Chapter 13

The darkness of unconsciousness faded, replaced by a dreamscape I couldn’t place. The world around me was formless, shrouded in a haze of shifting greys and muted light. At the center of it all stood a figure, blurred and indistinct, as if someone had smeared their image with trembling hands.

I couldn’t make out their face or features, yet I felt an undeniable pull toward them—a familiarity so strong it almost hurt. My chest tightened, and before I even realized it, I was speaking, the words slipping from my mouth without thought.

“Where is my mother?”

The question caught me off guard, like it had come from someone else entirely. I froze, confused. Mother? The word felt alien on my tongue, distant and out of reach, yet it was undeniably mine. I could feel it, this strange, empty yearning for something I couldn’t name.

But as soon as the question hung in the air, another, darker thought clawed its way into my mind.

Did I even have parents?

My earliest memories were a black void, punctuated only by my waking in that damp, suffocating cave. I had never thought to question my origins before, never needed to. Yet here I was, asking after a mother I wasn’t even sure existed.

Before I could unravel the mess of thoughts spiraling in my head, the figure moved—or, at least, I thought it did. Its edges wavered and flickered like a mirage, and then it spoke.

The sound that came out made me flinch.

It wasn’t a voice. Not really. It was a fragmented, unnatural sound, like someone had layered a deep, resonant male voice with a distorted, alien hum. The tones didn’t belong together, warping and colliding in ways that made my head ache.

The words were no better. They tumbled out in a garbled mess, fragments of sentences stitched together into something almost incomprehensible.

“…far away… place… where… you… was…”

It didn’t make sense. Not a single coherent sentence, and yet… it did. Somehow, deep in the marrow of my being, I understood.

A faraway location. That was what it had said. Somewhere distant and unreachable. That was where I would find the answers—or so it seemed to imply.

But why did I believe it? Why did I know it to be true?

The figure remained still, its blurred outline now trembling faintly. I opened my mouth to press it for more, but the world around me began to distort, dissolving into streaks of dark and light.

“No, wait!” I shouted, reaching for the figure, but my voice echoed uselessly in the void.

The dream shattered like glass, and I fell.

A sharp throb in my skull dragged me back to the waking world, and I groaned, clutching my head with one shaky hand. The pounding sensation behind my temples was relentless, like someone was hammering from the inside.

Sweat slicked my face and dripped down my neck, the damp fabric of my clothes sticking to my skin. My breaths came shallow and uneven, each one pulling me further out of the haze.

I blinked a few times, squinting at my surroundings through the dim light of the torch still burning on the wall. The room was as I remembered it—wooden supports, cluttered shelves, jars, and a stack of mismatched weapons. My eyes fell on myself next, and I was astounded.

The wounds I remembered—the torn flesh, the deep gashes that felt like they’d split me apart—were now stitched up nicely. Every cut was sealed with neat, precise lines of thread. My body was far from perfect, bruises and dried blood still painting my skin, but I wasn’t bleeding out anymore.

The pain was still there, dull and insistent, but manageable. I flexed my fingers, watching my hand tremble before my gaze shifted to my left arm. It wasn’t twisted anymore.

Bandages were wrapped tightly around the limb, securing it in place. A long, straight stick was bound alongside it, forming a crude splint. I moved it slightly, wincing at the soreness but marveling at how functional it felt.

Nidus had done this. Somehow, that unkempt stranger had patched me up, even while I’d been out cold.

I exhaled slowly, the tension in my chest easing. That was when I noticed it—a steady, rhythmic sound. Breathing.

Turning my head, I spotted the girl lying on the makeshift bed. Her chest rose and fell in a slow, peaceful rhythm, and for a moment, I thought she might have woken. But her eyes remained closed, her expression slack with exhaustion.

She looked… better. Cleaner. The blood that had coated her body earlier was gone, her skin pale but no longer deathly. The deep wounds on her arms and legs were bandaged as carefully as my own, and her face was no longer twisted in agony.

I studied her for a moment longer, noting the faint colour returning to her cheeks. She seemed to be breathing easily, almost as if she were sleeping off a fever rather than surviving the brink of death.

A voice cut through the haze of my thoughts, jolting me back to reality.

“Had a nightmare, didn’t you?”

I whipped my head toward the source, wincing as my neck protested. Nidus was there, leaning casually against the tunnel’s entrance with his arms crossed, his sharp blue eyes fixed on me. The torchlight cast jagged shadows across his scarred face, making it impossible to read his expression fully.

Before I could respond, he spoke again. “You shouldn’t move around like that. Unless you’re hoping to rip open those wounds I spent half the night patching up.” He smirked, but there was something sharper lurking beneath the surface. “Took a long time closing them up, you know. Don’t make me regret the effort.”

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I gritted my teeth and shifted uncomfortably in the chair, my fingers clenching on the armrests. This man was an enigma—half-savior, half-mystery—and I still couldn’t tell whether he was the kind to drive a blade into my back once I was healthy enough to stand. But, for all the questions churning in my head, I forced myself to swallow my pride.

“…Thanks,” I muttered, barely audible.

Nidus tilted his head, clearly amused by my awkward gratitude. “What was that?”

“I said thank you,” I repeated, louder this time, though the words felt heavy and unfamiliar on my tongue. “For saving my life. And hers too.” My gaze flicked toward the girl, who was still breathing steadily on the makeshift bed.

He shrugged, the gesture almost too nonchalant. “Don’t mention it. Seriously. Don’t.”

Despite his casual tone, I couldn’t shake the lingering suspicion that gnawed at me. People didn’t just do things like this out of the goodness of their hearts. I didn’t know how to repay him, but something about his easy mannerisms and vague explanations felt… wrong.

And then it hit me like a gut punch.

The bolt. The red spheres.

I sat up straighter, patting my pockets with a growing sense of dread. My stomach churned as my hands came up empty. They were gone.

Nidus caught the shift in my expression immediately, his posture changing subtly. His arms uncrossed, and he straightened up from the tunnel wall, his gaze narrowing as if he were studying me.

“Looking for your stuff?” he asked in a voice that sounded far too casual to be innocent.

My body tensed, my instincts screaming at me to be on guard. My voice was sharp, demanding. “Where are they?”

Nidus didn’t answer immediately. His eyes flicked to my hands, noting the tension in my posture, before his lips curled into something that might have been a smirk. Or maybe it was a warning.

“Where are they?” I repeated, louder this time, my anger bubbling to the surface. My heart was racing now, my chest tight with the realization that I might’ve been duped. Had this been his plan all along? To lull me into trust, patch me up, then take what I’d risked everything to get?

I almost laughed at my own stupidity. Of course. Of course, this was the real reason he’d gone through the trouble.

But Nidus raised both hands slowly, palms out, as if to diffuse the situation. “Relax,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “Take a deep breath before you do something stupid.”

My eyes narrowed, and I didn’t move an inch.

With deliberate slowness, Nidus reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two familiar red spheres, their surfaces gleaming faintly in the dim torchlight. In his other hand, he held the crossbow bolt I’d hidden in my pocket earlier.

“I was just curious,” he explained, holding the objects out in front of him like a peace offering. “Wanted to examine these for a bit. And the bolt? Well, let’s just say it’s not every day you find someone with a weapon in their pocket and no weapon to fire it from. Safety reasons, you understand.”

“Give them back,” I snapped, rising from my chair despite the protests from my aching body.

He arched a brow, amused. “You’re in no shape to start demanding things. But fine.”

Surprisingly, Nidus stepped forward and extended the items toward me. I snatched them from his hands without hesitation, shoving the spheres back into my pocket and gripping the bolt tightly against him.

“There,” he said, taking a step back and folding his arms again. “Happy now?”

I glared at him, but I didn’t respond. My pulse was still hammering in my ears, the adrenaline making it hard to think straight. Nidus might’ve handed the items back without a fight, but the unease in my chest didn’t fade.

Not one bit.

The fact that he had returned them without resistance caught me off guard, and for a brief moment, I wondered if I had misjudged him. But no—something still didn’t sit right.

What if he had done something to them?

He’d had enough time while I was unconscious, after all. And from the way he acted, I knew he wasn’t just some aimless survivor. He’d been here a long time, long enough to know things I didn’t. I glanced at him suspiciously and asked,

“You know what they are, don’t you?”

He didn’t respond.

Instead, his sharp blue eyes locked onto mine, studying me with unnerving precision. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, as if he were weighing a decision he wasn’t ready to make.

“Answer me,” I said, my voice low but firm. “Why didn’t you take them? Or destroy them? That’s what the warden wanted us to do, wasn’t it?”

The question hung in the air like a blade, but Nidus didn’t flinch. He kept his gaze steady, his face unreadable. Then, with an infuriating calmness, he raised his hands slightly, a gesture of peace, before turning away.

“Hey!” I snapped, anger rising as he walked over to the chair opposite mine, sitting down with deliberate ease. His nonchalance only made my suspicions worse, and the knot of unease in my stomach tightened.

My grip on the bolt in my hand tightened. Pointing it directly at him, I demanded, “Answer me!”

Nidus raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable but still maddeningly calm. “Put that down,” he said evenly, his voice low and almost too composed.

I didn’t move. My heart raced, adrenaline surging through my veins. “Not until you tell me everything!”

His eyes hardened slightly, and the tension in the air grew unbearable. “Put it down,” he repeated slowly, his voice carrying an edge of authority that sent a chill down my spine.

But I refused. I stood firm, glaring at him with all the defiance I could muster. “No! I’m not doing anything until you tell me who you really are!”

For a moment, silence. And then, he sighed heavily, his head dipping slightly before he looked up at me again. When he spoke, it was a single word—one that sent a bolt of ice through my chest.

“Pawn.”

The world tilted. My breath hitched, and every muscle in my body froze as if the word had struck some invisible chord deep inside me. It wasn’t just a word—it was a command. A trigger.

“Sit,” Nidus said, his tone quiet but unyielding.

Before I could even process what was happening, my legs moved on their own. I stumbled backward and sank into the chair, my body obeying him without my consent. Panic surged as I tried to fight the invisible force that compelled me, but it was like my limbs no longer belonged to me.

I stared at Nidus, my eyes wide with shock and confusion. My chest heaved as I gasped for air, my mind racing to make sense of what had just happened. How? That was the only thought pounding in my head. How could he do this?

This wasn’t possible. The only one who could compel me like this was the warden back in the cell block. The same warden who had reduced me—and the others like me—to mere tools. Pawns.

“W-what did you do to me?” I whispered, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to stay composed.

Nidus didn’t answer immediately. He leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze never leaving mine. His expression was unreadable, but there was a weight to it, a presence that suddenly felt overwhelming.

“Just who the hell are you?” I demanded, though my voice cracked with the fear I couldn’t quite hide.

“I’m Nidus, didn’t you know?” he said simply, his sharp blue eyes still locked onto mine. The name sounded hollow now, empty of meaning.

Then, as if indulging my earlier question, he continued. “You asked if I knew what those red orbs were? Of course, I do. And yes, I could have destroyed one the moment it was in my hands—exactly as the warden would have wanted.”

His tone was conversational, but there was a weight beneath it, a history he wasn’t saying outright. “In fact,” he added, “I’m surprised you managed to acquire them in the first place. And two at that.”

That revelation caught me off guard. The way he spoke… it was as if these orbs were rarer than I’d thought, more than just a dangerous curiosity. But his next words sent a jolt of disbelief through me.

“I didn’t destroy one for two reasons,” he said. “First, I wanted to look at them. It’s been ages since I’ve seen one. A nostalgia of sorts.” His lips curled faintly at the memory. “Second… well, I’m too old. I understand my limits. I can’t use them.”

I blinked, trying to piece together what he was saying. “What do you mean?” I asked, my voice harsher than intended.

Nidus exhaled slowly, leaning forward now, resting his elbows on his knees. He seemed to be deciding how much to tell me. “These red spheres,” he began, “aren’t just some random objects. They’re keys. Keys to this realm. I’ve spent decades here, and over the years, I’ve learned bits and pieces about this place—most of it from others like me. People who had been here even longer.”

I stiffened. “Others?”

“Yes. Dozens, maybe hundreds over time. They all had their theories, their stories. But the most consistent one is this: this realm isn’t the real world. It’s some kind of… dimension, split off from reality. A trial ground, if you will, created by whoever brought us here.”

The words struck like a hammer to my chest. I stared at him, my mind spinning.

“These red spheres,” he continued, holding up a finger as if teaching a lesson, “are the keys to leaving. Destroy one, and you leave this realm. You may return to the real world—or at least, that’s the theory. What happens after that? No one knows. But I’ve seen many ‘pawns,’ as ‘they’ call us, disappear after destroying one.”

The weight of what he was saying hit me all at once. My mind struggled to understand the weaving information on display. If he was telling the truth, then these weren’t just strange artifacts—they were my only way out.

But before I could respond, Nidus spoke again, his voice softening tinged with sadness. “I gave up the chance to leave a long time ago.”

“What?”

He nodded. “I’ve been here for decades. Long enough to realize that this realm—this trial—wasn’t meant for people like me anymore. It’s for children. Young, adaptable minds with the potential to survive and succeed. I’ve seen the pattern too many times. And me? I’ve stayed here too long. Wasted too many years. Even if I used one now…” His voice trailed off, his eyes darkening with something I couldn’t place—regret, maybe, or fear.

“What would happen if you did?” I pressed.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. And I’m not eager to find out. There’s a certain reason why only children are sent here. Additionally, there’s a reason why the trials seem to favor the young. Whatever happens to adults like me who take a way out… I’m not willing to risk it.”

His explanation felt flawed, the sheer defeat in his voice infuriating. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “So what?” I snapped. “You’re just giving up? Letting this place keep you forever?”

My words hung in the air, and for the first time, Nidus seemed taken aback. He studied me with a quiet intensity, the smirk that usually danced on his face gone.

“It’s not giving up,” he said after a long pause. “It’s knowing when a fight isn’t mine to win anymore.”

“That’s bullshit,” I shot back. My voice cracked with emotion I hadn’t meant to show, anger and frustration spilling out of me. “If you had a way out—if you really had the choice—you’d take it. Anyone would, it’s common sense!”

But Nidus just stared at me, unflinching. And for the first time, I couldn’t tell if he pitied me—or if he envied me.

“You don’t understand”, Nidus implied seriously.