Company

Unconscious from the sudden relief of sleep, he disconnected from reality for a few moments, completely defenseless and relieved to simply be alive after everything. But, whether by luck or misfortune, those who rest easy without worries always end up in the clutches of something.

He now found himself sitting in the small sandstone ravine where he had thrown himself, his vision blurry from waking up from a much-deserved slumber.

The air carried the strange scent of something sweet, though devoid of sugar, like a natural perfume. For some reason, his heart pounded harder, and his brain roused him faster.

In front of him, he noticed strands of leather that seemed to have come from the poorly cut patches adorning his cloak. Surprised by the sight, he tried to move his arms, only to discover that his right arm was encased in a rudimentary yet professional splint, made of bones and a faintly reddish white fabric, dirtied by the desert. Meanwhile, his left arm, which had been attacked by acid, appeared to be wrapped in a slimy, transparent material, then covered by the same fabric.

His expression turned puzzled and slightly groggy from the morning drowsiness. He assumed he was alone; after all, it was exceedingly rare to encounter another spawn of the Abyss on the same floor, especially in the deeper levels.

Why would I tear part of my cloak? My recent memories after the attack are… fuzzy. And what is this slimy stuff on my arm?

— It's just petroleum jelly mixed with mineral salts on your arm. You'll live.

A voice echoed through the walls of the ravine.

Near the opening between the rocks, words emerged from dry yet well-maintained lips. Her voice formed a subtle solo chorus with each word, delivering an intense, concise, yet careful vocal cadence.

A lone spawn of the Abyss? Is she a scout from a battalion or something? Which floor are we on?

This was far from good news. As far as Buck knew, he was the only spawn of the Abyss capable of overcoming the brainwashing injections somehow. If she discovered his peculiarities, it was possible her battalion would take him in for questioning—or worse.

While he pondered his options, it was clear as day that this deer was utterly stunned, staring into the bright light of danger ahead. His mouth was slightly open, revealing perfect teeth as he sweated profusely.

Pulling himself together, he placed his splinted right hand on his face, trying discreetly to hide his features, hoping she might interpret his slow responses as mere trauma from the injuries.

What am I doing? I'm a perfect actor! My behavior was so smooth that even veteran merchants couldn't beat me in a game of cards. So why am I revealing so much of my panic?

He blamed the past events for his lapse. If not, it would deeply wound his ego—the one thing he prided himself on.

— Of course… Thank you. Sorry for the sudden question, but you wouldn't happen to be a spawn of the Abyss, would you?

The young woman glanced back, now facing Buck, who was seated tensely on the ground. She took another quick look outside before leaping further down, revealing herself fully to the boy's eyes.

Her hair, rebellious like a feline's mane, was impeccably cut with precise details and bore a silvery-gray tone deepened by hints of black pearl. Her body, lightly toned and athletic, resembled that of a casual athlete—enough that even a mere photograph of her shadow could be framed as high art. She wore a Roman-style white tunic called a ciàmide, typical of ancient Adora. While stunning, it bore the marks of time: faint, opaque stains from the desert's red dust and subtle tears at the hem, revealing pale skin just above her knees.

But it was her face where true magic resided. Framed by fair skin, her unique features included lips intensely pigmented, shaped with perfect curves like waves stirring emotions on the surface. Yet her eyes were lethal. A sky-blue so pure and vivid that even the most coveted diamonds would pale in comparison to the divine gaze they held. The dark shadows around her eyes enhanced her delicate freckles, and every movement of her gaze conveyed an indescribable depth—impossible to capture in words or mimicry. Not even the greatest dramatist could translate the emotional impact emanating from her figure to those daring to look.

Buck's heart pounded like prey about to be devoured, and his dry throat struggled to swallow invisible tension, attempting to regain composure while reading his future. His words could falter at even the faintest shift in her stance.

She approached, close enough to be fully visible, and though she looked down at him, her cold eyes remained fixed on the upper part of his face.

— This is a dangerous place for a lone bourgeois.

Me? A bourgeois? This woman must be loaded in madness!

He wanted to correct her—such an insult was the harshest you could hurl at a street boy and lifelong worker in the grueling radical industries since childhood.

All the emotions that had surfaced before now retreated, replaced by the sharp claws of his anger.

But he couldn't reveal his true feelings. His simple, peaceful life in a small home in a Bascari village would be completely destroyed. So, he controlled himself, clenching his teeth ever so slightly.

Now that his head had cleared, he noticed several suspicious details about her. Small injuries and sturdy, black leather boots with metal-plated toes stood out starkly against her light, revealing white tunic—a garment far too expensive and impractical for her rugged footwear. Buck knew this well, being a skilled young weaver of dresses and an avid user of various types. The outfit simply didn't match. The tunic offered little protection, unlike her durable boots.

— I ended up here by accident after being attacked. I didn't intend to be in a desert alone. But what about you? Isn't it dangerous for you to be in a place like this?

Her subtle shifts in expression were almost imperceptible. She adjusted her hair and maintained her perfect posture, exuding a natural elegance that complemented her style and aura, as if her body was simply meant to carry itself that way.

— Yes, it's very dangerous for me too. If I were foolish enough to leave this small ravine alone, I'm sure I'd die. The desert is meant to be traversed in groups. You need a scout to test the sand as you walk, someone with sharp vision to spot airborne monsters and water sources, and specialized fighters for any creatures you might pass near their nests.

Her gaze seemed to grow somber, though her features hadn't shifted even slightly.

— That's why I saved you. I won't be petty and keep this to myself—I plan to use you to get out of here. I won't die today. Just as you'll use me to escape the desert somehow. After all, I'm your only chance.

Shocked by her honesty, Buck's mouth fell open again without him realizing it, his eyes wide.

— You say all this like it's nothing. Don't you understand how easily you could be deceived? You're an Abyss Spawn; you should be more paranoid about these things. And besides, what's to stop you from throwing me to the creatures when things get tough?

— If things get tough, I'll throw you to the wolves, no doubt, just as you would with me. I'm from Sulfuria; I know all about slippery people—they're everywhere. But I'd much rather have an ally to the end because that way, I'm sure my survival chances are higher. I just prefer to get this off my chest. It's better to clear your mind if you want to think straight in moments like this.

Buck stood, using the wall behind him and the strength of his legs to rise, avoiding contact with anything using his arms—one of which throbbed with pain while the other was still healing from a severe chemical burn.

The girl's thoughts were precise but utterly reckless. Who in their right mind would say such blatant things at the start of a conversation about needing trust and an ally to fight monstrosities? All his strategies for playing roles had crumbled. Finally, there was an answer to what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. The object would have to surrender its nature for both to continue existing.

And in this case, Buck was the immovable object—to his misfortune.

He couldn't help but feel the weight of the girl's words settle deeper. The stark reality of survival in a world like theirs wasn't just about trust—it was about strategy, manipulation, and knowing when to be a monster yourself. He hadn't thought he'd meet someone so... pragmatic. It made him uneasy. Every word she spoke chipped away at the shell he had built around himself in all of these years living, knowing to not trust even an insect.

Is this what it takes to survive in this place?