Elion's battered body struck the water. Cold seeped into his skin as he fought to surface and breathe. The current slammed him into unseen rock formations, slicing his flesh on jagged stone. He managed to gasp for air before being dragged under again by the powerful torrent.
Desperately flailing his arms to stay above water, he was thrown against another rock, his consciousness flickering. His body went limp as he drew what he thought would be his last breath.
Ah…
Well, I guess that's it…
Why does death have to be so painful? Haven't I suffered enough?
His back screamed in agony. His skin felt mangled and torn. His head throbbed like a knife had been driven straight through his skull.
And beneath the pain—there it was again. The roar of rushing water…
No! Not again! Please, just let me be dead!
Something was poking at his face—like a cold finger.
Elion finally found the strength to open his eyes. A silhouette took shape through the blurred haze of his vision. Light was coming from somewhere, though he couldn't tell where.
As the world sharpened, he could make out who was poking him, as if checking whether he was still alive.
It was Farha. The rifle she'd carried was nowhere in sight. She jumped back in surprise as his eyes opened.
They were in a narrow cavern, sand stretched out in every direction, broken only by the river beside them. Pale fungi and lichen illuminated the area with their dim light.
Elion tried to move, only to let out a sharp yelp as a wave of pain tore through his head. He rolled to the side clumsily, shifting off the mound of stones that had been pressing against his back. Looking up at Farha—who was standing nearby on what felt like sand—he saw she didn't look any better.
Blood was running down the side of her face. She clutched her left shoulder, crimson seeping through her fingers. Her dark hair clung to her skin in loose strands, and her eyes held a silent question.
Elion groaned and sat upright before opening his mouth.
"Do you know where we are?" he asked, his voice strained.
Farha shrugged and shook her head.
He looked around, trying to discern something from his surroundings. Everything was unfamiliar—it didn't remotely resemble anything he'd seen on the maps. A few meters away, he spotted his pack lying on the sand.
Elion tried to crawl toward it, but the effort proved to be too much. He collapsed back onto the sand, unmoving.
Everything hurts too goddamn much!
Noticing his struggle, Farha—still able to walk—brought the pack over to him. He looked up at her and muttered a quiet, "Thanks."
The young cook rummaged through the bag, searching for the first aid kit. Once he found the white box, he used his ability to glance at his own body.
"What the hell!"
Farha—who was holding her own first aid kit, though her bag was nowhere in sight—looked over at him, puzzled. He ignored her, eyes fixed on the threads of chromatic light that wove through his body.
How am I even alive?
The threads weren't radiant anymore. They looked pale and frayed, nearly broken. He knew he was injured, but not to this degree. He didn't even know where to start.
The first aid kit was a potent one, designed in a collaboration between Goreth and Horis—the city of Mercy and Hope, though no mercy befell that cursed place when it was ruthlessly ravaged by the class VI. Still, they remained prodigious healers.
He opened the white box. Inside were a roll of bandages, a bottle of some kind of lotion, and suture wire with a needle.
Elion applied the lotion to the worst wounds, grimacing at the sting. The injuries weren't deep enough to require stitching, so he wrapped himself in the bandages. Black glyphs had been drawn on the cloth, and they shimmered faintly as he pressed them to his skin.
It was a basic regeneration enchantment—not very powerful, but enough to significantly speed up healing. They were expensive to make, but Goreth's engineers had managed to mass-produce them. That, of course, had caused a bit of tension with Horis. The followers of the goddess of Mercy and Hope found the industrialization of sacred magic repulsive—but they backed down when they saw how many lives it could save.
With the bleeding mostly under control, Elion let out a long breath of relief. He turned his gaze to Farha, who had removed her camo jacket, revealing a black tank top underneath. She was shivering slightly in the cold, inspecting the ugly wound on her right shoulder with the needle in hand.
Elion pulled himself closer and looked at it.
"Let me help you with that," he said, gently taking the needle from her shaking fingers.
He brought the skin together, making her wince. He had never done this before, but he remembered the instructions from the manual given to them back in S33.
"This is going to hurt… but you already know that."
He pushed the needle through with a steady hand. Farha trembled but held steady. Elion finished with a knot and wrapped the bandage around the wound.
The black-haired girl slumped down with a relieved sigh. She then tied a bandage around her forehead, where another gash bled, and stuffed the remaining supplies back into the box.
She slung the soaked and bloodied jacket back over her shoulders and extended her arm into empty space—where it vanished at the elbow. A soft violet shimmer marked the border of nothingness.
So that's her ability, she can create some kind of pocket dimension.
That explained how she managed to carry a rifle unnoticed, and maybe even how she punched him from a distance.
Elion felt a flicker of jealousy. It was an incredibly useful ability.
Instead of just stashing the first aid kit, she pulled out her entire pack and slung it over her shoulder.
A hint of confusion crossed Elion's face.
"Why don't you just leave it in your ability instead of carrying it?" he asked.
She gazed at him for a moment before crouching down and writing two words in the sand:
Soul Integrity
Ah, of course there's a catch. The weight or size of the objects she could store must be limited—or her soul would begin to unravel.
Elion nodded, then asked another question.
"What do we do next?"
She studied him for a moment, then wrote two more words:
Find Others
"Alright."
The young cook staggered to his feet, every movement an effort. Just staying upright felt like a battle.
"Do you… have a stick or something in your ability to help me walk?" he asked, realizing traveling like this wouldn't work.
Farha reached into the void and pulled out a massive sniper rifle—longer than Elion was tall.
He frowned at the intricate design and energy tanks attached to it.
That had to be absurdly expensive. Who is she really? No new Unlocked should have gear like that.
He shook his head.
"Eh… maybe not that."
She looked relieved and stashed it away again. After thinking for a moment, she stepped up to him, slung his arm over her shoulder, and supported his weight. Then she smiled and gave him a thumbs-up with her free hand.
That works, I guess…
Together, they hobbled along the dark sand, following the river. Bioluminescent lichen sprawled across the cavern walls, casting an otherworldly glow. It would've been beautiful—if not for the fact they could be attacked at any moment.