Cal ascended with caution, muscles tensed for unforeseen threats. Closer now, he discerned the form of a soldier, blood painting his armor in stark contrast to the pale flesh of his exposed skin. Pain carved deep lines across the man's face as he struggled for each breath. Atop his head, two antlers rose from his head, deep brown, but splattered with blood.

Their eyes locked.

No words passed between them, only an exchange of understanding that transcended language. The soldier's grip on life was tenuous, his body battered beyond hope of recovery. Cal saw it in the slump of his shoulders, the way his hand feebly attempted to stem the tide of crimson, failing.

"What did this?" Cal's whisper hung heavy in the damp air, though he knew the soldier couldn't comprehend.

The soldier's lips parted, but the sound that emerged was a pained gasp, not the answer Cal sought. Communication thwarted by the chasm of language, all Cal could offer was his presence—a silent sentinel against the encroaching dark.

Cal moved closer, settling opposite the dying man on the floor and placed Temp at his side. He placed his dagger on the ground between them—a gesture of peace. The soldier's gaze drifted to the weapon, then back to Cal's face, reading his intent. His eyes drifted towards the chair, with a transient bout of confusion.

"Peace," Cal said softly, unsure if the word would mean anything to the other.

The soldier nodded, a faint smile touching his weary features. In that brief connection, a bridge was built, one wrought of mutual recognition of their shared mortality.

Cal remained by the soldier's side, bearing witness to the end of a life not much different from his own. He watched as the light waned in the man's eyes, offering what comfort he could in the quiet companionship of two souls entwined by fate in these cavernous depths.

The soldier's voice, a ragged tapestry of sounds, wove through the cavern's chill. Cal leaned in, his ears catching the cadence of sorrow, the rhythm of loss. Words unknown, but emotions unmistakable.

"Ah... eskapo... dieru’ka," the soldier murmured, each syllable a shard of glass drawn from deep within. Cal watched the man's chest heave—a tide that brought forth not just blood but the essence of a life nearing its end.

As the soldier’s voice tapered off, Cal saw his hand twitch, fingers moving towards the book nestled beside him. A nugget of understanding sparked within Cal—this was the soldier's story, his last will and testament to a world he knew he wouldn't see again. He grasped the soldier’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

The soldier gestured towards the book with weak movements. ‘For you’, he seemed to be saying. Cal picked up the book gingerly, gazing at the man with a silent nod of gratitude.

He turned each page with care, brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of the alien script. The symbols were foreign, an indecipherable language that held secrets he could not unravel. Yet, as he studied the sketches of beasts and maps among the text, he sensed a narrative beneath his touch; trials of battle, loss and victory.

In his hands, the dead soldier's tale unfolded. He traced the lines of a beast not unlike the vitality-attuned creatures he had encountered before, but much larger, more menacing. It was depicted in full form, its jaws opened wide to reveal rows of jagged teeth. The illustration was crude yet detailed enough to instill a sense of reverence for the creature - and fear.

Next, Cal studied the maps. They were marked with symbols he could not understand, yet he could recognize landmarks - a river here, a mountain there. And there...a cave entrance.

His pulse quickened. Could it be an escape route?

The soldier's hand, heavy with impending death, reached to tap the spot on the map, as if recognizing Cal’s curiosity. A lump formed in Cal’s throat. Gratitude and sorrow tangled within him. With a nod of understanding, Cal gently placed the soldier's hand back to his side.

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Here was a tale etched by courage and perseverance; a testament to an indomitable spirit in an alien world. Much like his own journey.

Cal's own history unfurled before him, unbidden memories of his days spent in this new foreign land. He knew isolation's bitter sting.

"Would I..." Cal whispered, more to himself than to the dying man. "Would I hope for an ear, any ear, just to know I don't fade in silence?"

In this stillness, Cal's mind drifted back to the place he once called home - not his current residence, but the one he had left behind. Memories of his sister flooded his thoughts, her piercing gaze mirroring his own unyielding determination. She was a force to be reckoned with in battle, but behind closed doors she cared with a fierce intensity. The thought of Clio, always a bit awkward in social settings, caused a pang of guilt deep within his chest. And then there was his father, carefree and laid-back, who always seemed to have a joke or a story at the ready. His voice always boomed with tales of grand conquest and fierce battles, but Cal couldn't help but chuckle at the image of the clumsy man actually wielding any sort of weapon. Cal hoped the stories were true. He had always hoped. He hoped that his father would protect Clio now that he was no longer there.

Nostalgia flickered to gloom. Did they believe him to be dead? Had his mother shattered their hope by revealing the truth? The answer hovered over him like a second skin, an icy embrace that brought back memories of the world he had left behind.

Was this world his home now, or was he too, lost. Cal’s gaze remained locked on the soldier. His eyes spoke in a language that needed no translation—fear, pain, and a palpable sense of solitude. It was like looking into a darkened mirror, reflecting back his own fractured reality.

“Maru...mori’ka...” the soldier muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

The soldier's hand trembled, reaching out—grasping for something, anything. Cal took it, the warmth of life fleeting beneath his fingers. A silent pact between them: not to let oblivion claim one so forsaken.

The soldier's chest rose and fell in jagged hills, each breath a mountainous struggle against the inevitable valley. Cal's eyes traced the line of pain etched into the man's face, saw the plea in his gaze flicker toward the dagger at Cal's side.

His attention shifted back to Temp; the chair had remained silent, an unnatural stillness. Cal turned back towards the soldier, who was edging closer to his end. His heartbeat echoed in the hollow cavern, a drumbeat cacophony against the silence.

Eyes wide and expectant, the soldier gestured towards Cal's dagger once more. There was no need for words. The plea mirrored in his eyes was clear - mercy.

"Help," the word was unsaid, yet screamed in the silence.

Cal drew the blade, the sound a soft whisper against the stone. His hand hovered, trembled—so foreign this hesitation. He saw himself in the soldier, and this act was a reminder that this may be his possible future.

Their eyes locked—a silent understanding bridged language, culture, war. Cal's grip tightened, purpose steadying his quaking heart. The blade's descent, a slow arc, was both an ending and a release.

"Peace," Cal promised, voice a mere wisp as he leaned closer.

The soldier nodded, a last gesture of gratitude, and closed his eyes to the world that had been cruel and beautiful. Cal's deed cut through the final thread of suffering, and the cave exhaled in a sigh.

Mixed emotions swelled within Cal. It mingled with a strange kinship, binding him to the man whose name he never knew. He sheathed the dagger, its purpose served, its burden shared.

Cal stood, the echo of life's fragility resounding with each pulse. The chill of the cavern clung to his skin, a reminder of the thin veil between existence and oblivion.

Cal knelt beside the lifeless soldier. The cavern's cold air clung to his damp skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the blood that stained his hands—a scarlet testament to the mercy he had bestowed. He exhaled slowly, attempting to steady the turmoil within.

His gaze shifted back to the chair, its inert form an eerie silhouette against the dimly lit cave wall. The cold glimmer in his eyes thawed as he moved towards it. He placed a hand on Temp, the cool, hard texture of the wooden frame a stark contrast to the living warmth that had slowly ebbed away from the soldier. He felt an odd sense of responsibility seeping in. An AI, a tool designed for his benefit, now potentially sentient. Temp was yet another unknowing captive this alien world had claimed.

He thought about the maps carefully preserved within the book’s weathered pages—landmarks marked by symbols that were gradually making sense to him now. His mind traced over each one, feeling some sense of direction seep into him.

[Killed 1 sentient creature - system title awarded, Murder most foul]

[Murder most foul: +5 luck]

[Hidden quest: Hunt the hunters (1/?) - repeatable]

[Level up: Level 35]

[Level up: Level 36]

[Level up: Level 37]

[Quest: Hunt! Survive the trial grounds on Hetar-172 and claim victory through slaughter (2482 pts / rank 98)]

[As user has surpassed rank 100 in a collective trial, the ladder is now available]

[My my! Quite unexpected of you, little chair. I wonder, did the hunter perhaps sit on you and die?]