I hitched more of her weight onto me and kept moving. Every soft breath against my neck said the same thing over and over - she’s alive.
That truth held me up. My arm screamed with each jolt, a wet heat climbing to my shoulder, but I tightened my grip and didn’t let go.
She felt impossibly light. The world didn’t. The forest went on forever - roots, shadow, cold mud. My feet dragged, toes catching stones, ankles snagging on roots. Branches scratched my sleeves and skin. I kept going. I didn’t dare stop. Her head lay on my shoulder, a few pale strands catching what little light slipped through the clouds. When I was sure the next breath would be her last, my body found one more step.
Behind us the woods were too quiet. The screams and fire were far now, but they still rattled, echoed in my skull. This quiet pressed in - thick, watchful. My heart thudded so loud it felt like the trees could hear it. Once, I opened my mouth to call for help and shut it again. Sound felt dangerous. Even my thoughts tried to grow small.
"Just a little farther," I whispered. It was more for me than it was for her.
I don’t know how long I walked. Time went soft at the edges. My body moved on raw will. Pain pulsed with each step. My side was damp and sticky. My legs shook. My vision wobbled. I held her tighter. Dropping her wasn’t an option. I counted ten breaths, then a hundred more. I told myself I could make it to the next tree, then the next.
The trunks thinned. The roof of leaves opened. I stumbled into a field cut with old strips of stone and concrete and gulped at the sudden space. Grass leaned with the wind, silver under the clouded sky. And there - past the fields - the city.
Neoshima. The place people like us spoke about in stories. A lotus of metal on the horizon, its petals turned to walls that reached for the clouds. Faint light breathed inside, little fires caught behind steel. A low hum rode the wind, like machines sleeping. It didn’t look like it belonged to the same world as my village.
My knees went loose. Relief, fear, and tiredness pulled at me from three different directions.
The fields were longer than they had any right to be. No matter how many steps I took, the city never seemed to grow. I kept at it, one dragging foot after another. Her weight sat on my shoulder, something precious I refused to set down. Every breath rasped. I bent my ear to her chest whenever I faltered, hunting that thin whisper of life. Then checked again, at her mouth. If I heard it, I moved.
The wind picked up. The walls finally rose over me, tall and hard, silver in the dim light. They looked like shelter and judgment at the same time. Maybe they’d turn us away. Maybe they wouldn’t. I had to try. I pictured my father’s hands tying a knot the right way, my mother’s laugh when I got it wrong, and I told the girl a promise I hadn’t earned.
"I’ll get you inside," I said. "I will."
I staggered the last stretch, legs twitching in small, clumsy jerks. My chest burned. The world smeared to silver and shadow. One thought kept me upright: keep her safe. I hadn’t saved my family. I hadn’t saved anyone. I wasn’t letting go of her.
My steps faltered. My head spun. The ground tilted. Each breath was a blade. Her warmth was the thread holding me to the world.
I dropped to my knees. Dirt and grass pressed into me. My arms tightened around her, as if the night might reach down and take her. I crawled a hand’s length, then another, and stopped. The black at the edge of my sight ate inward. The walls faded. The hum of the city became ocean far away.
The dark took me in a strange, heavy quiet.
Boots. Heavy leather, slow, sure. Each step sank into the earth. A soft metallic hum came with them - a machine settling, ready.
He moved like someone who’d carried wars on his back. Gray threaded through his hair, tied back loose. Scars crossed his face in old stories. His coat smelled faintly of oil and rain. His eyes cut through the dark and counted everything. Nothing slipped past. Thɪs chapter is updated by nοvelfire.net
The air seemed to hold its breath. Authority. Danger. The kind you feel before you see. Then, he stopped. A boy in the dirt, clinging to a girl like a breath. His jaw tightened. Something flickered - not pity, not softness.
He crouched without a word. The mechanical arm whirred and slid under the boy as if I weighed nothing, gathering me against his side. His other arm - human, scarred, steady - lifted the girl. Her hair spilled across his strong hand. He checked her breath once, quick, like a habit he trusted.
He stood. Burdened, not shaken.
The night closed around them as he turned toward a hidden door in the impenetrable walls of Neoshima.
They say you have to hit rock bottom before you can see the sky. First, they would see the Underworks.