Nap. A short, simple word. Just three letters, and yet it usually carried the weight of something sacred.

  Back home—wherever that was—it had meant safety. A small, indulgent escape where my body could retreat and reset, where my mind could wander freely through whatever dreams it pleased. It was a pause button for the soul, a place to heal quietly.

  So why, in all the godforsaken corners of this new world, did I feel like I hadn’t slept in days?

  My limbs were heavy, my nerves raw. Every little noise grated against me. My skin prickled with invisible irritations, like even the air was conspiring against me. The previous day with Hannah had been delightful, even if simple—just the two of us sketching crude shapes into the dirt and gesturing like charades-obsessed cave dwellers. We’d laughed. We’d communicated. It had felt like progress.

  And yet now, everything annoyed me.

  It wasn’t even her fault, I told myself—though that conviction wavered as my throat began to burn. I was parched. My tongue felt like it was made of sandpaper, my mouth thick and dry like cotton had taken root behind my teeth.

  Thirst. It consumed my thoughts.

  What made it worse—unforgivably worse—was that she had water. Right there, in her hand. A brown flask, its neck gleaming faintly when she tilted it. She drank from it. Casually. Like it wasn’t a divine elixir in this stone prison. I could almost taste it, just from the sight alone.

  And she didn’t offer me a single drop.

  She saw me watching her. My eyes practically begged, my hands subtly inching toward her, but every time I so much as leaned in her direction, she drew back. A tight shake of the head. An apologetic shrug. But no water.

  I didn’t understand. I didn’t want to fight. I trusted that she had a reason. But trust only goes so far when your throat is dry enough to crack.

  I reached over—slowly at first—and grasped the flask with both hands, trying to pry it from her fingers.

  Her eyes widened. “Stop! This isn’t for you!”

  As if I didn’t already know that.

  Still, I didn’t let go. I couldn’t. It wasn’t rebellion anymore—it was desperation. The flask had become the only thing I could focus on. We struggled, limbs tangling, as the container sloshed between us. And then, like a pair of children squabbling over a toy, we tumbled to the floor in a messy heap, the flask pressed between us like a contested treasure.

  Neither of us would yield. Not until voices echoed down the tunnel.

  Two male figures emerged from the dim light, and instantly Hannah froze. She let go, standing up so fast the flask nearly fell from my grip. She smoothed out her clothes with quick, practiced movements and straightened her posture, trying to mask the chaos of the moment.

  Me?

  I was still on the ground, clutching the prize.

  I unscrewed the top and drank greedily, tipping it back as if it held life itself. The taste was—well, it was water. Not sweet, not bitter. Just flat. Stale, even. But I didn’t care. Every drop slid down my throat like salvation.

  Until there were no drops left.

  Staring into the mouth of the flask, I blinked, hoping I had imagined how quickly it had emptied. But no—the inside was already dry. Just a few stubborn droplets clinging to the bottom.

  And I was still thirsty.

  Slowly, I looked up. All three of them were staring at me now.

  Hannah stood closest, her expression caught between embarrassment and disbelief. She wasn’t angry. Just… stunned. Maybe a little disappointed.

  Beside her stood a boy who couldn’t have been older than sixteen, dressed in sleek, dark leather armor that seemed far too serious for someone with that much acne. His eyes narrowed with something close to contempt as he took in my disheveled appearance.

  But he wasn’t the one that worried me.

  The other man—him—was the problem.

  Clad head-to-toe in plate armor that gleamed with wear, he had the build of someone who’d broken bones with his bare hands before breakfast. A jagged scar carved down the side of his cheek like a lightning strike, and the expression beneath it was carved from suspicion itself.

  He wasn’t glaring at me. No—he was assessing me. Calculating. His sword, previously idle, had risen ever so slightly in my direction.

  Just enough to send a very clear message.

  You don’t belong here.

  You’re dangerous.

  And I will cut you down if you so much as flinch wrong.

  I hadn’t even done anything. Not really. So why the hostility?

  I looked down at myself for answers but found nothing out of the ordinary. My hands were trembling slightly from exhaustion, my dress clinging to my skin. Nothing outlandish. Nothing threatening.

  And yet.

  Hannah must’ve sensed the tension because she stepped between us—slowly, deliberately. Her back was to me, her hands raised slightly in a gesture of de-escalation. She wasn’t drawing her dagger. She wasn’t preparing to fight.

  But she was trying to protect me.

  Or at least keep me alive a little longer.

  And in that moment, I realised something deeply unsettling:

  There was something about me I didn’t yet understand.

  And others could see it far more clearly than I could.

  “She isn’t what you think she is. Look, she can drink water!”

  That line struck me as so baffling I almost forgot to pretend. I sat there, utterly stunned, blinking at Hannah as if she had suddenly declared that I could breathe fire. Drinking water? That was the miracle that made me less threatening? Not my quiet demeanor, not my confused expressions, not even my small, obviously malnourished frame—but my ability to swallow liquid?

  Yet, somehow, it worked.

  The armored man—still towering over me like a wrought-iron statue—lowered his sword. The tension in his shoulders eased as he sheathed the weapon with a metallic click. I could hardly believe it. Whatever suspicion had gripped him so fiercely seemed to dissolve the moment Hannah handed me a second flask and I, desperate and trembling, gulped down its contents without hesitation.

  Every drop vanished into the void inside me, and still, I remained thirsty.

  My stomach churned from the sheer volume of water I had consumed in such a short time, but my throat still felt dry. It wasn’t just discomfort anymore—it was unnatural. A creeping dread slithered into my thoughts: Was this another one of the god’s tricks? A hunger or thirst that could never be satisfied? A subtle torment, designed to wear me down from the inside?

  I couldn’t tell. And that uncertainty made it worse.

  “We asked for one guide to show us around this collapsing tomb, not a guide and a child,” the guard grumbled, voice sharp with disapproval. The words stung, even though I knew I wasn’t meant to understand them—or wasn’t supposed to, at least.

  While I mulled over his remark, I found myself distracted by the teenager beside him. He looked to be around sixteen, yet carried himself like someone used to having people obey him without question. There was a cruel kind of boredom in his eyes—like he was already regretting coming here and wanted to blame someone for it.

  He looked at me like I was a slug he’d found in his boot. At both of us, really—me and Hannah. With an expression wrinkled in disgust, he reached into his pouch and casually flicked a silver coin into the dirt at Hannah’s feet. It wasn’t just insulting—it was deliberate. A gesture that spoke louder than words: you’re worth less than this, and I know it.

  Hannah’s jaw tensed. She bent down slowly, not saying a word, and picked up the coin with far more care than it deserved. Then, without flinching, she turned to me and pressed the cool silver into my palm.

  “I hope she doesn’t get in our way,” the boy muttered, already turning his back.

  I stared at the coin in my hand. I didn’t care about its value, but it symbolized something—how little he thought of us. That, more than anything, made my blood boil.

  “She’ll carry the loot,” Hannah said, voice calm but clipped. “She was raised by elves. She doesn’t speak the human tongue yet.”

  At her words, the boy spat at the ground, his disgust complete. The guard, in contrast, remained composed—silent and watchful, like a stone sentinel.

  But I could barely process their reactions. The word “elves” echoed in my head like a warning bell. I knew that word. Or—I should have known it. But the harder I tried to focus on it, the more my head throbbed.

  It wasn’t like the dull headache of dehydration. No, this was sharp. Pulsing. Like something inside my skull was actively resisting the thought. A wall in my mind had been slammed shut, and trying to open it came with a price.

  I froze, clutching my head, reeling from the pain.

  When I looked up, I realized time had passed—seconds? minutes? I didn’t know. Hannah had vanished from my immediate sight, and both strangers were staring at me again. Suspicion. Confusion. Wariness.

  Then Hannah returned, breaking the silence.

  She carried two backpacks—one sleek and manageable, the other stuffed to the brim and bulging at the seams. Without hesitation, she tossed the heavier one onto my lap. The weight was nearly enough to knock me flat.

  I stared at it. Then at her.

  She gave me a small, almost apologetic smile as if to say, Sorry, but that’s your role now.

  I barely managed to get the pack onto my back. My knees trembled as I stood, the burden dragging my spine into a near-hunch. Even the guard gave me a skeptical glance, as if questioning whether I would survive the next few steps.

  And Hannah?

  She didn’t intervene. She didn’t argue. But there was a flicker of concern in her gaze—a fleeting shadow that quickly disappeared.

  I wanted to scream.

  Where were the police? Where was the child protection agency? How was this okay? I was a walking skeleton wrapped in cloth, carrying the luggage of people twice my size while still dying of thirst. This wasn’t an adventure. It was indentured servitude. I was one inch away from protesting out loud before I remembered: I wasn’t supposed to understand them. And so I grit my teeth, swallowed my frustration, and trudged after them.

  Bent. Bitter. Burning inside.

  We moved away from the base, back into the crumbling maze of tunnels that had already stolen my hope once before. And now, like a fool, I was voluntarily heading deeper into it.

  For what?

  A “guide” who was apparently just hired help for two strangers? A rich boy who looked at people like furniture and a guard who might slice me in half the moment I twitched wrong?

  Hope. That was it. The most dangerous and irrational thing in the world.

  I nearly forgot to keep my mouth shut again when, only minutes after setting out, the guard displayed why he wasn’t just muscle for show.

  A stone crab, half the size of a man, erupted from the wall. With terrifying speed, the guard stepped forward and—CRACK—split the creature clean in half with a single, brutal strike. Bits of carapace flew through the air like shards of pottery. I flinched, too slow to react properly, but the danger was already gone.

  Hannah had drawn her weapon too, her movements precise, practiced. She was competent—very much so—but nowhere near the sheer efficiency of the man in armor.

  As for the boy?

  He stood safely in the rear, arms folded, watching with lazy detachment. Just before the crab appeared, he had casually nudged me forward. I was no longer just a pack mule—I was a buffer. A meat shield.

  I was suffering—silently, but no less intensely. The thirst clawed at my insides like some invisible beast. It wasn’t just physical anymore; it gnawed at my thoughts, fogged my perception, and turned every footstep into a small act of rebellion against collapse. My lips were cracked, my tongue dry like paper, and I could barely swallow.

  Hannah, of course, noticed. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to. Her glances—quick, sidelong, and quietly guilt-ridden—told me she understood exactly what was happening. The incident with the flask had made that much clear. She knew. She either chose not to help or couldn’t. Maybe she was still figuring out what I really was. Or maybe she feared the answer.

  Either way, I kept moving, trudging forward beneath the weight of the overloaded pack, hoping that salvation—whether in the form of water, rest, or something less tangible—would come soon.

  After the crab, which the guard dispatched with casual brutality, we walked for several minutes in silence. No monsters. No surprises. Just the rhythmic slap of boots against damp stone and the distant, ceaseless groan of this sinking prison of a world.

  The teenager behind me, of course, didn’t appreciate the peace. He sauntered along with that infuriatingly smug grin, taking special care to avoid any mud, blood, or exertion. He whined when the air smelled wrong, when the light was too dim, or when someone dared to walk within five feet of him.

  The guard and Hannah took the lead, thankfully far from his toxic aura. Their teamwork, however, was abysmal—barely a flicker of coordination between them. If things turned ugly, we were a broken formation waiting to be shattered.

  And the backline? It was a joke. I bore the brunt of his disdain. Every few steps he would mutter something under his breath or shoot a glare so sharp I could feel it on my skin. He didn’t hide it—he wanted me to feel hated.

  I did my best to endure. I told myself he wasn’t worth it. That it was just the thirst, the hunger, the exhaustion making everything seem worse than it was. But then he pushed me. Hard.

  “Walk any slower, and I’ll kill you, dirty half-blood.”

  That was it.

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  The words didn’t echo—they stabbed. My mind spun, rage hot and immediate. I stopped walking. My fists clenched. My entire body screamed for retaliation. I didn’t even know what a "half-blood" meant in his mind—but it didn’t matter. The malice in his voice made the meaning clear.

  I thought—just one punch. Just one. He’d be on the ground, and maybe then he’d stop treating people like trash. Maybe then someone would finally tell him no.

  But I didn’t.

  Instead, I slowly opened my palm and looked down at the coin Hannah had given me—the one he’d thrown into the dirt like an insult. It still held that faint, symbolic weight. Justice. Choice. Judgment.

  I flipped it.

  The coin spun in the air, catching the dim torchlight.

  Heads.

  I sighed. Lucky bastard.

  Grudgingly, I resumed walking.

  Moments later, he was back to his usual antics. Complaining about the smell. About my presence. About everything. His words were like pebbles—small, constant impacts that chipped away at the edge of my restraint. I wanted to scream. To throw the backpack down. To just be done with this whole ridiculous journey.

  Even Hannah seemed ready to snap. She kept glancing back, her expression weary and tight, and constantly had to step between us whenever his taunts became more than verbal. The guard, meanwhile, looked like a man who had seen this show a hundred times and had long since stopped caring.

  That changed when he suddenly halted.

  "Move. Quickly," he ordered, sharp and low.

  His tone left no room for debate. He moved behind the boy, forcing the rest of us to bunch forward. It was strange—uncomfortable. And, though I turned to look several times, I saw nothing behind us. Just the tunnel. Just the quiet.

  Something had triggered him, though. Some instinct, perhaps.

  Hannah’s eyes weren’t on the shadows, though. They were on me. Each glance checked not just for danger—but whether I was still resisting the urge to strangle the boy.

  I almost wasn’t.

  The thirst. The weight. The insults. It was maddening.

  When the boy threw a pebble at the back of my head—again—This time, I didn’t flip the coin. I pushed him. Hard.

  He fell backward with a yelp, landing on his rear like a sack of spoiled grain. The guard immediately turned, his instincts kicking in like a spring trap. But even he couldn’t quite muster sympathy for the brat. The act was poor, the landing exaggerated.

  Still, rules were rules.

  The guard approached in three long strides, and suddenly, I felt the press of cold steel against the side of my neck. My breath hitched.

  “She attacked me! Punish her at once!” the boy shouted, full of fake anguish, clutching his knee as if I’d broken it.

  I could only stare at him. Not because I was afraid—but because I was in awe of his shamelessness. He wasn’t even good at pretending. He just expected to be believed, no matter what he said.

  Hannah’s dagger was already drawn, though her eyes stayed fixed not on me or the boy, but the tunnel.

  “This is neither the place nor the time to fool around,” she said sharply.

  She was done with the drama too. I could hear it in her voice—coiled tension, an edge just short of snapping.

  Then came the sound. Low, distant, yet distinct enough to silence everyone.

  Wolves.

  I went rigid.

  Their howls echoed faintly through the stone corridors, growing stronger with each passing breath. I remembered the last time. The blood. The teeth. The panic.

  “We have company,” the guard confirmed—pointlessly, I thought. The teenager’s face had already gone pale.

  The guard and Hannah shifted forward, taking the front with swift coordination that had been absent before. At least when faced with true danger, they remembered how to work together.

  The boy? He shrank behind me, gripping the hem of my clothes and using me as cover.

  Typical.

  I dropped the heavy pack beside me. The straps had carved red marks into my shoulders, and my legs ached from the strain. But I wasn’t going to die carrying someone else’s belongings.

  I wasn’t going to die for someone else’s pride, either.

  The wolves were coming.

  And this time, I was ready.

  There were five of them.

  The moment I saw Hannah trembling, her dagger twitching ever so slightly in her hand, I knew that wasn’t just fear. It was recognition. She’d fought these creatures before—or, more likely, barely survived an encounter. I couldn’t grasp it immediately, but then the air around us shifted.

  The temperature dropped.

  Not a gentle breeze, not a chill. It was like stepping into a frozen tomb. My breath steamed before me, and my fingers stiffened against the metal fasteners of my borrowed gear.

  Then came the ice.

  Shards of jagged frost screamed through the air—shimmering and razor-sharp. I flinched, expecting to be pierced, but just before they reached us, a glowing wall of energy erupted between the front line and the rest of us. The shards shattered against it, falling harmlessly as glistening snow.

  The guard had cast a shield. Magic? Technology? I didn’t know. But I was suddenly very glad he was here.

  The wolves… they looked like wolves, more or less. But they were larger—lankier—and shimmered faintly with a bluish hue, as if their fur were dusted with frost. Their breath fogged the air like smoke, and their eyes burned with an eerie, unnatural focus.

  One charged the guard first, leaping without hesitation.

  It was a mistake.

  With terrifying ease, the guard stepped forward and swung his massive sword in an arc that cleaved cleanly through the beast’s midsection. Its two halves hit the stone floor with a sickening slap, skidding several metres before coming to a messy stop. Blood steamed on the cold stone.

  Another wolf veered toward Hannah, teeth bared.

  She didn't flinch. With grim determination, she pivoted and rammed her dagger upward through the underside of its jaw. The blade pierced straight through the top of its head. The wolf convulsed, but didn’t die instantly. It thrashed wildly, forcing Hannah back, her weapon stuck in its flesh.

  Then the real problem emerged.

  The remaining three wolves adjusted—smart, coordinated. They slowed for just a second, reassessing the threat level. They must have sensed it. The weak link. The boy cowering behind me. The way I tensed.

  They charged.

  The guard moved with stunning reflexes, pivoting to intercept—but he could only block one. Steel clanged against claw and fang, and a massive blue form slammed into him, forcing him to dig in his boots and roar in defiance. A second wolf darted wide, bypassing him entirely.

  That left one… and it was coming straight for me.

  For a split second, I was back in the void—watching a gleaming spear rush toward my chest. But this wasn’t the same. The wolf’s movements were fluid but slower, predictable even. Compared to the chaos I had faced before, this was almost… manageable.

  I didn’t freeze. I didn’t panic.

  I moved.

  At the last second, I twisted aside, feet sliding across the damp stone, letting the wolf rush past me with a snarl of surprise. My heart was pounding, my body screaming, but I grinned—grinned—through the adrenaline. That short, brutal training had paid off. I was still alive.

  Behind me, the boy didn’t fare so well.

  He stood motionless, mouth slightly open, eyes wide with that irritating mix of arrogance and fear that only people like him wore when reality smacked them in the face. The wolf didn’t hesitate. It crashed into him like a falling tree, knocking him clean off his feet.

  He hit the ground with a cry more of outrage than pain—but the wolf was on him in an instant, fangs flashing as it went for his throat. Somehow—by panic, desperation, or sheer dumb luck—he got his hands between them, pushing the beast’s muzzle back just enough.

  But the claws. Gods, the claws.

  They raked down, carving through his fine leather armour like wet paper. He screamed, legs kicking wildly, as dark blood began to pool beneath him.

  I watched.

  Not with pity. Not with triumph, either. Just clarity. This boy—who spat at my feet, who threatened me, who used me like a human shield—was moments away from death. And I didn’t move. Not because I wanted him to die, but because I was frozen in the weight of the moment.

  Let him see what weakness tasted like.

  Let him see what it meant to need others.

  And maybe, just maybe, survive it.

  That is, if the wolves let him.

  I found myself staring.

  Not with fear. Not with horror. But something far worse.

  Fascination.

  It was a grotesque, poetic justice—the boy who had sneered, threatened, and spat on me now screaming, writhing beneath the weight of a frost-ridden beast. Its claws raked across his side, and his cries grew raw, desperate. Blood surged from the wound, dark and steaming in the frigid air, pooling into the cracked stone beneath him.

  And then... the scent hit me.

  Sweet. Rich. Irresistible.

  My pulse quickened. My breathing slowed. The world dulled at the edges, consumed by the coppery perfume of his injury. I didn’t blink. I didn’t move. I just… watched.

  Watched him suffer.

  It was satisfying. Obscenely so. The more he screamed, the more a twisted sense of triumph bloomed in my chest. The torment he felt was a mirror of everything I had endured—every thirst-starved hour, every degrading look, every sneer, shove, insult.

  I should’ve felt guilt.

  But instead… I wanted more.

  A darker craving began to rise. Not just thirst. Something more primal. Something savage. I could almost see myself lunging forward, teeth bared, hands curled like claws. It would be so easy. Just one step forward. Just one—

  “Lucinda!”

  Hannah’s voice cut through the fog like lightning.

  My body jerked. The haze shattered. I blinked, and the world returned in a rush of color and noise and reality. My breath caught in my throat, shame burning where pride had just lived.

  What the hell was I doing?

  This wasn’t me. Wasn’t supposed to be me.

  The guilt surged too late. But guilt wasn’t enough to stop the wolf, still gnashing and clawing, determined to finish its kill. With a shout, I rushed forward and kicked—hard. My foot slammed into its ribs. It barely shifted, still tearing at the boy’s side as if my interference were an annoyance.

  Then came the dagger—spinning through the air with a sharp whistle—and it struck the wolf square in its foreleg. It snarled, staggered. I kicked again, this time connecting with its jaw. The beast yelped and finally rolled to the side, off the boy.

  Panting, I looked down at him.

  He was a mess—bloodied, gasping, face twisted with pain and indignation. He tried to speak, but no words came. I didn’t feel pity. I didn’t feel regret. Just a strange, dangerous calm.

  And, beneath that...

  A smile.

  Just a twitch of the lips, barely visible. But it was there. My thirst had become maddening, yes, but what horrified me most was that my satisfaction wasn’t just physical. It wasn’t about the scent of blood. It was personal.

  I reached toward him—what for, I wasn’t sure. To help? To… harm?

  But I never touched him.

  A flash of silver blurred past my vision, followed by a wet, final sound. The guard’s sword carved cleanly through the wolf’s neck. The body collapsed in a heap beside us.

  I stumbled back.

  My knees gave way, and I slumped against the tunnel wall, hugging them to my chest, trying to contain the horror not of what I’d seen—but of what I’d nearly done. My fingers trembled as I pressed them to my mouth. The god... the one who had brought me here, who had twisted my life into this strange, surreal nightmare—he had done more than steal my future.

  He was changing me.

  Twisting me.

  I didn’t recognize myself anymore.

  Who was I? The memories of my old life—of that girl on the spaceship, the one who quietly faded into the background, who mourned over missed chances and mediocrity—they felt so far away. So... irrelevant. That girl wouldn’t have smiled at suffering. That girl wouldn’t have fantasized about tearing someone apart.

  But now?

  Now I was someone else entirely.

  I sat in silence, numb, spiraling, until Hannah’s voice grounded me again.

  “Lucinda?”

  It was soft. Concerned. Real.

  I looked up, expecting to see judgment in her eyes—but she didn’t look at me like that. She never had. Even when she was wary, even when I scared her, she never gave up on me.

  Everyone else had turned their backs. But she stayed.

  And still… I hesitated. Her outstretched hand hovered in front of me, patient, unwavering. But I couldn’t bring myself to take it.

  Because beyond her shoulder, the boy still lay on the ground—bleeding, shaking, yet somehow… healing.

  The wound was closing. Skin knitting back together in slow, unnatural waves. His body was recovering—but not by any means I recognized. He wasn’t just lucky. He was something else.

  Hannah noticed my gaze. Without a word, she stepped between us.

  Then, without explanation, she pressed a drinking hose into my hands.

  “Drink that,” she said. Firm. Urgent.

  And I did.

  No questions. No resistance.

  The fluid hit my tongue, and I almost dropped the hose in shock. It was delicious. Cool, sweet, foreign—like nothing I’d ever tasted. Exotic, smooth, alive. My thirst vanished as quickly as it came, evaporating in the wake of this strange elixir.

  One drop spilled past my lips.

  Just one.

  But it was enough to know…

  Everything had changed.

  That single drop explained everything.

  Why Hannah’s water never truly quenched my thirst. Why it took her so long to return after the fight. Why my hunger had grown unbearable every second near that boy.

  As the drop slid down my chin, I wiped it away on instinct. But when I saw its color—brilliant red, glowing like fresh blood in the torchlight—I froze.

  Red.

  The same red that flickered in the boy’s wound. The same red as my irises, when I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a glint of steel earlier.

  Not human.

  Not half.

  Vampire.

  And I wasn’t the only one who understood.

  The guard stood silently a few paces away, the boy at his feet recovering in eerie silence, the last of his wound sealing itself unnaturally. The guard had healed him—somehow—and in doing so, pieced the truth together. His expression was no longer cautious professionalism. It was hatred. Clarity. Purpose.

  Hannah saw it, too.

  The moment of recognition passed between the three of us like a crack of lightning. Her reaction was immediate—she spun on her heel and placed herself between me and the guard, dagger in hand, body taut with tension.

  “She’s a full-fledged vampire,” the guard said, voice like stone. “Not a half-blood.”

  He didn’t raise his sword. He didn’t need to. The intent behind his stillness was threat enough. He wasn’t angry at Hannah. Not yet. But he would be—if she made the wrong choice.

  I should’ve felt panic. Or betrayal. Or dread.

  But I didn’t.

  I felt... tired.

  This was the kind of scene my past self would have done everything to avoid. Sacrifice herself. Deny the truth. Lie, manipulate, anything to protect others from the consequences of her existence. That girl was still inside me, somewhere. She remembered what it was like to have hope. She remembered what it was like to not thirst for blood.

  Hannah wasn’t going to back down.

  “She saved me!” she cried, stepping forward. “I won’t abandon her.”

  Her voice cracked—not from fear, but from conviction. She was shaking, not because she was weak, but because she cared so deeply that she would fight, kill, and die for me.

  But she was wrong.

  Saving me would ruin her.

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  Silently, I stood up and reached for her hand—the one holding the dagger—and pressed it gently down. She resisted at first, not out of defiance, but disbelief. Her fingers trembled in mine, her breath shallow. But as our eyes met, she understood.

  I wasn’t going to let her throw her life away for me.

  I had already lost to the god. The thirst wasn’t just a curse—it was a corruption. But Hannah? She was still free. Still unbroken. If there was any part of me worth saving, it was the part she had kept alive.

  “Please, she—”

  “No.” the guard snapped, silencing her. “She will die. The only question is whether you will face consequences for protecting her, or do your duty and end her yourself.”

  He wasn’t cruel. Not really. He was just... convinced. That I was an aberration. A threat. Something that needed to be put down.

  And maybe he wasn’t wrong.

  “I won’t murder her, and neither will you!” Hannah shouted.

  She raised her dagger again, defiant. Trembling.

  And I smiled.

  It was the saddest smile I’d ever worn.

  She was my light in this place. My friend. The first person who believed in me since the god cast me into this nightmare. And I couldn’t keep her.

  So I walked around her—slow, deliberate—and gently placed her hand and dagger over my heart.

  Her hand trembled. Her lips parted in a silent cry.

  “I can’t... I’m sorry I failed you,” she whispered.

  Failed?

  Tears pricked my eyes. How could she possibly think that?

  And that’s when it came to me.

  I couldn’t die here. Not like this. If I did, the god would win. He would twist me again, mold me into something even darker, colder, until there was nothing left of the girl who once walked among the stars.

  I had to die with purpose.

  I closed my eyes and rifled through every memory, every phrase, every clue I had been given.

  Tunnel. Ravine. Waterfall. The place where the water flowed—where it had to go somewhere. A sinking prison. The words echoed in my head now with crystal clarity.

  The guard’s first words had been more than introduction. They were prophecy.

  I opened my eyes and stepped away from the dagger. I bent down, picked up the silver coin I had dropped earlier, and flipped it.

  It landed on the back of my hand.

  Heads. Luck was with me—for once.

  I met the guard’s eyes and spoke slowly, deliberately:

  “Prison. Bring me. Sinking.”

  His brow furrowed. Confusion flickered, followed by dawning comprehension.

  He didn’t understand the full picture—not yet—but he saw that I knew something. Something important.

  Something dangerous.

  And with that, I smiled once more.

  Because I had a plan.

  And this time, I would die on my own terms.

  “Ahabanahaba babsdu! Kalapuka?” Unsurprisingly, I understood nothing. My ability to translate their language had been taken from me, and with it, the fragile thread of control I’d been clinging to.

  I turned to Hannah and tried to offer a reassuring smile—though I doubt it looked convincing. They continued arguing, voices rising and falling, and I caught my name a few times in the muddle of syllables. That was all I could grasp.

  I watched Hannah’s face. I hoped she’d give in. I needed her to give in.

  And she did.

  After a long and painful silence, she stepped forward and reluctantly fastened my wrists with rough leather straps. No force—just quiet resignation.

  We walked in silence. Hannah and I led the way, the other two close behind. No monsters attacked. No sudden turns. Only the sound of boots on stone and shallow breathing.

  Eventually, we dropped the boy off at some station I couldn’t decipher, then continued along a different path. A staircase, steep and seemingly endless, stretched downward into the bowels of the earth. My best chance to escape—but I had no intention of fleeing. The guard would kill me before I reached the second landing.

  Ten minutes passed before we reached a floor where water pooled to our ankles. The stench hit me immediately—sharp, rancid, unmistakable.

  Dead animals littered the ground. Drowned, maybe. Or poisoned by whatever seeped through this place. The rot clung to everything.

  We turned into a manmade corridor—dark, damp, and lined with heavy prison doors. Whoever built this place hadn’t spared any effort. The locks looked decades old, but the steel remained stubborn, unyielding.

  Some doors still had keys left in them. This place hadn't been forgotten. Just... left behind.

  The guard tested a cell door, ensuring it was locked tightly. Then he turned to me.

  Wordlessly, I was led inside.

  The door slammed shut behind me, the metallic clang sealing my fate. He turned the key with deliberate care, slid it into his pack, and gave the door one final suspicious look before walking away—likely back to the boy.

  But Hannah didn’t follow him.

  She knelt outside the bars and began to speak, though her words were no longer mine to understand. Her voice—soft, worn, familiar—drifted through the cell like a half-remembered lullaby.

  Eventually, we sat side by side, a cold iron barrier between us. We held hands.

  And when the silence stretched too long—too heavy—I broke it.

  I told her everything. From the day I was born until this very moment. I spoke in my own language, knowing she wouldn't understand, but hoping my tone, my expression, would be enough to show her that my life hadn’t always been this broken. That there had once been joy. Wonder. Laughter.

  When I finished, she responded with her own story.

  She spoke for hours. Stopping only to drink, to eat. Once, she paused for a whole hour, unable to continue. I don’t know what she was trying to explain, but the pain in her silence said more than words ever could.

  But time was not kind to me.

  The thirst returned.

  I felt it creeping in—slow, insidious—until every heartbeat in the room sounded like thunder in my ears. I gripped her hand too tightly.

  She noticed. Looked over her shoulder. Saw the tears I hadn’t meant to shed.

  She understood. Without needing words.

  And then, in complete silence, she slid the dagger through the gap in the bars.

  She didn’t look at me. But I heard her sob.

  I squeezed her hand again. Desperately. Apologetically.

  Then I reached down and picked up the dagger. The same one that had saved her life.

  “Thank you for everything.”

  I loosened my grip on her hand. Just enough.

  And with trembling fingers, I slumped against the prison door, turning away so she wouldn’t have to watch.

  But still... she didn’t let go.

  She held my hand—gently, firmly—even as the warmth drained from my body. Even as the tears fell freely down her cheeks.

  Even as blood left my throat through an open wound.

  And I smiled.

  Because in the end, I wasn’t alone.

  I was leaving this world—this cruel, god-twisted place—not as a monster, but as someone who had found a true friend.

  And that, more than anything, was what I needed.