Over the following days, Jorghan was given remarkable freedom to move throughout the settlement.
Whether this represented genuine trust or calculated confidence in their ability to monitor his activities, he couldn’t determine.
What became clear, however, was the military nature of their operation disguised beneath a veneer of scientific exploration.
The "researchers" carried weapons with casual familiarity.
The "traders" conducted drills with clockwork precision. The "diplomats" spoke in tactical terminology when they believed themselves unobserved. Most revealing of all were the communications he intercepted through careful eavesdropping—references to "secured perimeters," "resource acquisition timetables," and "contingency protocols" that had nothing to do with peaceful negotiation.
Dr. Revin took particular interest in Jorghan during this extended visit, conducting what he claimed were routine health assessments but which felt more like systematic cataloging of his unusual characteristics.
The doctor’s questions probed delicately at the edges of Jorghan’s abilities, seeking to understand the nature of his rapid healing and unusual mana resonance.
"Fascinating," Revin murmured during one such session, his instruments humming as they recorded readings that made his eyes widen with academic hunger. "Your cellular regeneration rates are remarkable. Have you always healed so quickly?"
"I don’t remember being seriously injured before," Jorghan replied truthfully, though he carefully avoided mentioning the extent of the damage he had sustained during his last flight from the isles.
"And your family? Do they share similar... resilience?"
The question struck close to memories Jorghan preferred to keep buried.
"I don’t remember my family clearly," he said, allowing genuine sadness to color his voice.
They didn’t need to know about his family.
Revin’s expression softened with what appeared to be genuine sympathy, but his clinical interest remained undimmed.
"Of course. Trauma can affect memory formation in complex ways. Perhaps with time and proper treatment, some of those memories could be recovered."
Or extracted, Jorghan thought grimly, noting the speculative gleam in the doctor’s eyes.
On his third night in the settlement, Jorghan discovered what he had been unconsciously searching for—evidence of the operation’s true scale and timeline.
A late-evening visit to the communications tent, ostensibly seeking treatment for a minor cut that would heal itself within hours, revealed a conversation between Yvonne and what was clearly a superior authority.
"...extraction timeline remains feasible," she was saying into a complex crystal device array that amplified her voice across vast distances.
"Local resistance appears minimal, though we’re still assessing the full extent of indigenous capabilities."
The response crackled with authority and impatience: "Minimal resistance is not no resistance. What about the aerial settlements? Our scouts report significant magical capabilities."
"The Floating Isles present a more complex challenge," Yvonne admitted.
"Their technology is different from ours, more... organic in nature. But their political structure appears fractured. Proper political pressure should be sufficient to secure the necessary agreements."
"The boy remains useful?" the distant voice asked.
"Extremely. He provides insights into their culture and capabilities that pure observation cannot match. Dr. Revin believes his unusual characteristics may represent a broader population trait among the Floating Isles inhabitants. If so, the strategic implications could be significant."
"And also, Dr. Revin thinks that the boy holds a vast amount of mana in him, and if we can harness it, the child might become something of use to us," Yvonne said.
"Alright, keep doing what you are doing."
"But the Maltneite comes first."
"Continue gathering intelligence. The Maltneite reserves in that region are too valuable to leave in the hands of primitives, regardless of their magical capabilities."
The communication ended, leaving Jorghan crouched in the shadows outside the tent with his mind racing.
-
Jorghan had grown used to life in the encampment far more quickly than anyone expected.
The bustling noise of soldiers drilling, the endless chatter of engineers, the hiss of steam vents, and the hum of crystal pylons—it no longer felt alien.
He ate with them, worked with them, and even helped Galtar’s team haul crates of equipment through the camp.
That day, they carried supplies into one of the warehouses, a cavernous structure of iron and reinforced beams.
The air smelled of oil, damp wood, and faint ozone, as though lightning had been caged here. Jorghan trailed with Galtar’s crew, setting down a crate beside Nina, when his eyes caught the strange object dominating the center of the room.
It was a circle—massive, forged of steel, and laced with glowing glyphs.
Cables ran like veins into the floor, and at its base sat a raised platform.
To Jorghan, it looked oddly familiar.
He frowned, his memories of another world surfacing. In movies back home, he’d seen things like this.
A time travel machine? Or a gate?
The thought clung to him uneasily.
All the leaders of the camp were present.
Vice Lord Radulff stood tall and solemn, Yvonne lingered at his side with her ever-calculating smile, and General Bartrem’s figure loomed over the soldiers.
Even Dr. Revin stood at the back, arms folded, his eyes flicking between the device and the gathered crowd.
Jorghan tugged Nina’s sleeve. "What’s going on?"