The sun rose slowly over the devastated landscape, its first rays filtering through the thick curtain of vines that obstructed the entrance to the cave. Idris woke first, his limbs heavy and his body still aching. Lyra slept beside him, her naked body pressed against his. He could feel the warmth of her skin, the curve of her generous breasts rising and falling with the steady rhythm of her breathing, the familiar intertwining of their thighs. A morning erection began to stir, but he pushed it back, focusing his attention on the world beyond the shelter. The fire was now nothing but a pile of cold, gray ashes; the stagnant air carried a persistent smell of wet earth and decomposing vegetation.
Lyra finally stirred, a slight shiver running across her shoulder. She opened her eyes. A slow, lascivious smile spread across her full lips.
"Already awake?" she murmured, her voice still hoarse with sleep.
Idris answered with a smile, but his mind was elsewhere, haunted by the questions from the previous day. "Before anything else, I'd like you to answer me. What exactly happened? How did the world come to this?"
He sat up, leaning back against the cold, rocky wall of the cave. Lyra sighed, stretching in a way that highlighted the supple muscles of her abdomen. She sat facing him, legs crossed.
"Very well," she began, her smile fading. "It all started several centuries ago, with what we call the Black Sap. No one knows where it came from; all we know is that it swept across the continents, causing catastrophes everywhere in the world. It specifically targeted men. They died in atrocious suffering, their bodies literally liquefying from the inside. The few who survived… wasted away."
Idris frowned, trying to grasp the scale of such a cataclysm. "And the women? How did you survive?"
"We mutated," she stated bluntly, tossing her cascading hair back over her shoulders. "The Black Sap didn't kill us, but it transformed us permanently. As a result, our bodies became more resilient, turning us into what we call mutants. However, this adaptation came at a price. Since then, we only give birth to daughters. Moreover, we are not the only ones who changed. The entire fauna underwent accelerated mutations, becoming more aggressive, more voracious, and often monstrous. Civilization could not withstand this double assault. Critical infrastructure was destroyed, governments collapsed, and the few survivors banded together into tribes to face the new dangers."
Idris digested the information, feeling the weight of this apocalyptic legacy. "And this specific place? Does it have a name?"
"We are in the lands of Novarik," she replied, her gaze becoming piercing, intense, as if gauging his reaction. "It's a region from the old world, now covered by the Throat-Forest, a mutant jungle that devours the ruins of cities."
Wanting more information, Idris continued. "Can you measure your power? What is the range of the abilities that developed, and where do you stand compared to the others?"
The fire was now nothing but a pile of cold gray ashes. Lyra rose in a slow, almost ceremonial movement and took a few steps around the dead hearth. The silence of the cave, broken only by the breath of wind at the entrance, made her voice clearer.
Lyra crossed her arms, thinking about the best way to phrase her answer. "They vary considerably. After the Great Mutation," she began, her eyes lost in the remnants of embers, "those who survived… they didn't just change physically. They were given abilities, engraved in the blood. We call them runes."
She paused, turning her gaze toward Idris, as if to make sure she had his full attention.
"These runes are classified according to their power, from E, the weakest, to S. Each corresponds to a particular gift. Mine is rank C: it's the rune of physical reinforcement." She slowly flexed her arm, and even in the dim light, Idris could make out the sharp tension of the muscles beneath her skin. "It increases my strength, my endurance, and considerably accelerates my regeneration. A deep gash would close in just a few hours."
She stopped, letting the information sink in. Then, in a lower tone, she added: "However, possessing a rune is not enough to determine the hierarchy of strength. Each rune class is subdivided into nine distinct tiers. Thus, a warrior with a rank C reinforcement rune but only at the first tier will be vastly outclassed by another of the same rank but at the third or fourth tier. The finesse of control, the amplitude of the power… everything differs."
Idris nodded, mentally assembling the pieces of the puzzle. "So you must be quite powerful, with that. Capable of facing most dangers, I imagine."
An ambiguous smile curved Lyra's lips. Without a word, she moved closer, closing the distance between them. She settled onto his lap. Her weight was light; Idris felt the heat of her body through their clothes, the firm pressure of her breasts against his chest. She tilted her head toward his ear, and her whisper was a warm, possessive breath.
"I am strong, yes. Strong enough to dominate this territory. But you…" Her hand slid up his arm, lingering on his shoulder. "You are different. A weak man... In this ravaged world, such a rarity… is of inestimable value."
A shiver ran down his spine. To hide it, he steered the conversation, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.
"Tell me about the other tribes, Lyra. How many roam these lands? What are their respective strengths? Are there alliances, or is the law of the strongest the only one that matters?"
As he lined up his questions, he noticed a subtle change in her demeanor. Her fingers, resting on his shoulders, tightened. The pressure became stronger, almost painful. Her gaze, previously intense, darkened. She pressed herself even closer against him, in a gesture that no longer had anything seductive about it.
"Why all these details?" Her voice had lost its velvet tone, gaining a sharp edge. "You don't need to know all that. That knowledge is useless… and dangerous for you."
She stood up, breaking the contact. Her shadow danced on the rocky wall.
"You will stay here, in this cave. I will protect you. I will hunt for both of us. No one will find you. You are under my guard now. You belong to me."
Idris felt the alarm bells ringing in his head. "Wait, Lyra. I am not an object to be locked away. Understanding my environment is the first step to surviving. I don't want to be a burden."
She shook her head, dismissing his arguments with a simple motion. "No. Outside these stone walls, you wouldn't survive a single day. Without a rune, without mutation, you are more fragile than a fledgling fallen from the nest. Your curiosity would kill you. So you stay."
Then she slipped on her leather tunic, adjusted the cord of her bow over her shoulder, and slid a long knife into her belt, thus ending the discussion.
"I'm going out to hunt. We need meat." She turned toward the entrance, a pale slash of light in the darkness. "Don't move from there. Don't go out under any circumstances. I'll be back before nightfall."
And without looking back, she melted into the light outside, disappearing from Idris's sight.
Silence fell again. Idris remained motionless for a long moment. "Damn! I've just been kidnapped."
The cold reality struck him full force: escaping would be suicidal in his current state. The dangers she spoke of the rival tribes, the mutant monsters were undoubtedly very real. But staying meant submitting, gradually becoming a pet, a possession whose sole purpose was to exist to satisfy the possessiveness of his guardian.
He finally stood up, his muscles tense, and walked to the entrance of the cave.