Aldana led the way, her leaf skirt rustling like whispered secrets. Her beauty struck him anew, a wild elegance that seemed to channel the forest's soul.
"Keep up," she called softly, her voice a melody.
Aldrich adjusted his grip on Alan. "What's with Karlak?" he asked, his breath hitching as he navigated his steps. "He looked ready to gut me back there."
Aldana's lips curved into a faint smirk. "Karlak is protective. He see you as threat."
Aldrich let out a short, incredulous laugh. "I don't think I'm that terrifying," he countered, shifting Alan's weight on his shoulder.
"But you can be," she insisted, turning to face him fully, her gaze piercing through the spore-lit haze. "I see you tear through those Skitterlings without anything but an arm you take from their own kind. That's not easy."
"I had your help," Aldrich replied, a modest grin tugging at his lips.
"Regardless," Aldana shrugged, pivoting back toward the path, "not many fight with that kind of fire. You're strong."
"Then you should meet my friends," Aldrich laughed, his voice warming with pride. "Herman. He wields a longsword like a demon, a monster in battle. Bernard's got strength that would make anyone blink in fear. Give him a battle axe, and he becomes a monster. And Julia…" His voice softened, a shadow crossing his face. "She's the only one to ever best me in a one-on-one."
Aldana's laughter rang out, light and musical. "If they're truly as good, maybe Karlak right to be wary." Her crude manora danced from her tongue.
Their journey halted before a colossal tree trunk, its girth transformed into a house, vines curling around it like ancient guardians. The structure appeared like a silent sentinel carved from the planet's heart.
"Go inside, rest," Aldana instructed, her voice gentle. "Tomorrow, we see what the dawn bring." With that, she turned, her figure melting into the settlement's glow, leaving them.
Aldrich dragged himself and Alan through the vine-draped entrance, the interior a snug cocoon that smelled of wildflowers and earth. The space was modest, dominated by a bed of hay against one wall and a sturdy wooden bench beside it. A lantern hung from a hook, its flame dancing freely, casting a warm, flickering light. Aldrich eased Alan onto the hay, the boy muttering drunken nonsense as he curled into a ball, still lost to the wine's embrace.
A strange white material began to flow across Alan's skin, creeping from the core in his chest down to his feet. It was a skin suit, Aldrich realized. It was one of the benefits of the white cores. It clothed his naked skin, shielding him from the chilling air. "Well, that's convenient," he muttered, a tired smile breaking through.
Exhaustion tugged at his limbs as he sank onto the bench, the day's battles weighing heavy.
Then, a holographic screen flared to life before him, the same ethereal display that had suddenly appeared to him in the forest. He could summon it at will, it seemed.
His eyes traced the glowing text. The Black Core. His breath caught. "Father, what is this?" he whispered to himself. Too many mysteries swirled, remaining unanswered. His gaze darted to Alan, wondering if it was possible the Highlander held answers about this mysterious core. Why had he never heard of it? What could it do? The thoughts churned.
He raised his watch, its screen flaring to life with a soft chime. Aldrich Alderman: 2,550 points. Scrolling through his kill history, he spotted an entry. 450 points. It was from the king skitterling. Higher creatures, it seemed, yielded higher rewards. A wry laugh escaped him as he wondered how many points King Jenoka himself would be worth? The thought was absurd, he knew. He doubted he could best Karlak, let alone the monstrous king.
His mind drifted to his friends. Herman, Bernard, Julia. Were they safe, scattered across this hellscape? Survival would be easier together.
Lying back on the bench, the night's chill seeped in, yet a strange warmth pulsed through him, perhaps the Black Core's doing. His eyelids grew heavy, the lantern's dance blurring into shadows, and sleep claimed him, a temporary refuge amid the storm of questions.
Aldrich bolted upright, his breath ragged, sweat drenching his frame, his clothes clinging to his skin like a second, sodden layer. It was that dream again. That vision of a cave, where his father's face spoke to a hooded figure, their words lost, except for the phrase "Kill Albernan."
His throat tightened as he steadied himself, blinking away the fog of sleep to take in his surroundings. The vine-draped chamber still housed him, its floral scent barely a comfort now. Alan sprawled across the hay bed, a gentle snore rumbling from his chest, his white skin suit shining under the rays of morning sun piercing through the open window. Dawn had broken over Mako.
With a groan, Aldrich peeled off his damp shirt, the fabric heavy with sweat. He kicked off his boots, still caked with mud from yesterday's trek. Clad only in his leather pants, he stepped into the cool morning air, raking a hand through his silver hair, the strands damp and wild. A deep breath filled his lungs. He needed to wash up desperately. His gaze wandered toward the back of the vine house, a gaggle of Sylvarith children darted past, giggling.
Ahead, a Sylvarith woman approached, balancing a wooden bucket of water atop her head with effortless grace, her eyes catching his with a flicker of curiosity. Aldrich opened his mouth to ask for water, then paused. She would not understand him. Instead, he resorted to a clumsy dance of gestures, hands flailing in a pitiful imitation of sign language.
To his relief, her face lit with a pretty smile, and she pointed back along her path. With a grateful bow, Aldrich plunged through the shrubs and trees, their branches brushing his bare shoulders like curious fingers. Soon, a small lake emerged. Its surface was a mirror of crystal clarity, shallow enough to wade.
He stepped in slowly, the chill biting into his flesh like a thousand tiny needles, but he pressed forward, his body adapting as the cold seeped into his bones. He still feared large bodies of water, this one just a little less.
With methodical care, he scrubbed away the dirt and dried blood that clung to his skin. After an intense washing, he stepped out, his wet leather pants chafing against his thighs. It was a poor choice to had entered the water with it. However, he had little to no choice. Better wet than naked, he'd just have to manage.