Minutes passed, then hours. Over time, my bloody coughs only worsened.

My eyes stung. Patches of my exposed skin grew red and warm and painful, though they did not blister. First degree burns, it seemed like. Running them under the cold tap water helped soothe the burning sensation, and offered a rare glint of relief.

Saber seemed to be doing slightly better. She hadn't breathed much of the vapor in, thankfully, and her natural HP regeneration seemed sufficient in keeping her external wounds in check. She had dozed off on the couch, hair disheveled, her headband slung across one eye. Her skin took on a reddened flush, much like mine. Her HP was going up, albeit at a snail's pace. At this rate it'd take her days to fully recuperate.

We didn't have days.

I wrote to Jack in my team notebook.

Jack! Saber and I are safe inside a house. Are you alright?

Jack had never been one to respond quickly to shared team notebook messages, not during our battles inside the arena. But within minutes, inked letters magically began appearing in my notebook, right below what I had previously written. It was his handwriting, alright. I leaned back, glad that he was still alive and out there somewhere. Soon, a complete message had been scrawled into my notebook, as though by an invisible pen:

I'm fine. Got separated from Hal. Landlady's gone I think. Where do I find you?

I told him our house was a right turn from the path we had been on. I mentioned that the house had milky-yellow curtains. It had three floors, which was unusually tall for a building in Gold. I remembered it had red tiles. And, reactivating my metal-scanner, I realized it had a weather vane on the rooftop. I mentioned all of those things to him.

I'll be over ASAP. Hang in there.

Jack had penned that, in a hurried scribble. I replied,

I'll be alright. Be careful on your way.

I wrote that, but I really didn't know if we'd be alright without him. I shut my notebook with a soft thud.

"Have you heard from Jack?" Saber asked from the couch. I hadn't realized she had woken up.

"Ah – he's alright. He'll be heading over."

"Thank goodness. How are your clothes? You should probably give them a wash."

I looked down at myself. Utterly bloodied and contaminated. She was right. Who knew how much of the toxic vapor my garments had soaked up. I looked around the house a little, and managed to find a washing machine. I pressed the power button. The machine lit up with a musical jingle.

"Oh wow, it still works," I said. "The washing machine, I mean."

"Seems like most appliances do," Saber pointed out.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

I undressed and stuffed my clothes inside, then wrapped myself in a seemingly-fresh towel I found in the bathroom. As the washing machine began to spin, I let myself catch a breath, only to cough up blood again.

[HP: 170/1040]

This wasn't good. My HP hadn't gone up at all. It had stopped going down, but I was getting no farther from death's door.

I rummaged through the kitchen, looking for medical supplies. Cooking utensils cluttered across the countertops and inside the cupboards. Pot lids, unwashed dishes, knives stained with blood. I finally found a medicine cabinet in one corner, with burn cream and pain medication inside. Those would have to do for now. I took a painkiller pill, then applied the burn ointment onto my skin.

"Aspirin," I said to Saber, holding a pill to her. "Say ahh."

She sat up slowly, and when I put the pill against her lips, she proceeded to swallow it dry.

"And burn cream," I said. "I can get some on your neck." That area seemed to be the most swollen part of her skin. "Hold still for a sec."

I applied a dab of the ointment to my fingertip, then gently rubbed it to her neck. I could feel her tense up. She stifled her breath.

"Does it hurt?" I asked.

Saber choked back what sounded like a sob.

I stopped. She leaned away, noiselessly, and slumped against the couch. Teardrops crept down her cheeks, from her blinded eyes.

I stood there, beside her, in the dim living room. The world was silent, except for the muffled, listless whirring of the washing machine behind us.

"Saber," I finally ventured, calling her name. "I'm here."

She responded with a quivering sigh.

"It's always like this," she told me in a soft, eerily even voice.

Weak, nondescript light filtered through the faded yellow curtains. The tired floorboards creaked as I sat down by her side.

"All I wanted, from this world, was a second chance," Saber said. "I willingly gave up everything. My past. My life back home. I had no future there. I was only a burden to mom and dad."

Her strength on the battlefield made it easy to forget that she had once been a frail, broken girl. Back on Earth, she had been terminally ill. The only thing that kept her alive, in spite of her failing organs, were repeated and intensive medical interventions.

"I had left behind everything," she said to me. "Is that still not enough? What else do I need to do, just to stop being a useless piece of trash?!"

"Saber, that's not who you are –"

"I know who I am. This is just like back home, hooked up to the dialysis machine. Everyone tending to me, just to keep me alive until they can't anymore."

"This is different," I contested. "Listen. We're gonna find Cirrus, and we're going to make him give back your eyes. And you're gonna be the best fighter on our team, as you've always been."

"You won't find him. He's stronger than both of us, and he's invisible."

"I'll figure something out," I promised. "I might be able to modify my railgun's scanner somehow, to increase its range. Cirrus can't hide from that."

"And when you find him?" Saber questioned, raising her voice.

"I'll kick his ass," I replied plainly.

"Don't throw your life away like that. Sophia. Please." She took pause. Her hands clutched around her knees.

"I'm happy how far we've gotten together," she said. "I think it's time we parted ways. Don't get dragged down by me."

But I knew that wasn't an option.

"I need you," I confessed. "I really, really can't go on without you."

And I would not go on without her. Not after every moment we've been together. Not after all she had done for me.

"So," I added, "You can bet we'll make it through."

I looked to her, yearning to once again see her faint and fleeting smile. The one beautiful thing left in this wretched world.

She must've known. Through her tears, she gave me a nod and the smile I so desperately needed. A genuine thing. I'd give my life to protect it.