“Safe?” She casts me a sidelong glance, not quite convinced. “You hear that, Todd? At least we’re safe.” She gives a weak smile. The cyloillar peeks out with a slow, sleepy blink from her arms.
“Ah, another fridge. You really know how to treat a woman, Dracoth,” she mutters, sarcasm dripping from her words.
“Sarcasm.” I grunt. She’s just like that infernal old gas-cloud, wasting time with pointless chatter.
“Oh, you don’t like sarcasm either?” Princesa tuts, rounding on me with a grimace on her face, flushed from the cold. “Of course you don’t. ‘I only like the bodily fluids of men spraying in my face.’” She mimics my voice in that annoying way she often does.
My eye twitches at her insults—again, she attacks my honor, my pride. The tendons in my hands tighten, itching to lash out. If she were anyone else, a challenge toKrak-Tokwould be warranted for such disgraceful accusations. Instead, I bury my fury behind a fanged sneer, reminding myself that Arawnoth sent her to test my resolve.
She lets out a long, exasperated sigh, and for a moment, silence falls.
Good—finally some quiet.
I scan deeper into the cave, my wrist console highlighting faint outlines in blue—the remains of furs strewn around a stone fire pit. It’s a welcome discovery, evidence that Virennix huntersmust have used this cave recently. The scent of cooked meat lingers faintly, prepared days ago.
“We rest here for the night,” I say, gesturing to the makeshift bedding before shifting back toward the entrance.
“Here?” she repeats, glancing around at the cold, dark cave. “Isn’t there somewhere... warmer?” She complains, hugging herself for warmth.
“No,” I growl, pulling thick furs from the pile and wrapping them around her shoulders. I guide her down with a firm hand.
“Jeez, alright, I get it,” she protests with a huff, snuggling atop the furs like a puffrio preparing to nest.
Satisfied as much as I can be, I prepare to leave the cave when Princesa snaps, “Wait, where the hell are you going?”
“To hunt.”
“Oh...” Her voice softens, her gaze drifting down to Todd, the clacking cyloillar. “But... it’s so cold and dark without you.”
I suppress a bitter laugh. Fear has eradicated her sharp tongue, at least for the moment. Disappointing, but expected.
“Here,” I grumble, offering my wrist console, the only source of light between us.
She takes it with trembling fingers, her eyes reflecting the soft blue glow of the device. The wonder in her expression momentarily softens her features. At least one complaint is solved.
“Dracoth...” she calls again, halting me. I turn, meeting her silver eyes, glinting with concern in the azure light. “If you could find us something to eat that doesn’t have more than four legs, that’d be great.” She smirks, the haughtiness returning.
“Remain here,” I mutter through clenched teeth, striding into the darkness outside with haste.
Infuriating female!
I should hunt the most grotesque, multi-legged creature in the universe and make her eat it—alive and wriggling! Hundreds of them! Maybe then she’d learn some respect.
The frigid wind slices like an icy claw now that I’ve left the cave’s hollow sanctuary. Darkness presses in with each misty exhale, the purple twilight fast receding. I don’t have much time before true nightfall, which will bring with it a cold even my molten blood might struggle to withstand. The thought alone drives me through the frosty layers of snow, each step sinking deep into its biting embrace.
Aimless, I wander through the dim purple twilight, marveling at the brilliant aurora of greens and reds, like rays and spirals covering the entire sky. A unique beauty of this land, almost enough to redeem it—almost.
But there is no time for admiration. My attention shifts to the snow-covered ground, searching for tracks, droppings—any sign of life in this frozen wasteland. The distant howls of beasts echo, pricking my ears, sounding like lost phantoms in the swirling frosted wind. Are they hunters like me? Hope erupts in my molten heart, knowing there must be creatures for them to hunt, and if not—they will suffice.
My body tightens in anticipation, senses on edge. Every gust of wind makes me whirl, expecting danger. But there’s nothing—just the relentless gusts and the endless crunch of snow beneath my feet. Until... there. The faintest scent, sour and earthy, drifts in from my right.
Excitement explodes in my chest, banishing the frost that dares attempt to numb my body. I hasten toward the source, every step intensifying the scent. Yet, there is no sign of tracks in the snow, no sign of disturbance. The snow here lies pristine, untouched as though it hasn’t been stirred for centuries.
I arrive where the scent is strongest, frowning.There should be something—anything.This makes little sense. But the snowis perfect. Too perfect, like the finest soft fur swaying almost imperceptibly in the howling wind. Curious, I drive my armored boot into the mound, expecting to hit softness—only to strike something solid.
I recoil in shock as my foot bounces off a rock—no, not a rock—shell.
The white behemoth erupts in an explosion, showering me in falling snow. My claws unsheathe, and my Rush seethes through my blood like boiling lava. Before I can react, a maw filled with jagged teeth snaps toward me, large enough to cleave me in half.
