Dying Light 2: Volatile Virus

Aiden stirred.

His body felt heavy, sluggish, like waking up after a fever that had drained every ounce of strength from him. His breathing was slow, his senses hazy, as if the world around him wasn't entirely real yet.

As consciousness returned, his vision was the first thing to sharpen.

He blinked, looking around the dimly lit room. The walls were covered in sun symbols, their golden designs reflecting the soft glow of nearby lanterns. Intricate tapestries hung from above, their fabric marked with ritualistic patterns, weaving stories he didn't understand.

It was a cultist chamber, unmistakably so.

Then, he started to hear.

At first, it was just muffled noise, distant and unclear. A low hum that felt like whispers through the walls. But the longer he sat in stillness, the more it became clear—

Voices. Many voices.

Aiden exhaled slowly, his mind adjusting as the noise outside grew more defined.

Prayers.

Praises.

The voices weren't in fear. They weren't panicked or desperate. They were devoted. Reverent.

Slowly, he pushed himself upright, sitting on the bed. The sheets beneath him felt smooth, oddly clean, nothing like the makeshift beds of ruined safe houses he had known before.

Then, as he shifted his weight—he felt it.

Something was off.

His hands.

His eyes snapped down.

What he saw wasn't normal.

His hands were different—his fingers slightly elongated, the nails sharpened into claw-like points. His skin had paled slightly, taking on a smoother, almost unnatural texture.

And then, he saw his arms.

His veins were more visible, running like darkened lines beneath his skin. Red… but with faint golden sparkles, pulsing softly.

Aiden's breath slowed.

He flexed his fingers, feeling the way his sharpened nails barely scraped against his palm. His grip was stronger, firmer, more controlled than before. His body felt different.

Not weaker. Stronger.

As he processed what had happened, his eyes flickered to the side—toward a small wooden table beside the bed.

There, laid carefully, was his gear.

His weapons, his bag, everything he had carried before. Untouched.

But next to them… were clothes.

Not just any clothes. Robes.

He reached for them, feeling the fabric between his fingers. It was the same as what Draemir wore—but slightly different.

The colors were near identical, deep, rich tones of gold and dark blue, but the patterns were altered. It resembled Draemir's attire but wasn't meant to be a copy—it was a symbol of something new. A reflection of him.

A sign that he wasn't Draemir… but he was something like him.

Something changed.

Something reborn.

Aiden exhaled slowly, the voices of the cultists still chanting outside.

And then, for the first time, he truly understood—

He had accepted the change.

And now… he had become it.

Aiden's Next Move

Aiden stared down at his hands, flexing his fingers again, feeling the subtle strength behind them. His veins pulsed faintly with that strange red and gold shimmer, proof that whatever Draemir had done… it worked.

He could still think. Still feel.

But he was different.

Stronger.

His heartbeat was steady, his breathing controlled. There was no panic, no fear, no hunger clawing at his mind like the infected he had fought for years. He was still Aiden.

But at the same time… he wasn't.

The voices from outside continued—prayers, praises, devotion. They weren't for him, but for what he had become a part of.

Aiden's gaze shifted back to the robes.

He reached out, running a hand over the fabric. It was soft yet durable, woven with precision. It wasn't just for ceremony—it was meant to be worn. Used. Lived in.

His mind raced with possibilities.

He could put on the robes, step outside, and face whatever awaited him in Aurenshaven. He had accepted Draemir's offer—but what did that truly mean?

Or…

He could grab his gear, keep his old clothes, and leave. Leave this room, find Draemir, demand answers. What was next? What had really changed?

But deep down… Aiden already knew.

This wasn't just a change in body. It was a change in purpose.

For the first time in his life, he wasn't fighting the infection.

He was becoming something more.

Now, the only question was—

What was he going to do with it?

Aiden stood still for a moment, staring down at the robes.

The fabric felt unnaturally smooth yet strong, carrying the same deep gold and dark blue that adorned Draemir's own attire. It wasn't just clothing—it was a symbol, a reflection of what he had now become.

With a slow exhale, he began to put them on.

The robes fit almost too well, as if they were meant for him all along. Light yet durable, ceremonial yet functional. He adjusted them carefully, feeling the way the fabric rested against his skin, how it moved with him as he flexed his fingers.

Once he was dressed, he took a final glance at his old gear, then gathered his belongings. His weapons, his essentials—everything was still his. He hadn't been stripped of his past, but rather… reshaped into something new.

And now, it was time to see what awaited him.

With steady steps, he walked toward the exit.

As Aiden left the inner chambers, the distant voices grew louder.

He had heard them before—prayers, praises, devotion. But now, as he stepped out, he could truly feel them.

The moment he exited the sanctuary, he was met with a breathtaking sight.

A golden-blue mist covered Aurenshaven like a sacred veil, flowing gently through the streets, wrapping around the people like a living force. The villagers, the cult members, the Faceless—they all stood, heads bowed, chanting, whispering praises.

At the center of it all, Draemir stood.

He faced the multitude, his imposing form bathed in the golden light of his own power. The soft glow of the mist reflected off his sun mask, his robes flowing subtly with the passing air.

And then Aiden saw them.

The Volatiles.

They lined the edges of the gathering, their bodies crouched in their usual hunting positions—but they were still.

Their bodies glowed, a soft, pulsing golden light radiating from beneath their skin, almost as if they had absorbed the sunlight itself.

They weren't snarling. They weren't hunting.

They were simply present. Watching. Waiting.

Aiden's breath was slow, steady, as he took in the sight before him. Everything here went against everything he had ever known.

Volatiles weren't supposed to be like this.

The infected weren't supposed to exist like this.

And yet… they did.

With quiet steps, Aiden moved forward.

As he approached, Draemir turned.

His Volatile maw, slightly open from speaking to the crowd, slowly closed. Then, with a slow, practiced motion, he lowered his sun mask into place, adjusting it carefully before addressing Aiden.

Draemir:

"Good morning, Aiden." (His voice was steady, certain—welcoming.) "How do you feel?"

Before Aiden could respond—the voices shifted.

The prayers, the praises, the whispers of devotion… they changed.

The multitude turned their focus toward him.

And then, they spoke his name.

Their voices rose together, a chant of recognition, of acceptance, of something greater.

They were praising him.

Calling him the successor of the God of the Sun.

Aiden's breath hitched. His muscles tensed instinctively.

This was the same way they had praised Draemir. The same way they had once spoken of their leader, their savior, their god.

And now—they were saying it about him.

The true heir to the God of the Sun.

Aiden clenched his fists subtly, forcing himself to remain still.

Because deep down… he knew.

He had crossed a threshold he could never return from.

Aiden:

(His breath was steady, but inside, his mind raced. The weight of the voices—their belief, their devotion—it was overwhelming. They weren't just looking at him. They were expecting something.)

(He glanced at his hands again, at the claw-like fingers, the golden-flecked veins running through his skin. He could feel the strength coursing through him, the changes that had taken place. And yet… he still felt like himself.)

(Slowly, his gaze lifted back to Draemir, then to the multitude before him. They awaited his answer, his acknowledgment, his acceptance.)

(A deep breath. Then—he spoke.)

"I feel… different." (His voice was calm, steady, but honest.) "Stronger. Clearer." (He flexed his fingers slightly, feeling the new power within him.)

(His eyes locked onto Draemir's.)

"But I need to know something." (His voice lowered slightly, serious.) "What happens now?"

Draemir stood unwavering, his golden gaze fixed on Aiden. The air was thick with expectation, the prayers and praises of the cult still whispering through the streets like a sacred hymn.

Then, his voice cut through the silence.

Draemir:

"Aiden, what happens now… is up to you."

(Aiden remained still, listening as Draemir continued.)

"You now have the control to evolve by your own path, or follow my own—the one I went through. You can decide to stay, leave everything behind, and dedicate yourself to Solara… or you can leave and begin your journey, chasing your mission, your purpose, and fulfilling what you set out to do."

(Draemir took a slow step forward, his voice steady yet weighted.)

"Whatever you decide, it's your choice. But remember… you have a home here in Aurenshaven."

(Aiden exhaled slightly, feeling the truth behind those words. This wasn't an ultimatum. This wasn't a command. It was a choice. His to make.)

"But whatever you decide…" (Draemir's voice lowered slightly, carrying something almost like concern.) "You have to mark your own path… but make sure you don't lose yourself along the way."

At that moment, a cult member stepped forward, hands carefully holding something.

A mask.

Similar to Draemir's golden sun mask, but slightly different in design. Not a copy. A successor's symbol.

Without hesitation, Draemir took the mask and stepped closer to Aiden.

Then, with deliberate motion, he placed the mask onto Aiden's head, securing it in place.

Draemir:

"Aiden, my son…" (His voice was quieter now, not just as a leader, but as something deeper—something almost paternal.)

"You have your own ambitions… a long journey ahead of you. You will face your own path, evolve in different mutations, and grow in your own way."

(Aiden swallowed, feeling the weight of the mask, the meaning behind it. It wasn't just a symbol—it was a reminder. A reminder of what he had accepted. Of what he had become.)

Then—suddenly—Aiden felt pressure on his right hand.

His eyes snapped downward.

Draemir's grip was firm, pressing something into Aiden's palm.

A walkie-talkie.

Before Aiden could react, Draemir forced his fingers to close around it.

Then, with controlled force, he grabbed Aiden's left hand, placing it over his right, ensuring he held it tightly.

A slow pat against Aiden's hands.

Draemir:

"Don't hesitate to call for help. Or to contact me whenever you need me."

(Aiden remained silent, feeling the weight of the device in his grip. A lifeline. A connection. Something to prove that—even if he left—he wasn't alone.)

Draemir's glowing gaze held steady.

"Tell me, before you decide if you will stay or leave…" (His voice was calm but firm.) "Is there anything you need?"

The crowd remained hushed, the Volatiles still looming in silent, golden-lit vigilance.

The moment hung in the air.

Aiden stood at the crossroads of two paths.

And only he could choose which one to walk.

Aiden:

(He stood still, feeling the weight of the mask on his face, the walkie-talkie in his grip, and the sheer gravity of the moment pressing down on him.)

(He had spent his life surviving, fighting, searching for something—Mia, a cure, a purpose. And now, here he was, standing in a place that shouldn't exist, in a body that shouldn't be possible, being given a choice. A real choice.)

(His fingers curled slightly around the walkie-talkie, feeling its rough edges. A promise, an open door, a connection to someone who had already walked this path before him.)

(A slow breath. Then—he spoke.)

"I need to know one thing before I decide." (His voice was calm, steady.)

(His golden-flecked eyes met Draemir's, unwavering.)

"If I leave… if I go out there and try to save people, to bring them here… do you really think they'll follow?" (He exhaled slightly.) "I've seen what's out there. People don't trust what they don't understand. They fear the infected. They fear change."

(His grip tightened slightly.)

"So tell me, Draemir… how do I convince them that this is real? That Solara isn't just another lie, another false hope?"

(Because deep down, he already knew—he was going to leave. But he needed to be sure. He needed to know how.)

The Tools of the Successor

Draemir's golden gaze remained fixed on Aiden, unwavering, as he spoke with certainty.

Draemir:

"Aiden… with the best proof someone could ever provide… I will give you multiple vials of my sacred smoke."

(Aiden listened carefully, his grip still firm on the walkie-talkie. He could already tell—Draemir had prepared for this long before Aiden even realized he would leave.)

"You won't require them for yourself, but only to ensure survivors can survive when they are in danger. And as proof that a cure exists."

(Aiden's expression remained unreadable, but his mind was already piecing everything together. A cure wasn't just words—it was action, proof, something people could see. Draemir was giving him that.)

Draemir:

"But also… you will go with a few Daywalkers. Evolved Volatiles I have trained for years."

(Aiden tensed slightly, but Draemir continued before he could respond.)

"They now know your scent. I prepared them for you, and they will recognize your smell wherever you go."

(Aiden's brows furrowed. How long had Draemir been planning this? Was this always the plan?)

"I knew you would leave—it was something bound to happen. And as always… I prepared."

(Aiden exhaled slightly. It wasn't arrogance in Draemir's voice—it was certainty. He had lived long enough to know how things would unfold, and now, Aiden was simply walking a path that had been set in motion long before he even arrived.)

Draemir:

"With these proofs, if anyone rejects or declines, ignore them. If anyone prefers how they are, don't force them to come. Just continue your way, and give your time to those who are worthy of it."

(His voice grew slightly firmer.)

"And if anyone becomes a threat… don't hesitate. The Daywalkers will assist you, eliminating any danger with ease."

Aiden gave a slow nod.

This wasn't just a journey anymore. This was a mission.

Preparation for the Journey

Draemir turned, leading Aiden back inside the sanctuary.

As they walked, Aiden felt the presence behind him. He glanced back—several Volatiles had risen, now following them.

Not snarling. Not hunting. Watching. Waiting.

These were the Daywalkers.

He had seen Volatiles his whole life, but never like this. Their movements were controlled, their posture deliberate. They weren't just beasts.

They were trained.

And now… they were his.

Aiden exhaled and followed Draemir deeper, until they reached the same chamber where he had woken up.

Draemir moved with precision, grabbing smoke grenades and vials, carefully placing them inside Aiden's backpack.

Draemir:

"What I'm giving you contains my sacred smoke."

(He held up a smoke grenade, rolling it between his fingers before placing it into Aiden's bag.)

"The smoke grenades work as normal—you pull the pin, throw it, and it will release the smoke."

(Then, he lifted a vial, the golden-blue liquid inside shimmering slightly under the dim light.)

"For the vials, you simply open it in the face of a survivor—that is more than enough."

(Draemir placed them carefully into the bag, then looked back at Aiden.)

"You don't have to throw the vial or break it to release the gas. Just open it, let them breathe, and it will do the rest."

Aiden looked down at the items inside his bag, processing everything.

These weren't just tools. They were proof.

Proof that what Draemir had built was real.

And now, Aiden had to show the world.