Artoria woke up in a suffocating silence.
Her consciousness was like wreckage sinking in the cold seabed—slow, sluggish, and carrying a dull pain as if crushed by an invisible weight as it surfaced bit by bit. The first sense to return was hearing: the monotonous, continuous sound of rain tapping against the glass outside. Then came the physical sensations—her entire body was filled with an unspeakable fatigue and emptiness, as if all her strength, all her warmth, and everything that supported her existence had been drained, leaving only a heavy, leaden shell. Her throat was dry and tight, and every breath pulled at a sharp, dull pain deep in her chest, as if her heart was being repeatedly rubbed by coarse sandpaper.
She opened her eyes; her vision was blurry at first, then gradually cleared. What came into view was the familiar, high wooden ceiling of the Long Island beach cottage. The soft wall lamps were on, the light intentionally dimmed, and the air was filled with a faint herbal incense that had a calming effect, as well as... a cold, unfamiliar smell of disinfectant mixed with low-temperature refrigerant.
She turned her head.
Then, she saw it.
She saw that thing.
It was a rectangular life-support and transport pod placed not far from her bed, silver-white with cold, hard lines, its surface flowing with extremely weak, pale blue energy circuits.
The pod was transparent, with a thin layer of white frost condensed on the inner side of the front cover. Through that layer of frost, the figure lying quietly inside could be clearly seen.
Silver-white long hair was scattered on a special support cushion, still smooth but having lost the luster of life. That face, always calm and as perfect as porcelain, now had its eyes tightly shut, long eyelashes casting two small shadows on the pale skin, and lips so pale they were nearly transparent. She had been changed into a set of simple white clothes, covering the terrible wound, but the glow of the life-support runes faintly visible beneath the fabric on her chest—used to stabilize energy dissipation—silently proclaimed the hollow and broken state beneath.
It was Minerva.
And yet, it wasn't Minerva.
It was just a shell that had been carefully preserved and had some of its external damage repaired. Without the gaze of those clear blue optical sensors, without the simulated steady breathing, without the calm guardian always on standby, without... that unique soul named "Minerva."
Artoria's pupils contracted suddenly, and her breath stalled in an instant. Her brain felt as if it had been struck hard by a giant hammer, buzzing, and her vision went dark in waves. The heart-wrenching pain and World-spinning despair from the battlefield earlier surged back like cold seawater after the tide, submerging her instantly in an even more ferocious and complete manner. She opened her mouth, wanting to make a sound, but only a few broken, tuneless gasps squeezed out of her throat, like a fish out of water vainly opening and closing its gills.
"You're awake."
A cold, calm, yet intentionally softened female voice sounded by the bed.
Artoria stiffly and very slowly turned her eyes toward the source of the sound. Two people were standing there. Two women wearing armor similar to the Valkyries on the New York battlefield, but with a simpler style biased toward logistics or medical uniforms. One had flaxen long hair tied in a neat low ponytail, her emerald eyes calm and showing concern; the other had short dark brown hair and a serious expression, holding a shimmering data pad in her hand. On their armor was the golden cross emblem of the Schicksal organization.
They were the Schicksal Valkyries Durandal had mentioned staying behind to look after her.
"I am Isabella, from Schicksal Logistics and Medical Unit, B-rank Valkyrie," the woman with flaxen hair introduced softly, pointing to her companion. "This is Emily, technical support. Lord Durandal ordered us to stay and assist in stabilizing your condition and... overseeing the operation of the life-support pod."
Their presence and their words were like a fine needle, piercing the membrane in Artoria's consciousness that isolated reality. Fragments of memory—Corvus Glaive's hideous face, the pitch-black long blade, Minerva's silver figure blocking the way, the dull thud of her chest being pierced, the body quickly turning cold in her arms, Durandal's regretful announcement, the soft click of the life-support pod closing—flashed back, crashed, and exploded in her mind like a cruel, high-speed silent film.
A sharp spasm hit her stomach, and she suddenly curled up, unable to stop herself from retching. However, her stomach was empty; only hot stomach acid and bile surged up her throat, bringing a burning sting and an indescribable sense of nausea. Tears, sweat, and physiological saliva mixed together, sliding miserably down her face and dripping onto the cold bedsheets.
Isabella immediately stepped forward, supporting her trembling shoulders with a gentle but firm touch, wiping her face and neck with a warm, damp towel. Emily quickly operated the data pad in her hand, seemingly monitoring her vital signs.
"Hyperventilation, heart rate abnormally high, severe stress response," Emily's voice was flat but fast. "Suggest injecting a mild sedative and electrolyte supplements."
"No... no need..." Artoria used all her strength to push away the syringe Isabella held out, her voice raspy like sandpaper, every word costing immense effort. "I... I'm fine..."
She pushed away Isabella's hand and struggled, almost rolling off the bed, her bare feet stepping on the cold floor as she stumbled toward the life-support pod. Her knees hit the floor with a thud, but she was completely oblivious, only using her trembling, cold fingers to grip the edge of the cold pod cover tightly, pressing her face against it, trying to see the lifeless face inside.
The constant low temperature inside the pod seeped through the cover, making her fingertips numb with cold. The frost melted slightly under her breath and then quickly refroze. She saw that fine ice crystals seemed to have condensed on Minerva's eyelashes as well. She saw that beneath the light of the life-support runes, there was an extremely weak, almost imperceptible rise and fall in her chest—that was a simulation maintained by the life-support system for basic energy circulation, not the rhythm of life.
"Minerva..." she called out softly, her voice as light as a whisper, as if afraid of disturbing something. Tears welled up again, hot liquid sliding down her cheeks and dripping onto the pod cover, melting a small water trail that was quickly frozen by the low temperature.
No response. There would never be a response again.
The one who would calmly report data, precisely execute commands, quietly stay by her side, provide support when she was tired, silently guard her when she was uneasy, seriously ponder because of a "spoiled" remark, change the highest protocol because of her "order," and unhesitatingly block her in a life-or-death moment... Minerva... was gone.
What remained was only this cold, silent, beautiful shell that possessed only the form.
A sharp, unbearable pang of agony came from the location of her heart, as if a large piece had been brutally gouged out, leaving a bloody, mangled hole filled with icy wind. Every heartbeat pulled at the nerves on the edge of that hole, bringing a suffocating, tearing pain. She could even "feel" that deep in her soul, the warm and stable bond that closely connected her to Minerva had completely snapped and vanished, leaving only a bone-chillingly cold broken end to constantly remind her of the fact of her loss.
"Commander..." Isabella knelt down, her hand lightly resting on her trembling shoulder, her voice carrying a hint of pity. "Please... accept our condolences. We have already injected the 'Life Weave' and 'Star Husk Body' left by Lord Durandal into the life-support system; her physical stability and integrity are slowly recovering. But the core damage..."
"I know..." Artoria interrupted her, her voice hollow, her gaze not leaving the figure in the pod. "I know... you are powerless... thank you... thank you for staying... to look after..." Her words were broken and her logic confused, just repeating meaningless phrases.
Isabella and Emily exchanged a look and said no more, just quietly staying by her side. They had experienced countless life-and-death situations and seen too much grief from losing comrades; they understood that any words at this moment were hollow and could only offer silent company and necessary care.
Time passed in the dead silence and the sound of rain. Artoria just knelt there by the life-support pod, motionless, as if she had turned into a frozen statue soaked in sorrow. Only the constant flow of tears from the corners of her eyes and the occasional uncontrollable, slight trembling proved she was still alive.
The rain outside grew heavier, tapping against the window with a monotonous and oppressive sound. In the room, there was only the extremely low hum of the life-support pod running and Artoria's uncontrollable, occasional sobs from deep in her throat, like a wounded small animal.
Isabella and Emily took turns preparing some light liquid food and water, but Artoria had no reaction to the food and water brought to her lips, her gaze never leaving the life-support pod. They could only helplessly set the things aside.
After an unknown amount of time, the sky outside turned completely dark, the rain subsided slightly, with only scattered raindrops tapping. Artoria's tears seemed to have run dry, leaving only red, swollen, and dry eye sockets and cold tear stains on her face. The trembling of her body also gradually subsided, replaced by a deeper, heart-pounding dead silence.
She slowly, very slowly, released her fingers that were gripping the pod cover; her fingertips were an unhealthy blue-white from excessive force and the low temperature. She propped herself up against the cold pod and stood up unsteadily, her legs numb and stinging from kneeling for so long, making her almost unable to stand; she stumbled and was caught in time by Isabella.
"I... I'm fine now." Artoria pushed away her hand, her voice raspy but carrying an abnormal calmness—a hollow calmness as if all emotions had been drained and burned away. She turned around, no longer looking at the life-support pod, her gaze falling on Isabella and Emily.
"Thank you," she said, every word sounding as if it were squeezed out of her throat. "Help me... thank Lord Durandal, thank Schicksal. The agreement... I remember it. Please... go back. The rest is my own business."
Isabella sighed inwardly as she looked into those emerald eyes that had lost all luster, leaving only endless emptiness and fatigue. She knew that the "Commander" before her was on the edge of an extremely dangerous psychological state, but Schicksal's orders were only to assist in stabilization and care, and they could not forcibly intervene.
"We understand." Isabella nodded, took a palm-sized, shimmering silver metal card from her bosom, and handed it to Artoria. "This is the control key and status monitoring terminal for the life-support pod. Basic maintenance and energy replenishment can be completed through it. Also, the material box left by Lord Durandal is nearby; the usage instructions have been entered into the terminal. If... any unexpected situation occurs, or if you change your mind, you can try to contact us through the emergency channel in the terminal. But... cross-World communication is not stable."
Artoria took the cold metal card; her fingertips felt nothing, and she just gripped it numbly.
Isabella and Emily took one last look at the quietly standing life-support pod and the girl before them who seemed to have had her soul hollowed out. They silently gave a Schicksal military salute and turned to leave. Their figures flickered at the door and then vanished as if merging into the air, leaving only an extremely weak spatial ripple.
The Schicksal Valkyries had left.
In the room, only Artoria remained, along with the cold life-support pod carrying Minerva's remains.
A complete, suffocating silence descended again.
Holding the card, Artoria stood in place for a long time without moving. Then, she slowly and stiffly walked to the bedside and sat down. Her gaze fell on the communicator on the nightstand, which was constantly flashing and vibrating. There were messages from Tony, Steve, Coulson... even Pepper Message sent. Inquiries, concern, apologies, reports on the aftermath...
She just took one look, then reached out and completely turned off the power to the communicator. The World became instantly quiet.
She didn't want to hear, didn't want to know. Any comfort, explanation, accountability, or aftermath... was meaningless. At the moment Minerva's chest was pierced and the blue light went out, her World had already collapsed. Everything in the outside World had become distant, blurry, and irrelevant.
She lowered her head and looked at the cold metal card in her hand. On the terminal screen, various data inside the life-support pod were displayed: Physical integrity 87%, energy circulation stable, basic physiological simulation normal, Core Consciousness Unit: Offline, possibly permanently damaged.
The words "permanently damaged" were like a red-hot iron, searing her retina and deep into her soul.
She threw the card aside, like throwing away a piece of red-hot coal. Then, she re-raised her head, her gaze once more turning to the life-support pod emitting a cold light in the center of the room.
She just sat there quietly, in the dim light and the scattered sound of rain outside, like a statue that had lost all life. Only those hollow eyes, without blinking, stared fixedly at the sleeping face inside the pod, as if to deeply brand that cold, pale countenance into the most painful part of her soul, branding it until the end of time.
The long night stretched on, and the sound of rain gradually ceased. But the hole in her heart and the coldness before her would be the only clear and perceptible reality in the long time to come.
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