The heat of that afternoon was suffocating. Not because of the sun, but because of the weight of the chase. The town... Instam Belly, as they called it. A foolish name for a place that exhaled neglect and noise.
She walked fast. She did not run — not yet. Running is despair, and she did not show weakness. But her body begged for rest, and her mind for silence.
Four of them. She felt them before she saw them. She always did. They were like ancient ghosts coming to pull her back into the hell she had escaped from.
Not now, she thought, grinding her teeth behind the mask fused to her face, her armor against the world.
The square was full. Too many people. Too much ignorance. None of those faces would know what to do with the truth.
They surrounded her. A dirty theater. She twisted her body, kicked, resisted — not out of fear, but out of pride. They would not put her on her knees. But her exhausted body would not obey.
She fell.
The ground was rough, dirty.
Hatred. That was what she felt. Not for the enemies. For herself. For not having foreseen it. For being weak. For needing help.
And then...
A voice.
"Hey! Stop that!"
She turned her head with a mix of surprise and contempt. A boy. So ordinary, so... human.
"Do not dare..." she thought.
But he dared.
He ran. He stood up to them. He shouted again. The men hesitated. That stone... that thing...
They vanished.
She hated that. Not because she felt saved, but because she had been saved. The outstretched hand was a reminder of the weakness she had sworn never to allow again.
"Are you all right?"
The words cut deeper than the blows. She did not answer. She did not want to. But her body betrayed her again: her hand accepted the help.
She sat on the bench with effort. She hated being there. She hated being vulnerable. But she had to pretend. For now.
"Who were they? And you... where do you come from?"
Words. Always questions. Humans and their questions. As if they deserved answers.
She stared at him from behind the mask. She did not want to speak. But silence would kill her more than the truth.
"I... am not from here."
It was not a confession. It was a warning.
"I came from a very distant place... and they are hunting me."
She saw his eyes shine, like those of a curious dog.
He noticed the fragment on the ground.
"What is this?"
The fear returned, not of dying, but of losing again.
"This is a fragment of my world. They want to destroy it... and me as well."
But what she did not say — and would never say — was the truest thing: it did not matter who tried to save her, because deep down, she did not want to be saved.
The Encounter — Part 02 (her version)
The pain still throbbed in her back, but the discomfort was old, familiar — almost a constant memory since she had fled. The world around her felt different, irritating. The colors were too saturated, the sound of people too loud, the light of the sky too clear. Everything seemed intent on reminding her that she did not belong in that place.
She sat beside the boy who had helped her. Small, slight — but with a flame in his eyes she had seen before, in the eyes of people who did not know the danger they faced. Maybe he was foolish. Or maybe he was simply kind. But she did not have time to tell one from the other.
"Are you all right?" he asked once more. His voice sounded gentle, but there was something insistent about it. She almost answered with irritation. Almost. But she held back.
Her eyes fell on the small fragment the pursuers had dropped. The crystal pulsed faintly on the ground. It was a Chi'ia Destiny. Just seeing it there, so exposed, sent a dull rage rising in her chest. How dare they bring it here? How dare they use it against me...
She breathed deeply.
"It is a fragment of my world," she said, with a care that was almost painful. She did not want to reveal too much. Not yet.
The boy frowned, suspicious. She noticed. She noticed everything — the movement of his eyebrows, the unease in his words, the way he hesitated. His mind was like a half-open door. And she could not afford to let anyone enter.
He kept insisting. He asked again where she came from, who those men were. She averted her gaze. It was easier to pretend. Pretend the pain was not what she felt. Pretend there was no anger. Pretend she did not want to scream.
"I come from another city. That is all that matters now," she replied, her voice dry.
She hated lying. Not because it was wrong — but because it reminded her that she trusted no one anymore. That she had become someone who had to hide everything all the time.
He offered to take her to a diner. She hesitated, but his look was determined. It was madness to trust. But there was something in his insistence that made her give in. It was not trust — it was exhaustion.
The looks inside the diner hit her like knives. Of course... always the mask. Always the clothes. Always the stranger. They did not know. They would never understand. They only judged.
Still, she followed him to the table, silently. She thanked him silently. She ate, despite feeling no hunger. The sandwich tasted like paper. Nothing felt natural anymore.
The boy picked up the Chi'ia stone. When he spoke about it, there was genuine curiosity. But she felt panic rise inside her.
"It is dangerous in the wrong hands," she murmured, almost as a warning.
In truth, she wanted to say: It is dangerous because I was the one who made it.
But she kept silent. Because saying that would mean opening the door. And if she opened it... perhaps she could never close it again.
Conversation at the Diner — Part 03 (her version)
What a ridiculous place.
The smell of grease clung to the air like poison, and the shrill hum of that soda machine was the kind of auditory torture anyone with the slightest energetic sensitivity could not bear. She stepped into that cubicle of decayed reality only because there was no other option — and the boy insisted, as if he thought it some noble gesture.
She sat in the darkest corner, brushing the shining sleeve against the dirty seat with a subtle, yet loaded movement of disdain. Her eyes, hidden behind the mask, watched everything with silent irritation. Ordinary people… living ordinary lives… with no idea of what truly existed beyond their tiny mediocre bubble.
The sandwich was placed in front of her. She looked at it with the same contained disgust of someone staring at something grotesque in a cabinet of curiosities. Still, she ate. Because she needed to. Because her body, inferior as it was, still demanded nourishment. But she did not thank. She did not smile. She did not pretend.
He placed the stone on the table. A foolish, impulsive gesture. Dangerous, of course — but typical of a boy who did not understand the difference between carrying a secret and displaying a trophy.
"So… this stone is from your world?" he asked.
She nodded, unwilling to explain. But she knew she needed to say enough to keep him useful — and under control. So she answered firmly, measuring her words with care:
"A Chi'ia stone. Created, not found. It opens passages… for those who know how to activate it." She paused deliberately. "Or it causes destruction, in the wrong hands."
That last part was important. To see if he would start taking it seriously. He had to. She had no time or patience for neighborhood saviors.
"And you? What do you want with this stone?" he pressed.
She drew a deep breath. He would never truly understand. But again, she needed cooperation — not comprehension.
"I want to return. And prevent them from destroying what remains."
It was not a lie. But it was not the whole truth either. He did not need to know that what she wanted most was distance. From this world, these people, this pathetic situation. If she could, she would leave that boy right there. But the stone… was with him. And its power… still out of reach.
While he hesitated, she was already deciding for him.
Yes, he would stay close. At least for now.
She did not want to be there.
Not in that strange world, not in that filthy city, and least of all inside a diner where the smell of oil spread through the air like a plague. She sat only because her body was beginning to show signs of wear — not because she trusted that short, simple boy.
The mask remained firm on her face. If he thought he would ever see her without it, he was dreaming too high. It was humiliating enough to need the help of a stranger. She watched the stares of the customers with coldness. Let them whisper. Let them point. Let them all explode, if possible.
The sandwich? She looked at it as if it were a relic from another time, but not out of respect. Only biological curiosity. She took a small bite, because she needed to restore energy. She did not thank him, of course. That boy fooled himself with his own kindness. He thought he was saving someone.
Ridiculous.
The stone — Chi'ia, as they called it in her land — lay there, on the table. He placed it as if it were a jewel, but to her it was a burden. An important piece, yes. But also a reminder of her failure: letting it fall into the wrong hands.
"So… this stone is from your world?" he asked, with that voice of someone who thinks they are part of something grand.