how it had happened. She didn't need to relive that particular nightmare right now, not when she was already in a dangerous situation that required her full attention.

But the fact remained, Marcus was gone, had been gone for two years now, and the hole his absence left in her life was something she still hadn't figured out how to fill. The only way she could feel genuinely close to him anymore, the only way she could maintain that connection they'd shared, was by continuing their shared interest in Dabba.

By carrying forward the research they'd started together, by pursuing the questions they'd discussed late into so many nights. She had decided, in the months after his death, to take her learning and research to the next level by experimenting on actual Dabba specimens. Not just examining bodies that others had killed and brought back, not just looking at preserved samples in laboratory settings.

She wanted to observe them in their natural habitat, to see how they moved and hunted and interacted with their environment. She wanted to conduct field dissections, to examine fresh tissue before decomposition altered its properties.

Marcus would have loved this opportunity, she thought. He would have been right here with her, probably even more excited than she was about the prospect of studying Dabba in person. He would have been taking notes constantly, sketching everything he saw, forming hypotheses faster than she could keep up with.

But Marcus wasn't here. Would never be here again. And so Mira was doing this alone, carrying forward their shared passion as the only way she knew to honor his memory and keep a piece of him alive.

The memory faded gradually, releasing its hold on her consciousness and allowing the present to reassert itself. Mira opened her eyes again, finding herself still walking through the ruined streets of the Forgotten City, still alone, still surrounded by oppressive heat and desolation.

She sighed deeply, the sound carrying layers of grief and frustration and determination all mixed together. Her hand unconsciously went to something she wore around her neck, a small pendant that had belonged to Marcus, one of the few personal items she had left of his. She gripped it briefly, drawing strength from the connection, then released it and kept walking forward.

Somewhere out there, there had to be Dabba. This was their territory, their hunting ground. She just needed to keep searching, keep making noise, keep pushing deeper into the ruins until she found what she was looking for. And once she did, once she finally got her hands on a specimen to examine, all of this risk and danger and discomfort would be worth it.

For Marcus. For their research. For the answers she was determined to find.

Mira kept walking, her boots continuing their loud, deliberate crunching against the ground, announcing her presence to anything that might be listening in the oppressive silence of the dead city.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

_ _ _ _ _

Jelo entered the wooden building cautiously, his body still tensed and ready to react to any threat that might emerge from the shadows. The door had been unlocked, or more accurately, it had no lock at all, the mechanism long since rusted away or removed, and it swung open with a prolonged creak that set his nerves on edge. He stepped across the threshold slowly, allowing his enhanced senses to process the environment before committing fully to entering.

The interior was old and mostly empty, presenting a picture of long abandonment and decay. Rough wooden walls surrounded him, their surfaces weathered and discolored by time and exposure to the contaminated air that permeated this entire region. The wood grain was still visible in places, showing what might have once been a decent quality of construction, but years of neglect had taken their toll. Cracks ran through several of the boards, and some sections looked dangerously close to collapsing entirely.

A few scattered crates occupied various corners of the main room, their contents unknown and their condition questionable. Most were closed, their lids still in place despite the passage of time. Others had broken open, spilling what looked like rotted fabric or unidentifiable debris across the floor. Dust covered everything in thick layers, disturbed only by the patterns created by air currents moving through gaps in the walls and ceiling.

The space felt oppressively quiet, the kind of silence that came from a place where nothing living had stirred for a very long time. No sounds of habitation, no signs of recent activity. Just the creak of old wood settling and the occasional groan of the structure adjusting under its own weight.

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