Chapter 12

I swallowed hard, my voice hesitant but firm. “Why did you help me?”

The silence that followed was thick, stretching too long for comfort. I could hear my own breathing, shallow and uneven, and the faint, distant sounds of the forest above, muffled but still there. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured, as if each word were carefully chosen.

“Seemed like the right thing to do,” he said.

I frowned, my jaw tightening. His answer was too simple, too…convenient. In this world, kindness wasn’t just fool’s gold—it was dangerous. No one helped without a reason.

“You don’t strike me as the charitable type,” I said, keeping my tone low but pointed.

He shifted slightly, a gesture I couldn’t read. “Maybe I’m not,” he admitted. “But…maybe I saw something worth saving.”

“Something worth saving?” I echoed, disbelief creeping into my voice. “You don’t even know me. As a matter of fact I don’t even know me.”

“No,” he chuckled. “But I know desperation when I see it. And…” He hesitated, the pause lingering like a crack in his otherwise composed demeanor. “It’s rare to see someone fight so hard just to survive.”

The words should’ve felt like a compliment, but they didn’t. They felt like a hook, baited and dangling just out of reach.

“Right,” I said slowly, skepticism dripping from my tone. “And what do you want in return? As you can see, I’m not exactly at the best shape right now.”

He chuckled again, the sound low and humorless. “Suspicious, aren’t you? Can’t say I blame you. Nothing’s free, is it?”

“No,” I said flatly.

He shifted, the faint sound of the wind outside was nothing but palpable in the tense darkness. “You think I have some ulterior motive?”

“Don’t you?” I questioned, leaning slightly forward despite the ache in my body.

Another pause, longer this time. “Maybe I just didn’t want to watch someone die,” he said finally, his tone quieter, almost contemplative.

“Or maybe…I saw a chance to make a new friend in a world where that seems unlikely. After all, everything changed after being transported here from that cell block.”

Cell block? Don’t tell me he too…

He exhaled, a sound that could have been a sigh or just the weight of his next words. “Survivors,” he added. “They’re… scarce. Haven’t seen many since I was brought here. Not many make it.”

His tone was evasive, as though he was skirting something deeper, but there was enough sincerity there to make me hesitate. My grip on the bolt slackened just slightly.

“You were brought here from a cell block too?” I pressed.

“That’s right,” he said, almost absently, as if testing the words. “A long time ago. Longer than I can measure.”

My stomach twisted at the mention of the cell block. The memory it brought back was one I wasn’t willing to remember. It hit me like a wave—cold walls, the stink of sweat and blood, the clamor of chains, the screams all of it felt surreal. The cell block was where it all began, before I stepped into this hellscape.

And now Nidus was claiming the same origin. I’m not sure whether to believe it or not.

“Exactly how long ago?” I asked, trying to piece together his timeline.

He paused again, and the silence stretched long enough to make me wonder if he’d answer at all. “Couldn’t say,” he admitted finally. “Days blend into weeks. Weeks into… something else. Time’s slippery here.”

It wasn’t much of an answer, and it didn’t sit well with me. “And the others? You said you’ve seen survivors. How many? Where are they?”

Nidus shifted again, his voice dropping lower. “Not many,” he said, almost reluctantly. “Most… don’t last long. Some wander. Some… get caught.”

The way he said “caught” made my skin crawl.

There were many questions clawing at the edges of my mind, begging to be asked. Where exactly was this place? Were we still in the same world or somewhere else entirely? Who are the others? Is he acting alone?

But the words wouldn’t come. The constant stream of blood trickling down my forehead was too distracting, and the stabbing, unrelenting pain in my side made it hard to think straight.

I groaned, the sound low and guttural as I winced and leaned slightly to the side. My hand instinctively pressed against my ribs, as if that might dull the ache. It didn’t.

Nidus noticed, his shadowed figure shifting slightly in the dim light. “You’re not doing yourself any favors sitting there,” he said, his voice low but firm.

“Come on. There’s a tunnel this way.”

I looked at him skeptically as he moved toward the far side of the room. His movements were deliberate but unhurried, and his confidence in the near-total darkness made me uneasy.

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It wasn’t until he gestured toward a dark opening in the wall that I saw what he was referring to—an opening I hadn’t noticed before, its mouth barely visible in the shadows.

“It leads to one of my shelters,” he explained. “Built it myself. With help, of course.”

“Help?” I muttered, my suspicion flaring again, but Nidus didn’t elaborate. Instead, he crouched down and grabbed the unconscious girl by her shoulders. The sound of her body dragging across the dirt filled the silence, and I had to suppress a shudder.

“Got medical supplies there,” he added as he began to pull the girl toward the tunnel. “And you look like you’re gonna need them.”

I hesitated. The thought of following him into that pitch-black tunnel sent my nerves spiraling. In truth, I didn’t trust him at all. But the pulsing pain in my side was getting worse, and my vision was beginning to blur at the edges.

If I stayed here, I wasn’t sure I’d last much longer.

Nidus stopped just at the edge of the tunnel, his dark figure almost blending into the shadows. He turned slightly, his head tilting as though he could sense my hesitation.

“Your choice,” he said simply. “But if you’re smart, you’ll follow.”

I glanced down at the bolt still clutched tightly in my hand. My fingers flexed around it as I weighed my options. The idea of walking blindly into the unknown with someone suspicious made my stomach churn, but the promise of medical supplies… that was harder to ignore.

With a reluctant groan, I pushed myself to follow. Every movement sent sharp pangs through my body, and I had to bite back another wince as I staggered toward the tunnel.

“Quietly,” Nidus murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he disappeared into the darkness.

I followed, my movement unsteady but deliberate as I trailed behind him. The tunnel was narrow, the walls rough and damp against my shoulders. My injuries dragged me down as the sound of Nidus dragging the girl echoed softly ahead.

The dragging sound soon came to an abrupt stop, and I staggered forward, lagging just behind. My body protested every step, my injuries reminding me that I shouldn’t even be walking.

When I finally caught up, Nidus had already struck a torch.

The flame flared to life, bathing the small space in a warm orange glow. The room was unexpectedly structured, with wooden supports holding up the walls and ceiling, preventing the earth from caving in. It wasn’t luxurious—far from it—but it was functional.

A rough table and a few mismatched chairs occupied one corner. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with jars whose contents were an enigma. Nearby, several large clay pots stood sealed, their purpose unclear. A pile of rudimentary weapons sat haphazardly against the wall, and I immediately recognized some of them as kobold-made, their crude craftsmanship giving them away.

But it wasn’t the room or the weapons that grabbed my attention—it was Nidus himself.

Standing there in the flickering light, his features were finally clear. He was an older man, far older than me, with medium-length brown hair tangled and matted in places. His beard, equally unkempt, stretched down to his collar bone, streaked with a feint grey.

A deep scar ran across his cheek, jagged and pale against his weathered skin. His sharp blue eyes, though tired, gleamed with an unsettling intensity. His clothes were a patchwork of tattered fabric and fur, stitched together for warmth rather than appearance.

He looked like a disheveled man who had lived through too many battles and came out worse for wear.

Nidus plopped the unconscious girl onto the makeshift bed with surprising gentleness, muttering something under his breath. I hadn’t had a clear look at her earlier, but now there was no mistaking it—she was the same girl I had been watching before the chaos with the golem.

Her clothes were torn, her body littered with gashes, blood pooling beneath her. She looked as though she’d barely survived the daunting encounter.

And then there was me.

Nidus turned, his sharp eyes appraising me. He let out a low whistle. “How are you even standing?” he asked, his voice carrying a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“You’re in worse shape than her.”

I leaned against the wall, my legs threatening to give out. My side felt like it was on fire, and the blood dripping from my forehead had started to crust, though fresh trails still trickled down into my eyes. My left arm hung limp at my side, useless.

Nidus shook his head. “You got one hell of a willpower. Or maybe…” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Maybe you’re one of those special types. You know, like the bodies they talk about in the legends.”

I let out a dry, humorless laugh, though it hurt to do so. “Special? No. Just lucky.” I forced a weak grin. “And stubborn.”

He grunted, apparently satisfied with my answer, and strode over to the shelves. He rummaged through the jars, muttering to himself as he worked. Eventually, he grabbed two and tossed one toward me. My reflexes weren’t exactly sharp in my condition, so I barely managed to catch it without fumbling.

“Medicine,” he said simply, opening the jar in his hand. A sharp, herbal scent wafted out, stinging my nose.

He moved back to the girl and began applying the thick, paste-like substance to her wounds. His movements were deliberate, practiced. The cuts on her body seemed to stop bleeding almost instantly, the balm sealing them as if by magic.

I eyed the jar in my hand skeptically.

Nidus glanced at me and smirked. “What, you think I’d drag your sorry ass here just to poison you? Use it. Trust me or don’t, but you’re a dead man at this point if you don’t do something.”

I hesitated, my grip tightening around the jar. “Dead, huh?”

He chuckled softly. “Oh, yeah. I’d rather not deal with your corpse stinking up the place, if I’m honest.”

His tone was casual, but there was a flicker of something else in his voice—genuine concern? Or maybe he just didn’t want the hassle. Either way, I had little choice. My body couldn’t take much more abuse, and as much as I distrusted him, I wasn’t ready to die here.

Reluctantly, I opened the jar. The strong herbal scent hit me again, almost nauseating, but I scooped some of the balm onto my fingers. The texture was thick and gritty, and it tingled as I smeared it onto the worst of my wounds.

It stung at first, a sharp, biting pain, but then a cooling sensation followed. The relief was immediate, though far from complete.

“See?” Nidus said, not looking up from his work on the girl. “Not so bad, right?”

I didn’t answer, too focused on the faint numbness spreading through my injuries. For the first time in what felt like hours, the pain dulled to something bearable.

“Now sit tight,” he said, glancing at me briefly. “We’ve got a long night ahead.”

Nidus worked quickly and efficiently, pulling out a small wooden box from the corner of the room. It creaked as he opened it, revealing a collection of needles and spools of thick yarn. I realized with a twinge of unease that this was likely the same crude thread he used to patch together his tattered clothing.

He threaded a needle with practiced hands, then began stitching up the deep gashes on the girl’s body.

The sight was almost mesmerizing. His hands moved with the confidence of someone who had done this countless times before. Each stitch was tight, precise, and fast. He cleaned the wounds as he worked, using some kind of pungent liquid from a jar on the shelf. Before long, the girl’s face looked less pale, and the bleeding had stopped entirely.

Meanwhile, I dragged myself over to the nearest chair, my legs barely supporting me. Every step sent a wave of fire through my body, but I forced myself to sit, letting out a shaky breath. As I leaned back, something caught Nidus’s attention.

His sharp blue eyes focused on me, narrowing slightly. “You’ve got an arrow in your back,” he said flatly, as if pointing out the weather.

For a moment, I was confused. Then it hit me—the dull, throbbing pain I’d ignored in my lower back during all the chaos. I had forgotten entirely about it. My mind flashed back to the golem’s corpse, the chaos, the clash. That was when I’d been shot.

I laughed it off, though my voice was strained. “I guess I do,” I said, wiping at the blood still caking my face. The movement felt heavy, sluggish, my body teetering on the edge of collapse.

Nidus sighed, shaking his head. “Stubborn, was it? You’re just a fool. That thing’s buried deep. You’re in much worse shape than you think.” He crouched down in front of me, his voice lowering.

“Let me help. You’ll bleed out otherwise, no matter how tenacious you are.”

I hesitated. But the room spun slightly as I sat there. My body was indeed screaming at me to accept the help, I couldn’t pretend any longer.

Finally, I nodded. “Fine,” I said, my voice resolute. “But if this kills me—”

“Oh it probably will,” he interrupted. “Now sit forward.”

I shifted reluctantly, leaning forward with a wince. Nidus moved behind me, his presence looming. He studied the wound for a moment before speaking again. “This is going to hurt,” he warned.

“Count to three for me, yeah?”

I tensed, clutching the edge of the table in front of me. “Alright… three… two—”

Before I could even finish, he yanked the arrow out in one smooth motion.

The pain was immediate and blinding, tearing through me like a wildfire. I slammed my hand onto the table, a hoarse yell escaping before I could choke it back. My vision blurred, dark spots dancing across my eyes.

“Done,” Nidus said quickly, though his voice sounded far away.

I was barely aware of him working behind me, as he closed the wound with his needle and thread. The pain flared again with every movement, each stitch feeling like a knife twisting in my flesh. My muscles were taut, trembling with the effort to stay conscious. Then I felt him clean the wound before applying the balm.

But Nidus wasn’t finished.

He moved to the front of me, his gaze landing on my left arm. My stomach dropped when I followed his eyes. The entirety of it was twisted unnaturally and bone was exposed at the elbow, jagged and raw.

“That’s bad,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. “Needs to be set.”

I didn’t even have time to argue before he grabbed my wrist.

“Wait—” I started, panic rising in my chest.

“You know the drill, count down from three,” he said with a smile, his grip already tightening.

“Wait!” I protested, trying to pull away, but he held firm.

With one sharp, practiced motion, he wrenched my arm back into place.

The world exploded into pain.

It was unlike anything I’d ever felt, a shock that burned through my entire body. My vision went white, my head snapping back as I gasped. The edges of the room blurred suddenly, then went dark altogether.

I didn’t even feel myself hit the ground.