CHAPTER 50: CHAPTER 50

The door to intel slid shut behind them with a soft hiss.

A briefing room waited on the other side. Not as big as the command room, but similar—screens along one wall, a table in the center, a few operators at consoles. Albert spoke with a captain near the display for a minute, low and clipped, then handed things off.

"Details later," he said, turning back to the three adventurers. "You’ve done enough talking for now. Next step is simple."

Ragna narrowed her eyes. "You said that about the ’briefing.’ It was not simple."

"This one is," Ward said. "Medical, quarters, schedule."

Mira tensed. "Medical?"

"Baseline check," Ward answered. "We took hits in our last world because we did not screen early. Not repeating that."

Lyris looked at Albert. "You think we might be... diseased?"

Albert shook his head. "I think we do not make assumptions. Our medics will be careful. That is all."

He nodded to Ward and left through a side door, already calling up something on his tablet.

Ward jerked his chin toward the corridor. "Follow me."

They passed back into the main hallway, then turned toward another wing. The air changed. Less oil and metal, more of that sharp, clean smell they could not name. Doors here had small windows with white curtains. Signs with red crosses hung at intervals.

Mira recognized the pattern at least. "This is your healer’s hall."

"Medical bay," Ward said. "Close enough."

An automatic door opened as they approached. Inside, rows of beds sat against the walls. Machines stood beside them, some quiet, some humming. A nurse in blue scrubs walked past pushing a tray with bandages and clear bottles.

Ragna froze just inside the door. "Smells like alcohol and herbs. Strong ones."

"That’s antiseptic," Ward said. "Prevents infection."

She squinted at the word. "Anti... what?"

"Prevents rot," Mira translated. "Stops wounds from turning bad."

"Exactly," Ward said.

A woman in a white coat looked up from a tablet and walked over. Short hair, clear eyes, tired but sharp.

"Ward," she greeted. "These are the locals?"

"Yeah," he said. "C-rankers from the capital. New liaison prospects. Need full baseline. Vitals, bloodwork, mana scan if possible."

The doctor’s gaze flicked over them, clinical but not unkind.

"I’m Dr. Hayes," she said. "I know you can understand us. This will be unpleasant, not dangerous. No one is here to hurt you. Understood?"

Lyris nodded first. "We understand. What do you need us to do?"

Hayes pointed to three beds. "Sit. One at a time, we’ll check your heart, lungs, reflexes. Then blood. Then a short scan."

Ragna lowered her voice. "Blood means needles, right?"

"Yes," Hayes said.

Ragna muttered something rude under her breath but moved to a bed anyway.

They started with Mira.

Hayes wrapped a cuff around her arm. The cloth tightened on its own. Mira flinched.

"It is squeezing on its own," she said.

Ward stood near the end of the bed. "It measures how hard your blood pushes."

"You can measure that?" Mira asked.

"Easily," Hayes said. She checked the gauge, noted the numbers, then listened to Mira’s chest with a stethoscope. The cold metal circle on her skin made Mira stiffen.

"Breathe in," Hayes said.

Mira obeyed. The doctor listened, moved the scope, listened again.

"Good. Lungs are clear."

Ragna watched with narrowed eyes. "You can hear her insides with that thing?"

"Yes," Hayes said.

"That’s creepy," Ragna replied.

When the needle came, Mira watched it with a scholar’s focus, jaw clenched but steady. Hayes swabbed her arm with something cold and sharp-smelling, then slid the needle in. Mira sucked a breath in through her teeth but held still.

The vial filled with dark red. Mira stared.

"You collect blood in glass," she said.

"We study it," Hayes answered. "See if anything is wrong. Or dangerous to us. Or to you."

"So you can... see sickness before it appears?" Lyris asked from her bed.

"Sometimes," Hayes said. "Not always. But we try."

Ragna went second.

She flexed her arm when Hayes wrapped the cuff. The numbers made the doctor raise an eyebrow.

"Stronger heart than average," Hayes noted.

"Of course," Ragna said proudly.

She tried to watch her own blood draw too, but when the needle slid in, her ears pinned back and she hissed through her teeth.

"You all right?" Ward called.

"I’m fine," she growled. "Just not used to people poking me like I’m a wineskin."

Lyris went last and handled it with quiet resignation. The needle bothered her less than the machines.

"What does that one do?" she asked, nodding to a monitor.

"Shows your heart’s rhythm," Hayes answered. "Lets us see if it’s beating wrong."

"Can you tell when someone lies with that?" Lyris asked.

Hayes shook her head. "We’re not interrogators. We just keep people alive."

When the bloodwork was done, an orderly rolled in what looked like a narrow metal ring on a wheeled frame.

"What is that?" Ragna asked.

"Scanner," Hayes said. "We use it for basic internal imaging. Today we just want surface data. You stand in the ring, hold still, and it will pass over your body once."

"That sounds like a detection spell," Mira murmured.

"Think of it like that if it helps," Hayes said.

The ring hummed and glowed faintly when activated. It passed slowly down over Mira from head to toe, then back up. A nearby screen filled with outlines and colored shapes.

"Interesting," Hayes said quietly. "Energy readings are off the charts. That must be your mana."

Ward leaned in. "So it picks up magic."

"Not exactly," Hayes said. "But something like it. We’ll need to adjust the thresholds."

Ragna stepped into the ring next, arms crossed.

"Do I have to take my armor off?" she asked.

"Yes," Hayes said.

Ragna scowled but complied. Under the plate and chain she wore a simple linen shirt. When the ring moved down over her, static prickled along her fur.

She growled low. "Feels weird."

"Any pain?" Hayes asked.

"No. Just... like when mana flares too close."

Lyris went last.

When the ring reached her chest, the readings on the screen flickered. Hayes leaned closer.

"Something wrong?" Mira asked.

Hayes shook her head. "No. Just... interesting. You have some kind of long-term scarring here."

Lyris touched the spot over her heart. "Old wound. Arrow that should have killed me. A healer saved me."

"Scar tissue shows," Hayes said. "Good to know."

Once the scans finished, Hayes made notes and stepped back.

"That’s enough for today," she said. "No signs of immediate infection or obvious cross-species risk. You’re cleared for normal base access with escort."

Ragna perked up. "So we’re not going to explode."

"No more than anyone else," Hayes said dryly.

Ward clapped his hands once. "All right. Med done. Let’s get you settled."

They left the medical bay and moved toward the residential block on the Atlas side. This area looked different from the villagers’ quarters. No yards. No toys. Just rows of simple doors, each with a number and a small card slot.

Ward stopped at one of them.

"Guest Room 3A," he said. "Temporary. Two bunks, storage, washroom."

He tapped a panel. The door unlocked with a click and slid open.

Inside, the room was small but clean. Two bunk beds fixed to the walls, a table with four chairs, a metal locker, and a door leading to the washroom. A light in the ceiling hummed quietly.

Ragna walked in first and stared at the beds.

"They hang from the walls," she said. "They don’t even creak."

Mira touched the mattress with two fingers. "Soft. Too soft. I’m going to sink."

Lyris tested one by sitting on it. It yielded under her weight but held steady.

"This is..." She searched for a word. "Comfortable."

Ward leaned on the doorframe. "Welcome to Atlas-standard housing. Not fancy, but better than a tent."

Mira’s eyes drifted to the washroom door. "Is that... a latrine?"

"Bathroom," Ward said. "Sink, shower, toilet."

"Shower?" Ragna repeated.

Ward pushed the door open.

The washroom was tiled in white. A metal basin with a mirror above it, a strange porcelain seat with a lid, and a curtained-off corner with a metal fixture overhead.

Mira stared at the sink. "What does this do?"

Ward turned the faucet. Water flowed in a steady stream.

All three jumped at once.

"It is like a conjuration spell," Mira said, eyes wide.

"Continuous water," Lyris murmured. "On command."

Ragna stuck a hand into the stream. "It’s cold."

Ward twisted the other handle. After a few seconds, the water warmed.

Ragna yanked her hand back in shock. "It changed!"

"Hot line," Ward said. "Heated water. You can bathe without freezing."

They stared at the shower nozzle next.

"You stand under that," Ward said. "Water comes down from above. Soap is there." He pointed to small bottles on a shelf. "You press the cap, rub it on your hair and skin, then rinse."

Ragna looked like she had seen a dragon. "You mean we can bathe without hauling buckets."

"Yes," Ward said. "Daily if you want. Please do. Our ventilation systems will thank you."

Mira recovered first. "Is this allowed? For guests?"

"You’re living here for now," Ward said. "Use it."

Lyris touched the mirror, then her own reflection. The glass was clearer than any polished metal.

"Your world has many luxuries," she said quietly.

"Luxuries we built while trying not to die," Ward replied. "All right. You get thirty minutes to settle. Mess hall is two floors down. I’ll come get you. Do not wander off alone outside this block yet. The base is big and some areas are off-limits."

Ragna frowned. "What happens if we go somewhere we shouldn’t?"

"You get yelled at," Ward said. "Then escorted out. Worst case, arrested. Don’t test that."

He left them with a nod, the door sliding shut behind him.

For a moment, the room was quiet.

Then Ragna marched back into the washroom and pointed at the shower.

"I’m trying this," she said. "Now."

Mira laughed. "You’re like a child with a new toy."

"You smell like goblin smoke and fried chicken," Ragna said. "So do I. This fixes both."

Lyris sat on the lower bunk and started untying her boots. "Go ahead. We can take turns."

They did.

The first blast of hot water made Ragna yelp loud enough that a soldier down the hall probably heard it. Then she started laughing, a deep, surprised sound.

"It’s like standing under a warm waterfall," she called.

"Do not use all the hot water," Mira shouted back.

"There is more than enough!" Ragna replied. "The tank is huge."

They had no idea what a tank was, but they believed her.

Mira went next, more cautious. She spent extra time studying the soap bottles, reading the labels even if the words meant nothing. She emerged with her hair actually lying flat for once, braided back tight.

"It feels strange to be this clean," she said, drying her face with a coarse towel.

Ragna lay on the top bunk now, hair damp, tail flicking lazily. "It feels like cheating."

Lyris took the last turn. She hesitated at the threshold, fingers resting on the curtain for a moment, then stepped in. The hot water washed away dust, dried goblin smoke, and days of road travel in minutes. She leaned a hand against the wall and closed her eyes.

When she came out, she felt lighter. The world had not changed, but her body had.

They dressed again in their own clothes. Atlas had not issued them uniforms yet. Their gear sat stacked in a corner, weapons held somewhere else for now.

Mira sat at the table and picked up one of the objects Ward had left—a slim plastic card with a strip of black on the back and their names in block letters.

"What is this?" she asked.

"Probably a pass," Lyris said. "For doors."

Ragna flicked hers between two claws. "So instead of keys, you have these."

A chime sounded near the door. Ward’s voice came through a small panel.

"Time’s up. Mess hall."

They headed out.

The mess hall was larger than the plaza food area they had seen earlier. Long tables. Metal benches. Lines of soldiers moving through serving stations where staff handed out trays stacked with food.

The smell hit them first again—meat, bread, something like stew, something like roasted vegetables, and that fried chicken scent lingering.

"Grab a tray," Ward said. "Copy what everyone else does."

They did.

A bored-looking cook slapped a piece of grilled meat on Lyris’s tray, scooped vegetables onto Mira’s, and dropped two pieces of chicken and a mountain of fries on Ragna’s before she even opened her mouth.

Ragna looked at the pile and grinned. "He understands me."

They found a spot at the end of a table. A few soldiers glanced their way, curious, but did not crowd them. One young man, maybe early twenties, slid down the bench a little.

"You’re the new liaisons, right?" he asked.

Lyris nodded. "We are... guests, for now."

"I’m Torres," he said. "Infantry. I saw the footage of your first contact. You fight hard."

Ragna snorted. "I was pinned in the dirt."

"Still threw Ramirez five feet," Torres said. "Not many can do that."

Mira looked up sharply. "You... recorded us?"

"Helmets have cameras," Torres said, tapping his own. "Training review. Don’t worry. The commander isn’t using it for mockery."

"Yet," another soldier called from further down.

Laughter rippled.

Lyris tasted her grilled meat. It was simple—salt, smoke, heat—but cooked evenly. No charred edges, no raw center. The vegetables were crisp and seasoned with something unfamiliar but pleasant.

Mira ate slower, trying each item like it was a sample in a potion lab.

"This bread doesn’t crumble," she said. "And it is softer than any village loaf."

"Industrial baking," Torres said. "Big ovens. Big batches. Same taste every time."

Ragna bit into her first fry and stopped.

"It is like a tiny salted root," she said. "But better."

"Potato," Torres said. "We fry them. Then we fry them again."

"That seems excessive," Mira said.

"It works," Ragna replied with her mouth full.

Conversation loosened slowly.

The soldiers asked about monsters. Ragna described an ogre fight in too much detail. Torres nearly choked on his drink when she mentioned disemboweled wolves as casually as weather.

Mira fielded questions about magic.

"So you just... think fire and it happens?" one soldier asked.

"No," she said. "You think fire and you burn yourself. You chant, focus, and control your mana. Then it happens."

"Can you light a cigarette from across the table?" Torres asked, half-joking.

Mira looked at Ward.

He shrugged. "As long as she doesn’t set the sprinklers off."

Mira raised two fingers. A small, tight spark danced between them. She flicked it toward the unlit cigarette. The tip smoldered and caught.

Torres stared. "That’s... okay, that’s cool."

Ragna smirked. "And you thought your machines were impressive."

Ward watched all this with arms folded, face relaxed. This was what he had wanted them to see: ordinary people, not just guns and walls.

Lyris listened more than she spoke. She watched how soldiers joked, how they shared food, how rank showed in posture but not in cruelty. No one barked for servants. No one slapped anyone for speaking out of turn.

In her world, barracks carried constant tension. Someone always watched for a noble’s mood. Here, the tension sat under the surface but did not rule the room.

"What do you do when you are not fighting?" she asked Torres.

He shrugged. "Train. Sleep. Watch movies. Play cards. Complain."

"Movies?" Mira echoed.

"Stories on screens," Ward said. "We will show you some later when your brains are less overloaded."

Ragna lifted another piece of chicken. "If your stories are half as good as your food, I might never leave."

After the meal, Ward did not take them back to the intel wing. Instead he stopped by a side door off the mess.

"Recreation room," he said. "Short break before we drown you in more planning."

The room inside had couches, tables, and more screens. A few soldiers played a game with a ball on the screen, shouting at each other. Others sat with headphones on, eyes on handheld devices.

Mira gravitated toward a shelf with actual books. She ran fingers along the spines, frowning at the strange titles.

"You still use these?" she asked.

"Some of us like paper," Ward said. "Easier on the eyes."

Ragna got dragged into a card game within five minutes. She learned the rules at alarming speed and started winning just as fast, much to the annoyance of the men at the table.

"You’re counting," one accused.

"I am using my brain," she replied.

Lyris found herself looking at a large window at the far end of the room. Through it, she could see the wall, the faint outline of the old fields beyond, the first stars creeping into the sky.

Ward joined her, coffee mug in hand.

"You all right?" he asked.

She nodded. "Just... adjusting."

"Fair," he said.

For a moment they stood in silence.

"Earlier," Lyris said, eyes still on the horizon, "you said your world survived weapons that could destroy cities."

"More than once," Ward said. "Not proud of it."

"And yet you build places like this." She paused. "Safe. Structured. Almost... kind."

He snorted. "You should see our bureaucracy. It is the opposite of kind."

She gave a small huff that was almost a laugh.

"Albert," she said after a second, "carries that history in his voice."

"Yeah," Ward said. "He’s seen the worst of what we can do. That is why he builds like this instead."

Lyris finally turned to look at him. "And you? Why are you here?"

"Because someone like him needs someone to argue with," Ward said. "And to tell him when he’s being an idiot."

"That is Mira’s job for us," Lyris said.

Ward smirked. "Then this might work."

He checked his watch again.

"All right," he said. "Break time is done. Tomorrow we start real work. Today you rest. Get used to the beds. Use the showers again if you want. Try not to take apart any equipment."

Ragna called from the card table, "No promises!"

Mira looked up from a book about "Basic Electronics" that she could not read yet but was determined to.

Lyris looked once more at the wall and the sky beyond it.

Then she turned away from the window and back toward the room full of soldiers, screens, cards, and noise.

A different kind of campfire, she thought. A different kind of party.

Maybe, for once, they were not just passing through someone else’s tragedy.

Maybe they were standing at the start of whatever came next.