Chapter 17 - Smiles

Chapter 17 – Pale Smiles

The wind bit deep as Caleb exited the church ruins. His breath hung in the cold air, shallow and rapid. Muscles ached. Cuts throbbed. The warmth of the robe barely kept the chill from crawling into his bones again.

But he was alive.

And there was nothing left for him here.

He paused just outside the crumbling doorway, letting the pale daylight kiss his face. Snowflakes drifted lazily, the sky above slate gray. His hand touched the silver ring at his side, now holding the battle-won loot in its small, hidden space.

Time to go home.

But then he saw him.

A man stood just a dozen meters ahead—half-obscured by a fractured column, just beyond the arch leading out of the churchyard.

He looked… normal.

Too normal.

Wearing layered clothes, nothing fancy. A furred hood pulled halfway back. Unarmed. Relaxed posture. His eyes lit up when he saw Caleb. He raised one hand in greeting.

"Hey," the man called, voice calm, even warm. "You survived that thing in there?"

Caleb's hand gripped the kukri instinctively. He said nothing.

"Easy," the man said with an easy grin, stepping forward, palms exposed. "I'm not looking for trouble. Just saw the fight and figured whoever made it out might be worth talking to."

Still cautious, Caleb didn't lower the blade.

The man laughed softly. "Name's Orven. I'm from Sector 9, just a few clicks west. Been alone since day two. Figured it'd be nice to talk to someone before I go nuts."

Caleb gave a nod but kept his guard up.

They stood in silence for a moment, snow crunching faintly under their boots.

"You fought that guardian alone?" Orven asked, his eyes scanning the church ruins.

"Yeah," Caleb muttered.

"Hell," the man said, whistling low. "You're better than most. Last guy I saw heading into a ruin… let's just say he didn't walk back out."

He chuckled again. Caleb didn't.

Then Orven's eyes flicked toward Caleb's spatial ring. Just for a second.

A little too long.

Then he took one step closer. Too casual.

Something in Caleb's spine tensed.

He stepped back slightly.

"You all right?" Orven asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Fine," Caleb answered flatly.

And that's when Orven moved.

His hand twitched toward his coat—and in an instant, something shot toward Caleb. A small blade. Caleb barely shifted his shoulder in time; the knife grazed his robe and clattered to the side.

The kukri was up in a flash.

"Should've gone for the throat," Caleb growled.

Orven straightened, the friendly mask slipping off like melting ice. His smile remained—but it was stretched, twisted now by hunger.

"I didn't miss by accident," he said, stepping to the side, circling. "I just wanted to see how fast you were. You're weaker than I thought."

"You made a mistake," Caleb hissed.

Orven's laugh came low and smooth.

"Maybe. But I've eaten worse. Last poor bastard had nothing but gristle on him. Barely screamed when I took his arm."

He licked his lips.

"But you… you've been eating well. Got that good meat strength. And that gear—oh, I'll enjoy stripping that off your corpse."

Caleb's stomach churned. Not with fear—rage.

But his body didn't respond like it should.

Fatigue clung to him. Every muscle screamed from the last battle. His swings weren't sharp. His stance wasn't tight.

And Orven was fast.

They clashed—metal to metal, bone to bone. Caleb grunted as he was pushed back, barely dodging a slash aimed at his throat.

"You're tired," Orven mocked. "Good. That'll make the meat tender."

Caleb's breath hitched, blood trickling down his lip. He was pushed against the church wall, feet sliding in the snow.

He had one last burst left in him. Maybe.

And that had to be enough.

End of the 17th chapter.