Chapter 122

  Written by Bayzo Albion

  "They're close. This is the end."

  I tried to surge ahead, but my legs tangled in a pathetic, helpless stumble.

  "Damn..." I exhaled, the word not a curse, but an admission of total defeat.

  The world tilted, slipping away from under me. I crashed onto the damp, cold earth, fingers clawing into the grass. Strength abandoned me in an instant, like a severed rope. The thought of rising didn't even cross my mind—only numb acceptance of the inevitable.

  Her shadow fell over me, blocking the sun. She didn't shout or question; she simply bent down. Then I felt strong, assured hands slip under my arms.

  She lifted me with such ease, as if I were a feather rather than a full-grown man, and without a word, she bolted forward at a blinding pace. The world smeared into a streak of green and brown, whipped by the howling wind. I heard her breathing—steady, deep, impossibly calm against the hellish cacophony behind us. That sound was grotesquely out of place in the chaos, yet it became my most reliable anchor.

  I went limp in her arms, feeling like the ultimate weakling, a helpless child being dragged from gunfire. And yet... in that moment, amid the howling pursuit and primal terror, a strange, irrational sensation bloomed within me: safety. As long as these arms held me, the ants' mandibles couldn't reach.

  We plunged deeper into the forest. I couldn't see the path, had no idea where she was carrying me. But I knew one thing for certain: alone, I'd already be dead. Now, I was alive. And that was all that mattered.

  She carried me for what felt like an eternity. The pounding of the ant horde echoed in my ears, my temples, my chest, but gradually, that infernal roar faded, dissolving into the whistle of wind and the rustle of leaves overhead.

  We delved into the heart of the thicket, where tree trunks intertwined like a barricade, and finally, she halted at a narrow crevice in the rock, almost entirely concealed by a curtain of ivy and thorny brambles.

  Gently, almost tenderly, she lowered me onto a soft bed of moss at the entrance. I slid down against the stone wall, settling on the ground, and just sat there, breathing in heavy, ragged bursts. My heart hammered against my ribs, not from fear now, but from a burning, corrosive shame.

  Shame for my weakness. For being a burden again, a limp weight she had to haul. Her strong, confident hands were a living rebuke to my frailty.

  She said nothing. She simply stood nearby, leaning against the rock, her intense gaze fixed outward through the green veil, attuned to every whisper of the forest. In her silence, in her composure, there wasn't a drop of reproach or mockery. It was that absolute, all-encompassing acceptance that infuriated me the most. Anger would have been easier to handle.

  I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms, wrestling with the lump in my throat, with my pride, and finally forced out through gritted teeth:

  "Thank you."

  She turned her head slightly, ash-gray strands of hair sliding over her shoulder.

  "Thank you for pulling me out," I added, louder now, forcing myself to meet her eyes. "Without you... I'd be gone. Those creatures would be gnawing on my bones by now."

  Her face, usually an impenetrable mask, didn't twitch a muscle. But I thought—or was it my imagination?—that in the depths of her eyes, dark as aged resin, a flicker of warmth appeared for an instant. Like a sunbeam piercing the bottom of a deep well.

  I hastily looked away, pretending to scrutinize the scrapes and dirt on my hands with intense interest. "But don't expect me to say it every day," I muttered toward the moss at my feet. "I'm not used to being a burden. Not used to... being saved."

  Silence settled in the cave, broken only by the languid rustle of leaves outside. Quiet, but not oppressive.

  For the first time in ages, I felt like I'd said something truly honest. That honesty scorched my throat, but it also set me free.

  She didn't venture deeper into the cave or stand guard as I expected. Instead, she sat down beside me, almost touching.

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  Her dress whispered against the stone, her shoulder brushing mine, and I tensed involuntarily.

  I braced for the familiar chill—that doll-like detachment that always lingered between us.

  But it wasn't there.

  She sat calmly, quietly, without trying to speak or invade my space. Just... beside me.

  And for the first time, her silence didn't feel like a void. It was like a heavy blanket on a frigid night—muffling, but soothing.

  I closed my eyes, listening to her even breathing. Something in my chest thawed reluctantly.

  Yesterday, I'd feared her to the point of trembling. Today, that silence became an anchor, holding me back from tumbling into panic's abyss.

  I caught myself thinking that if she spoke now, I'd probably just get angry.

  But her quiet... it helped.

  I exhaled, almost whispering:

  "Maybe it's not so bad that I bought you."

  She didn't react, but her shoulder pressed a little firmer against mine.

  And that was enough.

  The warmth of her body seeped through the thin fabric, her steady, rhythmic breathing lulling me more effectively than any sleeping potion. Resistance was futile.

  "Just for five minutes... just close my eyes..." The last sluggish thought drifted through my mind. Then I plunged into a deep, dreamless sleep, free of ants, chases, only silence.

  I woke to an absolute, almost tangible darkness thickening in the cave. The fire had died down to a ghostly, smoldering coil of embers glowing crimson. A chill of unease prickled my skin before my brain fully registered: she wasn't beside me.

  I bolted upright, shaking off the remnants of sleep. My heart lurched into a void.

  "Hey?!" My voice echoed hoarsely, unnaturally loud in the stone confines.

  The response was oppressive silence, pierced only by the wind's wail at the narrow entrance. My hand instinctively reached for my knife's hilt. I was already mentally mapping a suicidal trek back when a silhouette materialized in the opening like a coalescing shadow.

  She entered soundlessly, her steps so light that not even dust stirred. But in her hands wasn't a weapon. Not firewood. Not herbs.

  My old, achingly familiar frying pan. And in it—three neatly plucked and gutted rabbits, ready for the fire.

  I froze, disbelieving. Blinked once, twice, waiting for the apparition to dissolve. "You..." The words lodged in my parched throat.

  She silently, without pride or reproach, simply nodded—as if she'd just strolled to a stream, not infiltrated a monster-infested territory.

  She set the pan with its precious cargo on a stone beside me—the gesture so simple and irrefutable that it stole my breath.

  My eyes darted from the rabbits to the pan, from the pan to her calm, unruffled face. My heart pounded in my temples, torn between bursting into hysterical laughter or screaming at the madness of it all.

  "You're completely insane..." I exhaled finally, my whisper laced with a strange, aching tenderness. "But damn it... Thank you. So much."

  She didn't reply. Didn't smile. She simply sank down beside me. And suddenly, sitting in that cold cave, staring at the spoils of her reckless venture, I realized: for the first time since this nightmare began, I felt not just safe. I felt not alone. And that was more than happiness. It was salvation.

  That night, we didn't press on.

  I rekindled the fire carefully, ensuring the smoke didn't rise too high. The pan sat over the flames once more, the three rabbits slowly acquiring a golden crust.

  The aroma was potent, thick—the kind that always tugged at my soul.

  I cooked in silence, occasionally glancing at her. She sat nearby, still as ever, yet her posture lacked the former chill.

  When the meat was done, I placed a portion before me, then before her. Usually, she waited for my command, but this time... she took the pan into her own hands.

  I didn't have a chance to speak. She tore off a small piece and tasted it slowly.

  Her face remained almost impassive, but then she narrowed her eyes slightly, and something new flickered in them.

  "Tasty," she said quietly.

  I froze, my knife nearly slipping from my grasp.

  "You... praised it?" I asked, incredulous.

  She nodded. Just a subtle dip, as if fearing any sharp movement might shatter the moment.

  She continued eating with me—not by order, but because she wanted to.

  In that instant, amid the forest and dark night, with the crackling fire and steaming pan, a thought struck me: this felt like home.

  The home I'd been searching for all along.

  We sat by the fire. I held a chunk of hot meat in my hands, tearing off charred fibers with my fingers. Smoke curled skyward, the pan's sizzle fading to a murmur.

  But the food stuck in my throat.

  Too much swirled in my head: the ants, the blood, my weakness...

  I closed my eyes and mentally summoned the status window.