Deus and Bal trudged through the maze of alleyways that webbed throughout the city. They were covered in dirt and waste while a thick fog permeated the air, tainted by a pungent stench excreted by nearby factories.

The alleyways twisted narrowly between buildings, casting them into dark shadows. It devoured nearly all light, apart from that greenish light faintly reflected onto the walls from above.

The distant lamp post which appeared sporadically stood out like beacons, dividing the ordinary from that where poor, ugly creatures creeped through shadows.

At this moment, they passed one of these junctions. The ornate lamp post cast the road beyond in a dim light. At this late hour, passerby only sparsely walked these streets as most had already returned to their cozy abode.

Bal nudged at Deus, “Let’s return to the streets, already. There’s barely anyone anyways.”

Yet at this moment, two figures passed that junction. A young woman strode with purpose — her full skirt slightly swaying in the wind —, while her daughter shuffled behind lazily.

She crossed eyes with Bal, still nagging at Deus to return to the streets.

When her mother noticed, she swiftly covered her eyes and quickened her stride, afraid they’d lunge at them with their filthy, grotesque hands.

Deus sighed, “See? The streets aren’t empty. Besides, why would they stop looking for us in the night — they’re definitely patrolling the streets.”

Bal’s vision was obscured by the fog’s veil as he followed behind Deus.

He was just about to rebuke when he tripped on something, blurting, “Fu–!”

Only barely catching himself, he shifted his weight back. However, it was just a little too far, and he rstaggered. Huffing, he hunched over, spotting the rat carcass over which he’d stumbled.

The rat’s stomach was torn apart and its eyes gouged out, leaving its eye sockets vacants. Beneath the dirt, its intestines lay loose. There weren’t any maggots squirming in its flesh, indicating its death was recent.

Bal gulped loudly and squinted, memories of his birthplace resurfacing.

“Is this really necessary? Can’t we just find an inn?” he sneered and tilted his head towards Deus’s.

Deus’s eyes still lingered on that carcass, inspecting it thoroughly. However, Bal didn’t think much of it, instead puzzled by his behavior.

I can’t figure this guy out, he’s too much of a weirdo. What’s he staring at? It’s a damn rat…

His lips parted slightly as an epiphany crossed his mind, Wait, could it actually be… How did I miss that? He’s trying to hide it from me, but I won’t fall for it!

Tears welled in the corner of his eyes.

Although it doesn’t seem like it, he cares for life deeply, even more than me. That’s the burden he’s carrying — to abandon idealism and embrace opportunism. It’s all for the sake of our survival.

Deus’s empathic behavior tucked at his heart strings.

“Yes, it’s necessary,” confirmed Deus as his breathing calmed down. “I’ve been telling you, they’re looking for us.”

Bal’s memory was wiped, but Deus didn’t know whether it was going to return. After Deus had assimilated the Firmament of that stable’s prisoners and developed ‘Fragmented Self’, Bal displayed a mild responsiveness to their environment, suggesting they’d include his memories post-transmigration.

Therefore, he chose to remain slightly ambiguous, avoiding deception unless necessary. Otherwise, under the constraint of ‘Conjoined Fate’, mending that trust would prove challenging.

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Deus continued, “We’ll have to find someplace warm, without many people. An abandoned building, a stable or barn — honestly, I don’t know.”

His face was flushed slightly reddish from the night’s coldness while it slowly seeped into his bones. A shiver ran down his spine, and he said, “Alright, let’s continue.”

Bal nodded, patting the fine sawdust from his tunic while Deus already continued, vanishing into the fog. His footsteps echoed through the alleyway.

When a gust of wind howled through it, Bal shuddered and jerked upright, quickening his pace. “Wait!”

Thump!

“Ouch!” moaned Bal as he bumped into Deus, who’d halted.

Deus extended his hand.

“What’s now?” whispered Bal, unsettled by his behavior. He gulped, trying to loosen the knot which had formed in his throat.

“Shhh.”

Bal held his breath, listening attentively to whatever was hidden beyond the fog. Yet apart from that howling, there was only silence.

That’s when he noticed Deus’s hand placed near his waist, where his dagger was tucked. Immediately, his breathing turned brief.

What’s he worried about? What is it?

A wave of dizziness overwhelmed him, turning his knees weak. He grabbed onto Deus, who stood tough as a monolith, steadying his footing.

Bal recognized that neither his vision nor his hearing would pick up on whatever Deus sensed. He closed his eyes, gauging his other senses.

His thoughts ran wild, unable to identify that subtle nuance, Is it smell? Or simply his intuition?

He sniffed, but only that unbearable stench invaded his nostrils, causing it to tingle. He gripped his lips tightly, but to no avail. His coughs echoed down the alleyway.

Deus grunted as he gave up trying to remain hidden. The moon-shaped pendants suspended from his neck began to glow and he drew his dagger, preparing himself for confrontation.

A male voice reverberated through the thick fog, crying out, “Fintor malvex!”

As the light emitted by the glowing pendants began to part it, unveiling the outline of a slouched man, he added urgently, “Lempo cravi, vezo moranex nuhalto ferex.”

When Bal recognized the man holding up his hands, signifying he wasn’t armed, and shouted, “Don’t kill him!”

Just as these words slipped from his lips, he realized his naïvety.

It’s entirely possible this is a trap. I should just let Deus handle this, His shoulders slouched lightly, He wouldn’t kill a human being, unless it’s absolutely necessary.

The pennant’s light parted the thick fog, revealing a middle-aged man. His aura was sophisticated, contrasting with his appearance. His clothes were ragged, and his grey beard unkempt.

Bal noticed that Deus remained vigilant as his chain retained its radiating glow. He asked, “What did he say?”

Deus glanced back at Bal, causing him to shudder, “He said: Don’t worry, I’m neither criminal nor heretic. I'm nobody.”

He nodded into the man’s direction. “Pat him down.”

Bal winced, unwilling to proceed. “Why don’t you do it? I’m unarmed.”

“That’s why — you’re unarmed. Besides, I’ll protect you,” He nodded into the man’s direction again, “Now, go.”

He swallowed his saliva, unable to rebuke. His line of reasoning was solid. If Deus were to go instead, the man would surely be uncooperative.

Meanwhile, the man chuckled nervously, “Wait, eh– I do speak Satun as well. I must apologize — I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m homeless.”

Bal fell into thought, noticing a dissonance with his blurred memories, ‘Satun’?! Isn’t it ‘English?

Deus narrowed his eyes, “Well, you don’t seem like it.”

“It’s only been a few weeks. I’m a scholar, that’s why I’ve studied Satum. Besides, why don’t you speak Botham?” he defended himself, before desperately adding, “Are you foreigners? I can show you around!”

Deus’s lips curled into a smile, “If that’s so, you have nothing to fear.”

A reluctant expression was written over the man’s face, but he agreed to it. Bal patted him up and down. His clothes’ fabric was threadbare, and Bal doubted he’d be able to hide anything beneath it.

As expected, he only found some stale bread.

His gaze darted towards Deus’s scrutinizing gaze, saying, “You take it. It’s a gift.”

Deus nodded, “Alright, let him go.”

As he walked forward, his chain’s glow dimmed. He extended his hand, which the man accepted. “Vethar ulto fornia. Ekra Deus. Lunev traeth in envas.”

Alan’s expression easened a little as he found Deus wasn’t entirely alien to the Botham language, which implied some understanding of Botham norms and customs.

Foreigners were extremely rare, and the majority of all people would go a lifetime without having spoken with a single one. However, people who only spoke Satum, were completely unheard of — it was only used in context of the occult.

He placed his hand on Bal’s shoulder. “This is my brother, Bal. He’s a special case as he can’t speak Botham. Let’s continue in Satum, for his sake.”

The man stretched out his hand, saying, “It’s a pleasure. I’m Alan.”