After their conversation, Riven leapt from the tree with a fluid grace, her boots landing lightly against the cobblestones below. The quiet thud echoed in the stillness, a sound both final and fleeting. She didn’t look back. Instead, she raised a hand in a casual wave over her shoulder, a gesture as dismissive as it was distant.
The dim light of the street lanterns caught the edges of her silhouette, turning her into a shadowy figure against the night. She walked away, each step swallowed by the growing darkness, her presence fading like a whisper carried off by the wind.
“If you ever need to talk,” Caelus called after her, his voice steady but tinged with quiet desperation, “I’ll always listen.”
She didn’t pause, didn’t offer even the smallest glance over her shoulder. The silence that followed was deafening, her retreat a wordless answer. The golden glow of the lamps seemed to flicker as her figure dissolved into the shadowed streets, leaving Caelus alone under the sprawling canopy of stars, his words lingering in the air like an unanswered prayer.
Now, Caelus lay sprawled across the bed in the small, rented home he shared with Lorian. The room was modest but cozy, the faint scent of polished wood and the lingering humidity of his earlier shower filling the air. Droplets from his damp hair clung stubbornly to his temples, cooling his skin in the gentle breeze from the cracked window. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, though he wasn’t truly seeing it—his thoughts churned like restless tides, pulling him deeper into the events of the night.
Riven’s voice echoed in his mind, each word sharp and heavy, replaying in an endless loop. Her bitterness, her vulnerability—it all clung to him, a weight he couldn’t ignore. They’d left the others at the tavern, retreating into the quiet streets early, but even here, in the solitude of his room, the memory of their conversation refused to let him rest.
The soft creak of the bed beneath him punctuated the silence as he shifted slightly, one arm draped over his stomach while the other hung limply off the side of the mattress. His fingers twitched, as though trying to grasp the right words he should have said. He replayed the moment, imagining how different it could’ve been if he’d found the right way to comfort her, to lessen the burden she carried.
But the memory was stubbornly unyielding. Her distant gaze, her hollow smile, and the scoff she used to mask her pain—they lingered like shadows, tugging at his heart. He sighed deeply, the sound breaking the stillness of the room, and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to will the thoughts away.
Minutes bled into an hour, the quiet of the room broken only by the faint groan of shifting wood and the distant hum of life outside. Caelus hadn’t moved, lost in his thoughts, the weight of the night pressing down like an invisible hand.
Then, the door creaked open, the soft sound breaking the stillness. Lorian’s face appeared in the doorway, his green hair catching the dim light as he peered in with a curious smile. In one hand, he held a paper bag bulging with fresh bread and other provisions, while the other casually spun the room key around his finger. The metallic clink of the key was rhythmic, almost soothing.
Behind him, Cheese bounced into the room, its translucent, jelly-like body shifting hues under the lamplight—a faint, comforting glow that cast soft shadows on the walls. The little slime hopped excitedly, its enthusiasm palpable as it surveyed the room.
“You’re already lounging, huh?” Lorian teased, stepping fully inside and nudging the door shut with his foot. His tone was light, almost playful, as he glanced at Caelus sprawled on the bed like a figure in a painting of quiet melancholy.
Caelus offered a faint smile, but the weight of his thoughts kept him rooted in place, his body unwilling to move from its sprawled position. He watched as Lorian moved with casual ease, setting the paper bag down on the small wooden table in the corner of the room. With practiced efficiency, Lorian slid a loaf of fresh bread from the bag, its golden crust catching the soft glow of the room’s lantern light, and placed it neatly atop the table.
The rest of the provisions disappeared into the “fridge,” though the term hardly suited it. The enchanted cooler emitted a faint hum, its magic-infused mechanisms working diligently to preserve their meager supplies. The faintly frosted air that spilled out as Lorian opened it made the space feel just a touch colder, a fleeting reminder of the otherworldly elements woven into their lives now.
With a soft thud, Lorian hopped onto the foot of Caelus’s bed, the mattress dipping under his weight and rebounding gently. The motion jostled Caelus slightly, though he didn’t seem to mind.
Cheese, always eager to join in, wasted no time in following. The little slime hopped onto the bed with a wet plop, wobbling slightly before settling comfortably in Lorian’s lap. Its body shifted hues briefly, a soft mix of pale blue and yellow, before curling up as if it, too, wanted to rest.
Lorian absently placed a hand on Cheese’s gelatinous form, his fingers sinking into its cool, springy surface without hesitation. The gesture was casual but affectionate, his thumb moving in small, slow circles. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze resting on Caelus as if trying to read the thoughts that lingered behind his companion’s tired eyes.
“So,” Lorian began casually, his voice light as he absently ran his fingers through Cheese’s gelatinous form. The little slime wobbled with delight, shifting shades of pale yellow and soft blue as it nestled deeper into his lap. “Where’d you go earlier?”
The question, simple as it was, stirred something in Caelus that he wasn’t prepared for. His chest tightened as the night’s memories resurfaced—Riven’s hollow smile, the sadness in her voice—and alongside them came another memory, darker and far more visceral.
Lorian.
Helpless and fading. The fear in his eyes. The way life had seemed to slip from his grasp as Caelus had reached for him, desperate and powerless to stop the inevitable.
The emotions surged like a wave, raw and overwhelming. Caelus groaned softly, turning his head to the side as he raised an arm to shield his eyes. The prick of tears at the corners of his eyes betrayed him, but he refused to let them fall. He hid it quickly, unwilling to let the vulnerability show.
Lorian didn’t press, but his gaze lingered, a quiet concern etched into his features. Cheese stopped wiggling, its body turning a pale, uncertain blue as if sensing the tension in the air. Lorian’s fingers stilled, resting lightly on its surface as he leaned forward just a little.
“Did something happen?” Lorian asked, his voice gentle yet edged with concern, like someone reaching out in the dark but careful not to push too hard.
Caelus hesitated before finally sitting up, the bed creaking faintly beneath him. He raked a hand through his still-damp, tousled hair, the strands slipping between his fingers as he exhaled heavily. His gaze dropped to the floor, his expression a mix of frustration and weariness.
“It’s Riven,” he said finally, his voice low but laced with an unspoken weight. “She wasn’t in the best mood tonight.” He paused, his hands curling into loose fists on his lap as he searched for the right words. “I tried—I wanted to help her, but... I didn’t know how. I didn’t know what to say to make her feel better.”
His jaw tightened, and his blue eyes flickered with self-reproach. “She’s carrying so much, and I just stood there fumbling for words. It was like… like I was useless.” The word left his mouth like a bitter confession, his shoulders sagging under its weight.
Lorian nodded, his expression softening. “What happened to her?”
Caelus exhaled through his nose, his gaze drifting downward until it landed on Cheese, which had wriggled its way onto his leg. The little slime shimmered faintly, its neutral blue hue catching the dim light as it nudged against his hand. Without thinking, Caelus reached out, his fingers sinking slightly into Cheese’s cool, gelatinous surface. The texture was oddly soothing—smooth, damp, and pliant, but leaving no residue on his skin.
“She was… reminiscing,” he finally replied, his tone quieter, tinged with an edge of melancholy. His hand moved absently over Cheese, the rhythm of his strokes matching the slow cadence of his words. “About her life before she came here.”
He paused, his brows knitting together as he tried to find the right words. “It sounded… empty to her. Like she felt she had no purpose back then. No meaning. She didn’t say much, but the way she spoke… It was like every word carried the weight of something she didn’t want to admit aloud.”
Cheese shifted, its color deepening into a darker blue, almost as if it could sense Caelus’s unease. It leaned into his touch, its small, simple movements somehow grounding him in the moment.
“She made it sound like her life didn’t matter,” Caelus continued, his voice faltering. “Like she was nothing before all of this. And hearing that… I just—” He broke off, shaking his head slightly as if trying to clear away the frustration. “I couldn’t stand the way she talked about herself. But what could I say? What could I do to change the way she feels about all that?”
The room grew quiet again, the weight of Caelus’s words hanging between them. Lorian watched him closely, his lips pressing into a thin line, though there was no judgment in his eyes—only understanding.
Lorian leaned back slightly, his gaze flickering upward as if a distant memory had been stirred by the conversation. For a moment, his eyes looked far beyond the modest room, lost in a fog of thoughts that Caelus could almost feel emanating from him. “Yeah,” he finally said, his voice a soft, almost wistful murmur. “It’s not like we’ve had much time to figure out what happened to us, either. Dying, waking up in this world… none of it came with an instruction manual. It’s like trying to piece together a shattered mirror—you just end up with more cracks than answers.”
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Caelus nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving the little slime on his leg. His hand stilled on Cheese’s cool, shifting form, which had turned a slightly deeper shade of blue as if sensing Caelus’s inner turmoil. The sensation of its gelatinous texture under his fingers somehow became a small, comforting anchor amidst the swirling emotions in his chest.
“She’ll be alright,” Lorian said after a pause, his tone shifting to something gentler, a quiet reassurance seeping into his words. His small smile, though faint, carried a warmth that cut through the gloom. “Riven’s strong, even if she doesn’t always show it. We all have our baggage, you know? Pasts we barely understand, memories we’d rather forget. But we’re here now, together. We just have to… keep moving. One step at a time.”
His words settled over Caelus like a fragile balm. The anxiety that had been gnawing at him eased, if only a little. Lorian’s optimism wasn’t something Caelus always expected, but it had a way of planting a seed of resolve even in the darkest moments.
“Let her rest,” Lorian continued, his eyes meeting Caelus’s with an intensity that spoke of unspoken camaraderie. “She’ll find her way. We all will. We just have to stick together. No matter what.”
Cheese wiggled slightly on Caelus’s leg, turning its head to him as it nodded enthusiastically, its glow brightening as it looked between him and Lorian, earning a soft chuckle from Caelus. It was a small, silly creature, but in that moment, its presence felt oddly significant—a reminder that they weren’t alone, that each of them still had someone to rely on, someone to fight for.
“Thanks,” Caelus said a small smile on his face, sitting up straighter as the weight on his chest began to ease. The darkness of doubt and insecurity ebbed, replaced by a quiet determination that began to seep into his bones. “Seriously, thanks.”
As long as we have each other—and even our strange, squishy little companion—we will keep moving forward.
They were a team not just bound by necessity, but by something far stronger: loyalty, trust, and a commitment to fight not just for survival, but for each other.
Lorian hopped off the bed with a playful bounce, his legs swinging briefly in the air before his feet landed softly on the wooden floor. The room was filled with a faint scent of bread and lingering laughter, a comfortable domestic atmosphere despite the emotional weight of earlier conversations. Without a care, he sauntered over to the cooler—a slightly enchanted contraption they’d grown used to—and pried the door open with a casual grin. Inside, nestled among other supplies, he spotted a fruit that caught the dim lamplight. Its skin was a vibrant, glossy red, streaked with swirls of golden hue, and it wore a tiny crown of fresh green leaves at its top, like a regal trophy.
With swift, practiced hands, Lorian peeled the fruit’s skin away, the sweet, tangy aroma wafting through the room. He effortlessly split the fruit in half, biting off a juicy slice with a satisfied hum that rumbled low in his throat.
Turning his gaze to Caelus, his eyes twinkled with a cheerful glint. “Mm?” he hummed, a playful glint in his eyes as he gestured with the other half of the fruit, inviting Caelus to join in.
Caelus couldn’t help but smile, the tension in his shoulders easing for a moment. He reached out, his fingers brushing over the oddly smooth, glossy skin of the fruit. With a quick, neat motion, he split his half into another smaller piece and handed part of it back to Lorian, wordlessly urging him to eat more.
Lorian took it back with a bright, easy smile, his expression a mix of camaraderie and silliness. Without missing a beat, he handed the remaining piece to Cheese, who had shuffled over and was now lounging comfortably nearby. With both gelatinous hands, Cheese eagerly snatched the slice, its little eyes sparkling with excitement. It shoved the fruit into its mouth, small bits of juice dripping onto its jiggly form as it chewed contentedly, a happy glow spreading through its body.
“This is a Solara fruit,” Lorian said with a satisfied grin, the vibrant red juice still glistening on his teeth as he chewed the last bite of his slice.
Caelus blinked, curiosity flickering in his eyes as he took a closer look at the fruit. The inside was a brilliant, almost surreal orange hue, with a slight shimmer that made the flesh look impossibly fresh and succulent. The tangy scent of citrus and subtle sweetness wafted up, a tantalizing promise of flavor. Hesitating just a moment, he finally took a bite.
The taste exploded on his tongue—sharp citrus notes that quickly mellowed into the crisp sweetness of an apple’s bite. It was a flavor that felt simultaneously foreign and oddly familiar, invigorating and comforting all at once.
“It’s good, right, Damian?” Lorian said with a carefree, cheerful grin, not missing a beat.
His gaze flicked to Lorian, searching his friend’s face for any hint or clue that could make sense of it. But Lorian’s expression was carefree, his eyes sparkling with the casual joy of sharing a silly, delicious moment. The name hadn’t come up before, not in the stories or memories Lorian had shared, not in the late-night talks or confessions in the tavern.
Caelus’s brow furrowed ever so slightly, but he quickly smoothed his expression, masking the confusion with a soft hum of agreement. He nodded lightly, feigning a nonchalance he didn’t truly feel, the nagging curiosity slipping back into the recesses of his thoughts where he hoped it would stay buried for now.
Beside him, Cheese tilted its head slightly, the gelatinous creature’s curious eyes glinting softly in the dim light of the room. It wiggled its small form up a bit higher, peering intently at Caelus as if silently asking Did you hear that too? Did you notice something strange?
Caelus met Cheese’s gaze briefly, the confusion in his own eyes flickering for a second before he carefully pushed it away. He swallowed the uneasy thoughts and forced a small smile, turning his attention back to Lorian. His friend was now engrossed in the bright, peculiar fruit in his hands, a playful satisfaction radiating from his relaxed posture.
Lorian’s carefree focus felt like a shield, a moment of lighthearted oblivion that Caelus clung to. Caelus chose to let it lie—for now, at least.
“Yeah,” Caelus murmured, his voice a quiet ember of emotion that barely flickered but still managed to ease some of the tension in the room.
For a fleeting moment, the atmosphere seemed to shift, the weight of unspoken worries loosening just a little. Cheese, that quirky, wobbly creature, rested its small gelatinous head on Lorian’s hip, a comforting presence despite its silly, amorphous form. Its usually radiant glow dimmed to a softer, cooler hue, and its shape flattened slightly, taking on its familiar, calm blue tint. Cheese’s form relaxed entirely against Lorian’s side, a little blue puddle of trust and loyalty.
“Sleepy?” Lorian murmured, his voice a gentle whisper as he ran his fingers through Cheese’s jiggly form, the translucent creature letting out a small, contented sound.
“Probably should call it a night,” Caelus agreed, a small yawn slipping from his mouth as he stretched his arms above his head, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. But a deeper sincerity crept into his voice as he added, “I’m glad you’re back, Lorian. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
Lorian paused for a heartbeat, a flicker of vulnerability passing through his usually carefree expression. Then, his lips curled into a sheepish grin. “Sorry for worrying you—and Cheese,” he said, his eyes twinkling with that unmistakable mix of mischief and affection that defined him. Without hesitation, he scooped up the small, squirming form of Cheese in one arm and stood up, the playful creature letting out a happy little squelchy sound.
He made his way to the bathroom, his movements slow and deliberate. Pausing at the threshold, he cast a wary glance inside, his sharp eyes scanning the dimly lit space as if expecting some unseen mischief. Cheese trailed closely behind, its soft, rhythmic squishing echoing faintly in the quiet room. Satisfied that nothing was amiss, Lorian stepped inside, the faint scent of soap and damp stone greeting him. The door closed softly behind him with a quiet click, the muffled sound of his footsteps fading as he ventured deeper into the tiled sanctuary.
When Lorian disappeared into the next room, the faint sound of running water drifting through the walls, Caelus sank back into the bed with a soft sigh, his gaze fixed once more on the cracked, slightly warped ceiling above. The room settled into a profound stillness, but his mind refused to stop, a whirlwind of thoughts stirring beneath his tired eyes.
He found himself thinking about his companions—each of them bound by their struggles, each carrying scars that went deeper than what the eye could see. Every one of them had a past that clung to them like shadows, remnants of the lives they’d left behind when they woke up in this unforgiving world.
Darius, the formidable dragonborn warrior, was a man of strength but also of loss. He had two daughters back in the world they once knew, and Caelus often wondered how that family connection shaped the man he had become. A father’s love, mingled with warrior resilience, forged something unyielding but also fragile under the surface.
Then there was Lorian. Caelus could still remember the unsettling vulnerability he saw in Lorian’s eyes after hearing about his brother, the grief that would occasionally flicker across his usually cheerful face. Lorian hadn’t just lost family; he lost a life full of memories, moments that defined who he once was. He died young, and waking up in this new world robbed him of those experiences that should have shaped him into someone older, someone wiser.
Magnus… now that was a mystery that gnawed at Caelus. The slender elf, with his serene, almost ethereal demeanor, was a riddle wrapped in confusion. Magnus couldn’t remember anything about his past, no friends, no family, no defining moments. It was a void that left him both vulnerable and enigmatic, a shadow of potential waiting to be unlocked but obscured by the fog of forgotten memories.
And Riven—Caelus couldn’t shake the image of her eyes, dark with the weight of recollection, the flicker of sadness that threatened to consume her when she spoke of life before this world. Her memories seemed like a shattered mirror, pieces that no one could put back together. Caelus felt a pang of helplessness every time he saw her struggle with it.
But it wasn’t just them. There were Elira and Seraph, two figures whose stories remained distant and elusive, fragments of interactions and fleeting moments. Caelus barely knew them, and it gnawed at him that there were bonds yet to form, truths yet to uncover. How could he lead a group he barely understood? How could he hold them together if he couldn’t see their wounds clearly?
Caelus closed his eyes for a moment, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. He felt the weight of responsibility settle into his bones, a burden he hadn’t chosen but now had no choice but to bear. He was their leader, whether fate thrust it upon him or not. And if he was going to keep them together, to protect them, to fight alongside them until they saw Helia restored—or whatever was left of it—he needed to truly know each of them, their histories, their fears, their strengths, and their weaknesses.
“I want to know them better,” Caelus whispered into the dim room, the words barely a breath but full of conviction. He stretched his arms out at his sides, his fingers brushing the thin, worn sheets. The cool air of the room swept over his skin, a stark contrast to the simmering uncertainties that still coiled in his chest.
As their leader—a title that had been thrust upon him by fate rather than choice—it wasn’t a mantle he wore with pride or comfort. But now, it was his responsibility, a truth he couldn’t escape. If he truly wanted to guide his companions, to stand beside them in battle and in spirit, he had to see them—not just as warriors or allies, but as people. He needed to understand their lives, the losses they carried like invisible burdens, the fears that kept them awake at night, and the quiet victories that went unnoticed by the world around them.
He needed to share their pain, to know their dreams, to stand with them through every setback and triumph—not just as a leader but as someone who truly saw them, who truly cared.
Caelus’s gaze flickered to the small window, where the night sky stretched out like a dark, unyielding canvas. The city outside had grown quieter, the distant murmurs of the streets fading into an almost surreal calm. The lanterns cast long shadows that danced gently across the walls of the room, a subtle reminder of the unknown challenges that lay ahead.
His breath slowed, the knot of doubt in his chest loosening ever so slightly. The day’s weight was still there—mistakes made, regrets simmering beneath the surface—but it no longer felt like an insurmountable force. There was a flicker of resolve, a quiet determination that began to take root.
With a final, steady exhale, Caelus closed his eyes, letting the cool embrace of sleep begin to pull him under. The night wrapped around him like a protective shroud, each breath a small act of renewal. In that moment, he felt the first, fragile stirrings of purpose—not just as a leader, but as a man determined to rebuild Helia, to heal his companions, and to fight for a future they could all believe in.