areeth sat across from him, the shadows dancing across her face, highlighting the sharp angles of her jaw, the dullness of her scales.
For the first time since their harrowing escape, Kael found himself really looking at her. Up until now, there had been no time—only the blur of panic, the pressing weight of survival. But now, as they sat in the dim light of the inn, the crackle of the fire the only sound between them, he finally took in the details of the girl who had become his unexpected companion.
Her scales, a vibrant green interspersed with flecks of gold, caught the flickering light and shimmered faintly, as if reflecting the very essence of the swamp she’d once called home. There were intricate patterns etched into her skin, swirling lines and angular shapes that seemed almost deliberate, like ancient symbols carved by a careful hand. The meanings behind those marks were a mystery to him, lost in a language and a culture he couldn’t begin to understand, but they hinted at a story far older and deeper than his own. He wondered if they represented family lineage, or perhaps achievements or rites of passage within her tribe—memories now turned to scars of a life ripped away.
Her gaze was intense, those dark, unblinking eyes reflecting a mix of defiance and something softer, a weariness that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion. She wasn’t just a survivor of her world’s destruction—she was a living fragment of it, carrying its history and pain in every line of her face, every cautious flick of her tail. Her tunic, now soiled and torn from their ordeal, still bore the intricate weaving of reeds and fibers, a testament to her people's craftsmanship, and it clung to her slender frame, reminding him of how small and fragile she truly was. And yet, there was strength in her posture, a quiet resilience that belied her youthful appearance.
He'd brought her here, plucked her from her world, from everything she knew, only to watch it crumble before his eyes, swallowed by the very power he wielded. “How could you?” The accusation was unspoken, a heavy silence hanging between them. He should be stronger, he thought. More resilient. After all the battles he'd fought, the challenges he’d faced. But there were wounds that ran deeper than flesh, wounds that couldn't be healed with salves or potions or even the System’s upgrades.
“I still don’t understand what happened.” Her voice was soft, laced with grief, with a weariness that mirrored his own. “My village… everyone…” She trailed off, her gaze fixed on the tabletop, her hands clenched, the rough scales digging into the worn wood, leaving faint scratches. “Why did you bring me here?”
"I didn't mean for any of this to happen,” he said. The words felt heavy on his tongue, laden with a guilt that choked him, stole the air from his lungs. “I was trying to help. I thought I could save your village. That I could… I don’t know, be a hero or something.” He laughed, the sound a harsh, grating rasp that made him wince.
The truth.
Except… it wasn’t the whole truth. Not really. The lie felt wrong, a heavy weight in his chest. But how could he tell her that her village had been destroyed because of his quest? Because the System had deemed their realm worthy of being "cleansed," their lives nothing more than a few lines of data, a few experience points to fuel his ascent?
Be a hero.
He’d wanted to be a hero. Maybe. Deep down, beneath the layers of fear, of survival instincts honed in Mudtown's brutal alleyways, a small part of him had dreamed of glory, of proving himself. But he’d failed to save them. Had led a monster to their doorstep, offered a false hope, a fleeting glimpse of a different reality, only to snatch it away, leaving behind a shattered world, a graveyard of broken promises.
The inn's warmth felt suffocating now, the smell of the soup, once so comforting, turning sour in his stomach.
The fire crackled in the hearth, a muted symphony of pops and hisses, casting long shadows across the table, reflecting the flickering emotions playing on her face. His stew sat there, half-eaten, forgotten.
He was no hero. No savior. Just a scared boy who’d stumbled into power he didn’t understand, a pawn in a game he couldn't control, whose rules he was only beginning to grasp. He’d wanted to believe in the System's pronouncements, to cling to its promises of progress. But those glowing screens, those incremental stat increases – they meant nothing against the raw, primal chaos that had devoured her world.
“A hero? You?” She laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound. It was a bitter, sardonic acknowledgment of the lie he'd told himself, the fantasy he'd clung to.
“I was wrong.”
Yareeth’s silence stretched, a heavy weight that pressed in on him, amplifying his sense of shame. She was waiting. Watching. He could feel her gaze on him, and when he finally met her eyes, he saw the tears glistening there, the anger smoldering beneath.
"Take me back," she demanded, her voice raw with a grief that mirrored his own, the unfamiliar cadence of his language tinged with the guttural rasp of her kind. “Take me back to my home.” He watched her scales ripple with tension, the green and gold dulled by the shadows. He’d failed her, failed them all. But he couldn't even offer this, this simple act of redemption.
Kael’s heart ached as he shook his head, his gaze dropping to the rough wood of the table, his voice a low, pained whisper, “I can’t. The portal… it’s closed. There’s no way back.” The words were a punch to the gut, the brutal, blunt truth more painful than any creature’s claw, any searing burn of poison.
“No,” she whispered. “This is your fault. You did this." She slammed her hand on the table, the sound echoing through the room, a jarring counterpoint to the muffled murmurs around them, heads turning to glance, their gazes flickering away as they recognized the raw desperation, the grief that resonated from their corner table. “You brought me here,” she hissed, her voice rising, a rasping accusation that echoed through the inn.
It felt like a physical blow, the accusation hitting him harder than any physical attack. "There has to be a way. You brought me here, you can take me back!” She leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table, her knuckles white against the dark wood. "Tell me there’s a way back.” It wasn't a question. It was a demand.
He shook his head again, slowly, deliberately, as if to convince himself as much as her. “I can’t.”
"Liar!” The word, sharp and clear, cut through the air, drawing another wave of glances, this time with the hint of fascination that always accompanied displays of despair, of public breakdowns, a moment's distraction in the midst of their own struggles. The patrons turned back to their own conversations.
He felt a wave of nausea, not from the poison this time, but from the sheer weight of her despair, her grief, her rage. He wished he could turn back time, wished he could erase everything that had happened. He wished he could lie to her, could spin a story of hope, of a magical return to the world she'd lost. But he couldn't. He wouldn't. He’d already built enough bridges from lies.
"I can't." It wasn’t an excuse. It wasn't a refusal. It was the truth, cold, brutal. He knew, with a certainty that twisted his insides, that the portal was gone — the realm failed. He had dragged her through that door, into his world, and there was no way back.
He had trapped her, just as surely as he'd trapped himself.
The inn seemed to shrink around him, the warmth of the fire a mocking echo of the emptiness he felt within. He looked at her, and saw his own reflection in her dark, pain-filled eyes, a reflection of all his failures, his mistakes. He had been so eager to prove himself, to wield the Shard's power, that he’d been blinded to the consequences of his actions, blinded by the allure of leveling up, gaining strength.
He wasn’t a hero.
He wasn’t a savior.
He was a fool, and she had paid the price.
She crumpled, her defiance dissolving in the face of his honesty. Her shoulders slumped, the fire’s shadows softening the sharp angles of her face, the anger receding into the hollowed-out depths of her grief. She looked like… like a bird with a broken wing. Trapped. Alone.
“So I’m… stuck here?” Her voice, a soft, broken sound that tore at his heart. “In this… place?” It was a simple question. But behind the words, he heard the echo of every loss she’d suffered, the pain of a life torn apart.
The inn’s fire crackled, spitting embers, as if mirroring their shared despair. The shadows seemed to deepen, to gather, closing in on them. Kael watched as her tail thrashed against the floor, a rhythmic beat against the emptiness that had taken root within him.
“I’m sorry.” He looked at her, the honesty in his gaze echoing the echo of her words. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. But it was a starting point, an acknowledgment of the devastation he’d wrought.
The rest of the words, they emerged slowly. “I wish I could take you back. But I can’t. I wish I could make it right.” The silence around him thrummed with regret, with guilt, the weight of his failure pressing down. “But I can’t. All I can do… is try to help you.”
The fire’s warmth didn’t dispel the cold ache within him. The aroma of the uneaten stew turned to a sickening reminder of his failures, of the chasm that he’d inadvertently created, of the burden he'd taken upon himself.
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“I… I need to make up for what I’ve done.”
Yareeth looked at him, her expression unreadable. She studied him for a long moment, her gaze, sharp, intense. Her gaze lingered, searching for a truth she could trust. Her eyes finally settled on his hands, the rough, scarred surface a testament to his struggles.
Maybe… maybe he could make amends. Help her adapt, find a place, in this world that was now her reality. Not a hero’s path, not a grand adventure. Just… a chance to survive.
He reached across the table, his hand hesitating for a moment before resting on hers. The warmth of her scales, a strange yet comforting texture, was a reminder that their destinies were now intertwined, that they were both caught in the currents of this chaotic, unforgiving world.
He leaned forward, meeting her gaze, “We’ll figure it out, Yareeth. I promise you. We’ll find a way to make this work.” He tried to infuse his voice with confidence, but it was difficult to erase the weariness.
Her eyes held his gaze for a moment, the weight of his promise settling between them. Her hand was warm beneath his, a strange sensation that was both reassuring and disconcerting, a tangible link between worlds.
A part of him, a voice whispering from a dark place he couldn’t yet face, wanted to let go of this connection, to step back, to fade back into the darkness. To leave her behind.
Yareeth finally spoke, her voice soft, almost hesitant. She stared at him, searching for a flicker of truth, of something she could cling to amidst the ruins of her world.
“Okay,” she whispered.
He felt a tightness in his chest loosen, a tiny sliver of hope sparking amidst the weight of guilt. But then, her gaze hardened again, and her next words felt like a contract, a pact sealed with the memory of what he had cost her.
“But you have to tell me everything.” She squeezed his hand, a warning in her grip. “No more lies. No more secrets.”
He nodded, the weight of the unspoken contract settling upon him, heavier than any victory. Relief and a new kind of fear, a shared kind of fear, mingled in his chest.
It wasn’t just about survival, anymore.
It was about trust.
---
Yareeth leaned back, arms crossed, scales a dull glimmer in the Inn’s firelight. Kael, weary to his bones, saw a sharp intelligence in her posture, an echo of the lizardfolk elder who'd given him the quest, who had, in his limited understanding, placed the fate of his people into the hands of this human. A human who had brought destruction, not salvation. “Tell me everything," she said, her voice tight, controlled, but the anger thrummed beneath her words. "From the beginning. I need to know what happened. What you've done.”
Kael swallowed, the lump in his throat a familiar blend of fear and exhaustion. “I don’t know where to start.” Even the thought of untangling this twisted web, of recounting the last few days felt impossible. The details, already blurring together in his mind, were a storm of betrayal, loss, and a raw, primal terror that he was still struggling to make sense of. How could he tell her this story? Make her see… make her understand that he wasn’t some heartless monster who delighted in destruction?
He started where it all began. With Mudtown.
“It's only been… a few days. Not even a week.” It felt like a lifetime had passed. His world had fractured, reshaped, the pieces scattered like broken glass in the wake of the Shard’s awakening. He took a deep, shaky breath, his gaze flicking to the dancing flames in the inn’s hearth. “Everything… just fell apart.” The words came out a whisper, barely audible over the murmured conversations, the clinking tankards, the laughter that seemed to mock his pain. “I was with a group. Other orphans, like me. Taris… he was… like a leader.”
“Like your elder?” Yareeth asked, the question sharp, her tail flicking back and forth in agitation, a movement that echoed the restlessness in his own gut.
Kael hesitated. “Yes, but… different.” His thoughts drifted to Taris—his quiet strength, his protective instincts, the way he had always looked out for the others. “I thought he was different. That he… cared.”
The words tasted like ash in his mouth, the names of the others - Lira, Bren, even the cruel, sneering faces of Venn, Sera, Dorrin - were ghosts now, their whispers echoing in the silence between him and the girl he had brought to this world, into this despair. He didn’t know where they were, what had become of them. The realization brought a fresh wave of grief, a sharp, stinging pain behind his eyes. He'd clung to that small group, that makeshift family for so long. It had been all he had known.
His hands trembled, a reflection of the inner turmoil, and he clenched them into fists beneath the table. He couldn’t look at her, couldn’t bear to see the judgment in her eyes.
"They turned on me.” He looked down at his hands, the rough, scarred skin a testament to the fights, the choices he'd made. He could see it all so clearly—the betrayal in Taris's weary gaze, the calculating cruelty in Venn’s eyes. The Mud Rats’ bargain. The weight of his uselessness. “They… threw me out because of the Mud Rats; traded me for protection, for a chance to survive. Said I was… weak, a burden."
Yareeth hissed, the sound a low, primal growl that vibrated in her chest, a sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle with a sympathetic fear. “They abandoned you? For those… humans? Why?” She leaned forward, her expression fierce, her scales a shimmering shadow against the warmth of the firelight. He could sense her anger, a shared understanding of betrayal that transcended their different worlds.
Kael could see the shadows of his own experiences flickering across her face. It was… unsettling. He didn't want to see that anger, that pain mirrored in her eyes.
He rubbed his hand over his face. It felt as though a lifetime had passed since that night. His expulsion from the shack, a ritual as brutal as anything he'd experienced in the realms, marked his entry into this strange new world. He was an orphan, yes. Had been alone for years, even when he was with his crew. But their rejection… It was as if they’d torn away the last vestiges of his innocence, leaving him stripped bare, vulnerable.
He tried to explain the world he’d grown up in—Mudtown, the slums of Kaszai. A place of constant struggle, of brutal realities, a world where loyalty was a currency, easily traded, often counterfeit. A world where survival was a luxury few could afford. A place he’d left behind, hoping never to return. A place he'd now dragged her to.
His words spilled out—broken fragments of a world she couldn't possibly comprehend. He told her about the gangs, about the Mud Rats, about the constant fear that clung to him like a second skin. He spoke of hunger and desperation, about scavenging for scraps, stealing to survive, about how every smile hid a lie, how every promise was a betrayal waiting to unfold. He spoke about Taris, the one who he thought had been different, whose betrayal felt the most…
The memories were a torrent he couldn't dam, and he found himself recounting the night of his awakening. “I’d heard the rumors, about the System, about the awakening ceremony that happens when you turn sixteen.” His words faltered, but there was a strange comfort in sharing the weight of it all, in finally voicing those fragmented experiences that had haunted him. "You touch a piece of… something… the Artifact, they called it. And it... it changes you."
The flames in the hearth danced, casting elongated shadows. Yareeth’s gaze softened a bit, a flicker of recognition, a shared awareness of the importance of this moment.
Yareeth moved then, the scrape of her claws against the wood of the table making him wince. “Then… this system. This… awakening.” She shifted closer. “You touched the artifact.”
He nodded, suddenly realizing that this shared language of words felt frail, too imprecise to convey what they'd both experienced. “Yes, in that temple. It… it changed me. It changed you.”
His hands trembled, a reflection of the inner turmoil, and he clenched them into fists beneath the table. He couldn’t look at her, couldn’t bear to see the judgment in her eyes.
"After… after they turned on me, I found the Void Shard,” he continued. “Or it found me. I don't know.” The words, once a source of pride, now tasted of ashes in his mouth. "It opened a portal, took me to these... places. Realms. I thought I could get stronger, survive, maybe even fight back.” But he hadn't known. Hadn't understood the true cost of the power he'd been granted. "But I didn’t know what I was doing. I just… went in, fought whatever was there. Barely survived each time. Got stronger.” And then he’d found her village, and everything had gone wrong.
He gestured vaguely, unable to fully articulate. He didn’t understand it. Not truly. It was a constant flow of questions and contradictions that made him want to scream. He could navigate them now, kill the creatures that guarded their broken hearts. The System rewarded him for his victories, whispered its promises of strength, of progress, but it offered no answers, only a map with no destination.
Yareeth leaned back, her arms crossed over her chest, the motion a protective barrier against the coldness in his words. “But this time it… chose my world?" She looked around at the bustling inn, its warmth a mocking contrast to the ice that seemed to crystalize within her scales. The anger she'd kept bottled now exploded.
“Yes, and then I found your village,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I thought, maybe I could help. Maybe I could do something good for once." He’d envisioned a different ending, a triumphant return, a hero’s welcome. He'd wanted to save them. But he'd only brought destruction, death. The weight of it was crushing, too much to bear.
“You thought you could help? You?” She spat the words, her voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. "You thought you could just walk into my village, kill our enemies, and everything would be fine? You thought it would all just… work out? Do you have any idea what you’ve done? How stupid that was?" Her voice a sharp hiss, the rage palpable. It was a righteous anger. He’d seen it before—in the desperate defiance of the wounded, in the wild, desperate fight of cornered creatures. It echoed the fury that had surged through him during the Blightmaw’s attack.
He looked at her then, and saw the understanding dawning in her eyes. She wasn't angry at him. Not just him, not really. It was a primal, visceral rage directed at the world itself, at the unfairness of it all.
He shrank back under the intensity of her anger, feeling the weight of his guilt pressing down on him. “I know," he whispered, his voice a broken echo of her rage. "I know, and I’m sorry. I was stupid. I didn’t think.”
The words hung in the air, hollow and meaningless. They were the same words he'd whispered to himself a thousand times, but now they were amplified by the weight of her accusations, by the reality of what he'd done.
“And it got everyone in my village killed." Her gaze was accusing. Her tail thrashed. He wanted to scream, to shout his apologies, his regrets. But he stayed silent. The blame was deserved.
It was the truth. The brutal, soul-crushing truth. He wanted to deny it, to push it away, to find someone else to blame. But he couldn’t. It was all his fault. He’d opened the portal. He’d brought her here. He’d failed. He had destroyed her world.
“I know.” He looked at her then, really looked at her, forcing himself to see the pain in her eyes. "I know, and there's nothing I can do to change it. There’s no going back."
He didn’t know what else to say. He could offer her promises of safety, whisper empty words of comfort. But they would be lies, more lies, and he couldn’t bear to add another layer of deceit to this tangled web of broken trust.
He couldn't fix it. It was his fault.
His world. His power. His greed.
They had destroyed everything.
He took a deep breath, forcing the words past the knot of grief in his throat, “All I can offer… is to help you survive this world.” It wasn’t much. A paltry offering, but it was all he had left. He hoped she would see it, hoped she would find a way to… He didn’t even know. Survive. Hope. Live.
He reached for her hand again, his rough, scarred flesh a stark contrast to the coolness of her scales. "It’s all I can do,” he said, his voice soft, raw with honesty.
Yareeth stared at him for a long moment. The flickering candlelight caught the glisten of tears in her eyes, a sorrow so deep, so primal. He looked away.
He could feel the weight of her gaze on him, searching, judging. The System, with its promises of power, its clinical pronouncements, had led him here, to this moment. To this impossible choice. The creature's poison, the realm’s lingering influence, or the crushing weight of responsibility, it didn’t matter.
He’d brought her into the darkness. And now… he would show her the only way forward. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. But it was all he had to offer.