"Sorry, it's all my fault. I shouldn't have used an elemental skill." Adelaide's voice, usually as sharp as her arrows, softened into something almost... vulnerable. What's with the sudden damsel-in-distress vibe? And more pressingly, why on earth is she still sprawled on my chest like it's her personal throne? Is she doing this on purpose? Whatever her game was, it was turning my lungs into deflated party balloons, and the awkwardness level was skyrocketing past "embarrassing" into "eternal regret" territory.
"Um, evil eye balloon alert?" I wheezed out, squirming uncomfortably and desperately short of breath.
"Oh, right!" she snapped back to reality, as if the floating nightmare had just reminded her of her own grocery list. "Don't use any elemental skills. It can smell it by looking." Her forehead wrinkled like a crumpled map, and her eyes drifted off, clearly second-guessing the sheer absurdity of her own words.
"Smell by wh—"
"It can track elemental magic with its eyes!" she blurted, steamrolling my question like a runaway cart. She pushed herself upward, her face hovering mere inches from mine—close enough that I could count her freckles. I locked eyes with those deep blue pools, my heart hammering like a glitchy drum solo from a very dangerous and confusing cocktail of terror and proximity. Gawd, she's gorgeous, my traitorous brain supplied, my gaze dipping southward for a split-second. And look at them boo—.
"Eyes up here," she whispered, her voice a velvet whip. She snapped her fingers right in my face, yanking my gaze back and shattering my internal fanboy meltdown. "Crawl... over there," she ordered, jabbing a finger upward. My eyes followed to the hulking trunk of a colossal tree, ancient and twisted like a grumpy old wizard's staff.
"Oka..." I began, already regretting my life choices.
Then, she moved. Tsk, tsk, tsk, you never learn, Kiko? I berated myself for tumbling right back into her bizarre communication black hole. Any normal person would've scooted aside, then crawled up like a civilized adventurer. But no—Adelaide decided the brilliant strategy was to crawl *directly* from her current spot (atop my poor, flattened torso) to the tree trunk, treating me like a living doormat in the process.
Her breasts smooshed against my face, muffling a startled "oh, hey!" She planted a boot on my hand, drawing an "oof!" that echoed my soul's despair. Her knee jammed into my right shoulder—"oww!"—followed by a full step on my chest that squeezed out an "aww!" like a sad whoopee cushion. All the while, she dragged her lithe form upward across me, turning my body into a human jungle gym while I emitted a chorus of wacky, cartoonish yelps that would've made Looney Tunes jealous.
To pile on the humiliation, amid my throbbing symphony of pain, she delivered a gentle (but oh-so-not) kick to my left shoulder. "Hey, what are you doing? Come on!" she hissed violently, her whisper laced with the urgency of a caffeinated squirrel.
I bit my tongue, throttling the urge to yell back something unprintable. Rolling to the side—my aches now a full orchestra of complaints—I crawled after her, begrudgingly playing the role of loyal (and battered) sidekick.
She reached the tree trunk, sprang up with feline grace, then ducked low and peeked toward the eye balloon's direction. She waved me on, mouthing with exaggerated exasperation, "Let's go, come on!" I crawled like my life depended on it—which it did—twitching in agony like an earthworm that had just lost a bet with a boot.
Finally, I hauled myself to the trunk and stood, legs wobbling like overcooked noodles. "Follow me," Adelaide whispered, pivoting smoothly and gliding forward without a single footfall sound. It was downright eerie, especially since her boots sported heels that looked three to four inches tall—perfect for tripping over roots, not vanishing into silence. Active skill? Passive perk? Or some set-item magic? I had no clue. But man, there was so much I still didn't know about this world: the mechanics, the skills, the races, the lore, and the breathtaking (and butt-kicking) scenic views. It wasn't daunting—it was exhilarating, like unlocking a new expansion pack.
CRACK! I glanced down. A branch had snapped under my boot like a traitorous twig, rudely interrupting my gamer daydreams with a sound that could wake the dead. I shot a look at Adelaide, who was already mid-facepalm, her palm practically glued to her forehead. "Noobs," she muttered, the word dripping with the patience of a saint dealing with a particularly dimwitted goblin.
"Sorr—"
"Guard me," she commanded, slicing through my apology like a hot knife through butter. She crouched, pressed her palm to the earth, and murmured, "Oh, wandering spirit of the forest, grant your humble servant a gift of your sight." Her voice layered upon itself, doubling and tripling into an eerie echo that sent shivers down my spine. Brrrr, creepy much? She lifted her hands, framing the air like a photographer sizing up a shot. She waved them around, then froze, pointing skyward at the canopy. "Lock," she intoned, and a shimmering screen flickered to life between her palms. Whoa! My jaw dropped in gamer awe. I sidled closer and saw it was a live video feed from high above the treetops, gazing down like a spy bird's-eye view. She gestured, and the camera panned smoothly, mimicking a high-tech CCTV. She adjusted again, locking onto the Beholder—now a grotesque horror show, its mouth birthing floating eyeballs one after another like some nightmarish Gashapon dispenser. "Oh, crap, not good," she grumbled, clapping the screen shut with a soft pop. She turned to me, her face ashen, like all the color had been sucked out by a vampire filter. "Run!" She bolted, leaping from a massive tree root into a flawless ground roll, then parkouring away with the grace of a woodland sprite on steroids.
I didn't need telling twice—or even once. I sprinted after her, aping her moves in a bootleg, budget version: clumsy leaps, desperate stumbles, and slides that left me tasting dirt. It was less "elegant escape" and more "panicked pinball."
"Uwauuuuuuu!" A deafening, hooting shriek shattered the forest's hush, sending birds and critters exploding in every direction like confetti from a monster party. I chased the fading blur of Adelaide. At a sharp curve, I nearly bowled over a hulking rabboar that, instead of charging me, panicked right back—tripping over its own hooves, scrambling up, and fleeing the opposite way like it had seen the world's biggest bill.
And in the blink of an eye, I lost her. "Quack!" I yelped in frustration. I spun around. The critter exodus was staggering, a furry stampede that screamed bad omen. But I knew this turf—the science lab's layout was burned into my brain. Familiar ground means better survival odds, I reasoned. I whipped out my map; my location blinked just left of the lab. I veered right around a massive fallen tree. And there it was, the structure looming like an old, grumpy friend. I didn't hesitate—up I climbed, scrambling to the dome opening. I glanced back: multiple eyes swept the forest right in front of the lab, probing like demonic searchlights. "Science Lab 2.0," I whispered, and slipped inside, heart pounding like a victory drum.