"Why didn't you tell me this, bitch?!"
The burned girl didn't flinch, didn't even bother to look at him with any real emotion. Her gaze remained steady, almost detached.
"This is known to every disciple, asshole," she said, her tone mocking now.
"It was a performance. To be seen. Really."
Samuel froze, the words hanging in the air like a punch to the gut.
A performance? He blinked a few times, his mind struggling to catch up. His entire frantic struggle—the desperation, the fear, the stabbing—reduced to nothing more than a pathetic display for the sake of her amusement.
He could feel his face heat up, the sting of humiliation creeping across his skin, more intense than anything he'd ever felt in battle. For a moment, he stood there, just blinking at her in disbelief.
"Y-you..." Samuel stammered, anger rising in his chest, but it quickly turned to self-loathing.
She cut him off with a glance, eyes sharp.
"Lyra," she said simply, her tone softening just enough to make it clear she was done with the whole conversation.
"My name is Lyra."
For a heartbeat, Samuel stood there, the anger fizzled out, leaving only an uncomfortable stillness between them.
"Lyra, huh?" Samuel murmured, his shoulders sagging. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to shake off the feeling of being outplayed.
"Well... Sam... Samuel," he said, finally introducing himself with an almost indifferent tone.
Lyra didn't flinch. No smile. No interest. Just a nod, as if saying:
Noted. Move on.
Samuel ran a hand through his damp hair, his eyes drifting toward the motionless carcass of the bull-like beast they'd barely survived. Steam still hissed from its flanks, its massive body twitching occasionally from lingering spasms of death.
His voice came out lower this time. Uneasy.
"You could've killed it, right?"
Lyra followed his gaze. Her eyes, cold and gold, narrowed slightly.
"No."
Samuel looked at her, a little surprised. She wasn't joking. Wasn't being modest either.
"It's not about the rank," she added, voice flat.
"Too many people think it is. Rank just tells you how saturated a beast is with Abyssal energy. It doesn't measure how it uses it. Or what kind of monster that energy made it into."
Samuel frowned. "So you're saying it's random?"
Lyra shook her head. "No. It's worse than random. It's diverse."
She gestured at the fallen beast with her chin.
"That thing was technically Rank 1. But it moved like it had seen war. Like it learned—maybe the hard way—how to kill. You fight something like that thinking it's just another beast, and it'll teach you your last lesson."
The words settled like lead in his gut.
He looked back at the body. Not with pride. But with a chill running down his spine.
His voice was barely above a whisper. "But it was still just a bull..."
Lyra stared at him for a moment longer, then turned away.
"No such thing in the Abyss," she said. "Everything here wants to kill you. And some of them remember how."
Samuel didn't reply. He didn't need to.
The cold breath that left his lungs said enough.
***
In the depths of the jungle, two figures could be seen weaving between gnarled roots and whispering leaves.
Samuel… and Lyra.
Their footsteps were quiet, cautious — not out of consideration for each other, but for the beasts that stalked the shadows. They didn't walk side by side, but not far apart either… like two wolves forced to share the same trail, not by choice, but by the weight of necessity.
For reasons even Samuel couldn't fully explain, they had agreed to travel together.
Temporary alliance. Nothing more.
As they moved, the tension between them was almost physical — like a thin string stretched taut, threatening to snap with the wrong word. They didn't speak much. When they did, it was brief.
Cold.
They didn't trust each other. Not really.
But for now… their paths overlapped.
And in Pendora, that was as close to friendship as most people got.
As the silence between him and Lyra stretched like a blade yet to be drawn, Samuel lowered his gaze and walked a little slower, letting the sound of their boots against damp earth fill the gaps.
Lyra didn't look back. She hadn't said a word in a while — which suited him just fine.
The silence let him think.
Or more accurately... summon Voice Of Void in his mind.
[Rank 1 Relic : Moon Blade
"An elegant blade cutting through darkness and light. Once belonged to a beauty… but her fate was sealed the moment she encountered a treacherous bastard who betrayed her without a thought — and even shamelessly stole her sword."
Effect:Increases attack speed and strength under moonlight. ]
Samuel blinked.
Then, slowly… a small, amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Shamelessly stole, huh?" he murmured under his breath, just quiet enough that Lyra wouldn't hear. "Well. Can't argue with that."
He could almost imagine the spirit of that beautiful, arrogant girl shrieking in fury somewhere in the afterlife.
And that made the sword feel even lighter in his hand.
Lyra suddenly stopped.
Without warning, like a beast catching scent, she froze mid-step. Her ears twitched — an animalistic, almost feral motion. Then, she turned her head slightly, eyes narrowing.
"…A storm's coming," she said.
Samuel blinked, then lifted his gaze.
The sky above was a perfect, glassy blue. Clear. Peaceful. Not a single damned cloud in sight.
He looked back at her, slowly.
His face spoke volumes — none of them kind.
The look of a man who'd just been told water was dry.
"…Really?" his expression said. "Are you stupid?"
Lyra cleared her throat.
"I, uh… I have a higher affinity with nature. So I can sense these things, alright? We need to move. Fast."
And just like that, she spun and took off into the underbrush, her cloak fluttering like a shadow behind her.
Samuel stared after her for a heartbeat.
Then sighed. Loudly.
"Of course."
He didn't have a better plan anyway. So, with a muttered curse and one last glance at the still-perfect sky, he followed.
And just as his boots struck the damp earth — the wind shifted.
The air changed. He could feel it — taste it.
The oppressive stillness that came just before chaos.
Leaves began to rustle. Far above, clouds were crawling in like silent beasts. The jungle's light dimmed, shadows stretching long and wide. The temperature dropped a little too fast.
Samuel frowned.
"…Huh. So she wasn't lying."
And then, more grimly:
"Which means we're in trouble."
They ran, feet pounding against the wet soil as the first distant rumble of thunder rolled through the canopy like a growl from the gods.
The forest groaned beneath the weight of the coming storm, wind howling through the twisted boughs like a warning cry from the wilds themselves.
Leaves tore loose and danced madly through the air, rain beginning to fall in slow, fat drops that struck Samuel's face like cold slaps.
The world around them grew darker by the second.
Samuel gritted his teeth. The girl was fast — too fast. He had to push himself just to keep her in sight as she weaved through gnarled roots and broken stone.
"Where the hell are we going?" he called out between breaths, his voice almost lost to the rising wind.
Lyra didn't slow.
"There's a hollow tree," she shouted back. "Big enough to crawl into. Should be close if we keep heading this direction!"
A hollow tree?
Samuel's brow furrowed.
How did she know that?
He was about to ask — the words were on his tongue — but he swallowed them back at the last second.
No. He had his secrets too. And asking about hers would only invite questions in return.
Instead, he focused on her steps, her movements. There was no hesitation in her path, no searching gaze — just certainty. She knew these woods, or rather... something within her did.
Samuel narrowed his eyes.
Exceptional nature affinity, huh?
It wasn't just some affinity. It was something more. Something strange. He could feel it, like a subtle shift in the air around her.
But now wasn't the time.
The rain intensified, coming down in sheets. Thunder split the sky behind them, and the forest erupted into motion — birds shrieking, beasts howling in the distance.
They had to move.
And so, without another word, Samuel followed the girl deeper into the heart of the storm.
The rain turned savage.
It came down in violent sheets, drenching the forest in seconds. Thunder rolled across the heavens like a beast howling in fury, and streaks of lightning split the sky, lighting up the twisted trees in flashes of pale blue.
Samuel ran — not out of pride or purpose, but pure survival.
Each crash of thunder felt like it struck closer. The wind tore at his cloak, branches whipped against his face, and mud clung to his boots with every desperate step.
Then he saw it.
A tree — massive, ancient, its blackened bark twisted with age and time. At its base, yawning wide like the mouth of some sleeping giant, was a hollow carved deep into its trunk.
Lyra didn't stop.
She moved like she had wings, leaping lightly onto a root and slipping inside without missing a step. Samuel followed a breath behind, stumbling slightly as he clambered into the hollow space.
They collapsed inside, panting.
The storm howled just beyond the bark walls, and their black robes clung to their skin — soaked, heavy, and ice-cold. Rainwater dripped from their sleeves. The wind cut through the hollow like a blade. Every breath steamed in the air.
Samuel's teeth chattered. But something in him snapped — not in fear, but in stubbornness.
Gritting his jaw, he forced himself up, limbs trembling in protest. His body screamed to rest, to curl up and fade — but he didn't listen.
He crouched, began collecting twigs and scraps of bark from the edges of the hollow, stacking them with shaking hands. Then, fingers numb, he dug through the mud at the entrance and found two flat stones.
He dropped to his knees.
And began rubbing them together.
Furiously.
Like a lunatic caveman fighting the gods for a spark.
I have to do this, he thought, jaw clenched.
Or I'll die from this damned cold.
The stones struck. Sparks flew — tiny, pitiful things swallowed by the damp air. He tried again. Again.
Nothing.
His breath came ragged. Hands raw. Muscles aching.
Still no fire.
Then, beside him, Lyra exhaled a single word — barely a whisper.
Samuel didn't catch it.
But he felt it.
A pulse of pressure, a shift in the air — and then boom.
A sudden gout of black flame erupted from the pile of twigs, searing the hollow in momentary darkness. The flame was void-like, silent, wrong. Samuel's eyes widened — he recognized that essence. Abyssal. Just like the one she'd used before.
But just as quickly as it appeared, the black fire died down… and left behind glowing embers.
Real flame took root. Orange and red. Warm.
Alive.
Samuel stared at the stones in his hands, awkward and expressionless.
Smoke curled gently from the fire, licking the air like a silent judge. His shoulders sagged. The bitter cold had retreated — but something colder settled in his chest.
He had made a fool of himself again.
And Lyra was still watching him.
Not with the usual disdain or amusement — no, this time it was worse.
Pity.
Her eyes studied him like he was some broken thing barely worth remarking on. Then, after a beat of silence too long to be merciful, she tilted her head and said flatly,
"Are you, you know… an idiot?"
Samuel blinked.
Something in him snapped.
His pride — bruised and soaked like everything else — lashed out before he could stop it.
"What are you trying to say?" he barked, glaring at her.
His voice echoed slightly in the cramped space, too loud, too defensive.
Lyra raised an eyebrow, unfazed.
There was a pause. Samuel could feel the weight of her stare — dissecting him, unraveling the lies before they even left his mouth. But still… he tried.
"Actually…" he began, tone suddenly calm, almost thoughtful.
"Yesterday… before the trial… I performed a ritual. Something old. It… might've taken a toll."
He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, pretending to be focused on the fire.
"I think I lost some memories. Minor ones. Like… fire-making."
It was a clumsy lie. But it was all he had.
Lyra was silent for a moment.
Then she nodded. "Ah," she said, as if it all made perfect sense.
She didn't press.
She didn't need to.
The smirk tugging at the corner of her lips said everything.
"Okay," she replied, settling back against the inner wall of the tree. Her voice was light — too light.
Samuel narrowed his eyes, unsure if she believed him… or just didn't care enough to call him out.
Either way, the fire crackled between them, casting long shadows on the curved bark walls. The warmth spread slowly. The storm still howled beyond, but inside, the only sounds were the flames, the wind, and two hearts beating out secrets they wouldn't share.
Not yet.
Not fully.
But in that fragile silence… trust flickered.
Just like the fire.
***