They had been walking for an hour now. Maybe two. The path twisted through the plains, sometimes disappearing beneath the tall grass only to reappear a little further, as if playing hide and seek with them. The upturned skull, always on the horizon, never seemed to get any closer. A monstrous optical illusion. Almost cruel.
Dylan walked at the front, hands clasped behind his head, whistling a tune with no conviction. Maggie brought up the rear, silent, clearly focused on the road… or something else. Élisa, meanwhile, struggled to keep pace. The terrain wasn't difficult, but the accumulating fatigue, the sleepless night, and the energy spent purifying the gems were catching up with her.
Eventually, she let out a long sigh and called:
"Dylan… carry me."
He turned around, one eyebrow raised, half amused, half suspicious. "You serious?"
She raised her arms toward him dramatically. "I'm dying… Look at my legs, they've melted."
