A child of no more than ten years, of fragile appearance, pale skin and deep dark circles, dragged like a dying worm over a path of compact dirt and gravel, flanked by tall and slender trees that aligned on both sides.
The trunks, of a dark brown and rough, rose toward a clear and pale sky, tinted by the soft light of sunset. The treetops showed a mixture of leaves in intense yellow, orange and red tones.
Atom knew that death approached. His body, exhausted, yielded little by little, sinking as if trapped in quicksand that devoured him slowly.
He did not have the strength to advance.
His hands, extended over the ground, brushed the rough earth, and his bloodied face, resting on the left cheek, felt the frozen ground.
Through his dim eyes, something emerged from the distance.
Was he dreaming?
A black caravan advanced little by little toward him.
Seconds? Minutes? Atom did not know it.
Time had become a foreign concept. Still, he tried to gather the last fragments of lucidity that remained in his mind.
Had they found him?
The memory of his escape, of the struggle to escape from that place, kindled an anxiety that twisted his entrails. Each instant of freedom had cost too much to surrender now.
He did not accept to surrender. He did not accept to deliver himself to the darkness that enveloped him and dragged him toward an abyss without return.
Suddenly, a pair of high heels burst into his visual field, sharp against the arid earth.
"I see now... The messenger of death has come for me..."
Atom raised his head.
"Although... To be the messenger of death, she is quite pretty..."
She was a young woman of slender figure, of harmonious face and exceptional beauty. Her platinum blonde hair, long and loose, descended over the chest and framed the pronounced curve of her face. Her eyes, of an emerald green, stood out over uniform and clear skin. The facial features, delicate and proportioned, showed an uncommon perfection.
Atom had not known any woman who equaled her attractiveness, neither in personal encounters nor in his other life.
She wore an elegant and dark cape with ornamental details, adorned with golden buttons and a belt that highlighted her figure. Over her head she carried a wide-brimmed hat with a white feather that added a distinctive touch to her appearance. Her white blouse, of Victorian style, was decorated with a green and golden brooch that hung from her neck.
"If you close your eyes right now... you will cross to the other side. Rest in peace..."
The woman extracted a brown canteen and drank with subtle elegance. In her hands, she carried dark gloves that covered up to the wrists.
"But if you drink this water... hell will wait for you for a long time. Even so... do you desire it, boy?"
Atom raised his head with an effort that seemed titanic. His trembling hand extended toward the canteen, while his body shuddered at the edge of collapse.
But the spark in his eyes, already barely a glimmer, extinguished completely. His head fell, defeated and inert, over the earth.
...
A slight moan was heard, barely perceptible, like the whisper of a leaf falling. It was soft, contained, as if it feared that the slightest noise would attract an unwanted presence.
"Eh... Oof!..."
His eyes went blank for a few seconds. Then he opened them slowly, revealing a lost gaze.
Atom sat up suddenly, with accelerated heart and tense muscles. His breathing was irregular. He seemed restless, trapped between the memory of what he had seen and the confusion of the present.
His gaze wandered through the environment before focusing with clarity. A long sigh escaped from his lips, loaded with resignation.
"It is the same... dream again..."
A rough and dusty blanket covered his legs. The sweat that soaked his armpits and back formed warm streams that made him feel uncomfortable. The nightmare, familiar and persistent, seemed to have shaken him with more force than ever.
His head spun, with a sensation similar to a hangover that did not finish dissipating. Above all, his dream had been very unpleasant.
"Finally you wake up..."
Atom turned his head rapidly, impelled by the startle. His eyes traveled the arid landscape, seeking the source of the voice.
He realized that he still found himself in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by tall trees.
About two meters away, a bonfire burned with intensity, its flames danced with fury, projecting trembling shadows over the cracked ground.
"And who are you?"
In front of him, seated naturally over the ground, was the same young woman of extraordinary beauty that he had seen before fainting.
Her hair fell in perfect waves over the shoulders, and her skin seemed to shine with the light of the fire. She held a steaming cup in her right hand, from which rose threads of steam that lost themselves in the night air.
Her serene presence, impregnated with natural charisma, captured his attention without effort. Behind her, was the luxurious carriage in which she had come.
"Mavis... An ambulant merchant."
The woman raised the cup. She drank slowly, without showing emotion, as if the taste did not matter to her at all.
"Ah... Well, thank you for saving..."
"I do not need your thanks."
The interruption was dry, cutting.
Mavis looked at him with indifference, as if Atom's words did not deserve her attention. He remained silent, trapped between discomfort and curiosity.
"Well... Now that the introductions are done, let us go with business," said Mavis while placing the cup on the ground carefully. "I am a merchant. I want you to pay me for the water, the medicine and for saving your life."
Her voice showed no affection nor courtesy. It was firm, dry, as if each word was appraised.
The smile that accompanied her declaration offered no comfort. It was the expression of someone who had learned to negotiate with everything, even with the life of others.
"Do I have to pay you?"
Atom blinked with incredulity.
He had not foreseen a situation like this.
In his mind, the act of saving another belonged to the territory of goodness, not to commerce. But Mavis did not seem to share that vision.
She had rescued him, yes, but not out of compassion. She had done it with the intention of charging him, of reminding him that even mercy had a price.
And Atom possessed nothing.
He had been a slave from the moment he reincarnated in that world. The underground mines had molded him with hardships, had marked him with humiliations. His existence offered no value in any market.