*"Where are you going?"*
Kain's voice was steady, but something beneath it carried an edge. Not suspicion, not hostility—just a quiet demand for an answer. *"You're just going to walk out there alone?"*
Malzahir stopped mid-step, his back to them, his fingers still curled faintly from where they had held Idrias' ring.
*"I have no reason to stay."* His voice was level, almost detached. He didn't turn around. *"I was only here to deliver the ring. That's done."*
Serena narrowed her eyes. "We aren't demanding that you leave now that we've gotten what we needed from you." She seemed slightly offended that their character may have been perceived that way. Unsure if he understood her words, she nudged Kain wordlessly—her first direct interaction with him in what felt like hours—and he translated for her.
Malzahir shrugged as if their offer to stay didn't matter. *"Nothing is keeping me here."*
Kain's expression darkened. *"You do realize you'll die, right?"*
The cavern was cold, but Malzahir laughed—low, quiet, and almost amused. *"Maybe…ideally"*
Serena crossed her arms. "That doesn't…bother you?"
*"It doesn't,"* he admitted.
The silence stretched between them, heavier than before.
Kain studied him, gaze sharp. Malzahir wasn't afraid of death. He wasn't even indifferent to it—he had already accepted it.
Malzahir exhaled a slow, tired sound. When he spoke, his voice carried no weight of hesitation.
*"Because I have nothing left."* He turned to them now, his eyes dull, empty. *"My only family is dead."*
Both Kain and Serena stiffened, the weight of his words sinking in deeper than Malzahir expected.
They didn't know him. Not really. They had crossed paths only briefly before this. And yet, the moment he said those words, their reactions were far from the usual sympathy or pity one would expect from strangers.
Malzahir frowned slightly. *"…Why do you look like that?"*
Kain was the first to break the silence. *"Your family—who?"*
*"My grandmother,"* Malzahir answered simply. *"She raised me."*
Serena inhaled sharply, her expression unreadable.
He caught the flicker of realization in their gazes and felt an unease curl in his chest.
*"You knew her,"* he guessed. It wasn't a question.
Kain nodded, slowly. *"We met her once. Before we entered the relic."*
The cavern suddenly felt smaller, the cold more biting.
*"…Then she was alive when you left?"* His voice barely rose above a whisper.
Neither of them answered immediately, but their silence was answer enough.
Malzahir forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat. His jaw clenched. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.
The words felt foreign, as though someone else had spoken them. He heard them, but they didn't make sense. 'Dead'—he had always known death, seen it in the desert's merciless consumption of the weak, in his parents, in fallen comrades. But not her. Not the one person he had thought would always be there.
Serena hesitated, then asked, "How?"
Malzahir closed his eyes, taking a slow breath. He thought back to the moment everything fell apart.
Betrayal. Hatred. The painful stab in the back—literally.
The night the ambush happened had been deceptively calm. The fires in the communal pit burned low, the air thick with the scent of roasting meat and murmured conversations. Malzahir had been laughing with the hunters, sharing stories of his latest expedition—unaware that the men clapping him on the back had already sentenced him to death.
The first knife had found his ribs. The second had been aimed at his throat—but his contract, his Tyrant Boa, had intercepted the blow, taking the blade meant for him. Some kind of poison must have been smeared on the blade, as it had instantly paralyzed his contract.
However, with a brief respite from his opponents with the Boa's sacrifice, he managed to flee while heavily injured and recalled his contract.
At one point, he had been found by a group that spoke the Empire's language who healed and then brutally questioned him—but his memories of that period were hazy, and they'd eventually let him go.
He'd thought that once the poison in his contract wore off, he might be able to survive, to make a comeback, but they still managed to track him down.
What followed next was a blur, all he could recall was the intense feeling of helplessness, the dying shriek and immense pain as his bond with his contract shattered.
And then the heartbreaking news that his only family had passed while he was miles away from her and couldn't even say a final farewell or ensure a proper funeral.
When he finally spoke, his tone was as even as before.
*"My tribe turned on me."*
He felt their eyes on him, waiting, listening.
*"I honestly feel like an idiot. All of the whispers behind my back, private conversations away from me. At first, I ignored it. I thought—I hoped—it wasn't a big deal. Perhaps they didn't want to worry me about something? The optimistic part of me was even hoping they were planning a surprise for me—that was how much I trusted them." He exhaled sharply, bitter. "But I was wrong. They betrayed me."*
Kain frowned. *"Why?"*
Malzahir's lips pressed into a thin line then let out a soulless chuckle
*"I have been asking myself that very same question..."*
*"As they destroyed my contract, they then taunted me with the fact that my grandmother was now dead. Knowing that with both of them gone I'd have no reason to continue living."*
Malzahir lowered his head, his breath uneven. His body shook, and before he could stop himself—
Kain and Serena watched, silent.
Only now did it occur to them, amidst the weight he carried, the grief that made him seem so much older—
A few years older than them, maybe.
A young genius. A supposed prodigy in his tribe.
And yet, standing before them now, he was just a boy who had lost everything.
For a long time, none of them spoke.
*"…You're not going to die here."*
Malzahir looked up. Kain's expression was firm. Unwavering.
Serena nodded and Kain helped her to translate. *"Are you really satisfied with never avenging your grandmother? Are you so cowardly?"*
Malzahir's head snapped up, tears still streaking his dust-covered face. *"I am not a coward!"* The words tore from his throat, raw with fury. In the Obari tribe, no insult cut deeper. *"But I am not a fool! I have no contract anymore. I—"*
*"I am weak…"* he whispered, Then, quieter, more broken—
*"And I don't even have the right to call myself anything else."*