The Mongolian night pressed in cold and silent. Inside the tent, Riley and Rudra lay back-to-back—or at least, that had been the plan.
Somewhere deep in sleep, Riley felt something hard pressing against him.
"...Why the fuck are you sleeping with a dagger, mate?" he muttered, half-awake, half-annoyed.
Rudra's voice came low and close, his breath brushing Riley's ear. "That ain't a dagger," he murmured. "That's a spear."
Riley froze, his eyes snapping open in horror. "ACK—YUCK, YOU BLOODY CUNT! GET IT OFF! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!"
He practically vaulted upright, flailing and shouting a stream of devious Aussie slurs—"You curry-shagging bastard! You little drop-bear prick! Jesus Christ on a stick!"—as Rudra blinked, utterly unamused and confused.
Rudra slowly sat up, pulling an actual spear from under the blanket. "What happened? See? It's just a spear. In case we get attacked in our sleep."
Riley froze mid-breath, suddenly realizing his misunderstanding. His face flushed crimson. "…Wait… wait… you mean a spear, like a weapon?"
"Yes," Rudra said flatly, lying back down. "Not… whatever thought just crossed your mind, you insufferable kangaroo bastard."
Riley took a shaky breath, muttering more slurs under his breath—"Fuckin' spear-wielding son of a wombat!"—before crawling back into his corner, still glaring, heart racing, painfully aware of just how wrong he'd read the situation.
Rudra yawned lazily. "You're far too jumpy for someone who calls himself a soldier."
"Yeah, well," Riley muttered, arms crossed, "I wasn't trained for that kind of assault, you arsehole."
"Shit, I need to piss," Rudra said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bedroll. He paused, squinting through the tent flap. "How long till we reach the nearest civilization?"
Riley rubbed his neck, groaning. "About two hours, mate, if we keep moving. The nearest settlement's Kharkhorin—tiny place, but at least it has people."
Rudra smirked faintly. "Good. Means I can relieve myself without turning this into a blood ritual."
Riley rolled his eyes, muttering, "Bloody hell."
Rudra stepped out of the tent, only to find the Yaksha's corpse gone. He didn't flinch. "Yeah… was bound to happen," he muttered, voice flat. He eased himself down where the corpse had been moments ago, muscles relaxing slightly. "One bullet would've never killed him."
From his pocket, he pulled out a small bottle of alcohol sanitizer, rubbing it into his palm with methodical calm. The sharp smell cut through the night air as his gaze drifted to the Mongolian stars above.
"This place is so empty," he murmured, almost to himself, "I feel like I'm back in that… cell."
A sudden chill crawled up the back of his neck. The hair on his arms bristled. Rudra didn't turn immediately, letting the tickle of the air press against him—silent, patient, and watchful, like something waiting just beyond the rim of perception.
Rudra lay back on the thin bedroll, the Mongolian wind whispering through the tent like a low chant. His eyes closed, and sleep came slowly, pulling him under—but not without dragging fragments of memory along.
He was seven again, the walls of his kindergarten classroom painted in pale yellows and fading blues. The smell of chalk dust hung in the air, mixed with the faint sweetness of crayons. He remembered the thin, stern voice of his English teacher, Miss Langley, who stood at the blackboard with a worn copy of "Fire and Ice" by Robert Frost clutched in her hands.
"Now, children," she said, eyes scanning the room with the gravity of someone delivering a revelation rather than a lesson, "Frost's poem isn't just about heat and cold. Fire represents desire, obsession, pride, anger, the consuming passions that can destroy. Ice… ice is hate, indifference, the frozen silence that ends civilizations quietly."
Rudra remembered the way she pointed at the words, her finger tracing the letters slowly, as if engraving meaning into the minds of tiny, inattentive children.
"Think carefully," she continued, voice dropping to a hush, "about what it means to let fire rule your heart, versus letting ice claim it. The end of the world could come in either way. Passion unchecked, or apathy absolute. Frost asks… which will finish us?"
Even then, Rudra had listened differently than the others. While his classmates fidgeted and doodled, he absorbed each word like it was a warning whispered through time. The lines about fire and ice burned faintly in his memory, intertwining with the rhythm of his own pulse, foreshadowing every catastrophe he would endure.
The Mongolian night pressed around him, and he could feel the echoes of that lesson now—fire in his veins, ice in his patience—both equally capable of ending everything. He exhaled, eyes still closed, letting the memory fade back into the darkness, letting sleep reclaim him.
Rudra's eyes snapped open to the wet, rough tongue of a bacterian camel against his face.
"Fuc—" he jolted upright, swatting at the creature, half-shouting, half-gagging. The sun had barely risen, painting the Mongolian plains in soft gold, but the morning had already started its assault.
His gaze shifted, catching Riley off in the distance, grinning idiotically while attempting to flirt with a local girl herding cattle. She didn't speak a word of English, so Riley's gestures and mangled phrases sailed over her head entirely.
Rudra groaned, leaning back on his hands, still rubbing his cheek. "Who is she?" he muttered, scanning her from afar.
The girl's traditional deel swirled around her as she moved among the animals with effortless grace. Even in Rudra's groggy, irritated state, he couldn't help but register it—there was something quietly striking about her, the way she carried herself, and yes… she was undeniably pretty.
Riley, meanwhile, waved his arms like a frantic windmill. Rudra pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're hopeless, kangaroo," he muttered, watching Riley's futile attempts at charm with equal parts amusement and exasperation.
Still, he couldn't quite shake the thought of the girl—her movements, her presence—lingering in his mind like a quiet note in the middle of chaos.
Riley turned, catching Rudra's gaze while trying to balance a grin and his usual clueless charm. "Oh, her? Don't know her name, mate. She's one of the local herders. Family's been moving cattle out here for generations, I reckon."
Rudra raised an eyebrow, still sitting cross-legged in the grass. "And you're… trying to flirt with her?"
Riley scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. "Yeah… don't really speak the same language, but, y'know… gestures, smiles, the universal Aussie charm?"
Rudra snorted softly, shaking his head. "Universal charm, huh? She looks like she could crush you with a single hoof and you'd still think she's cute."
Riley laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "Eh, maybe… but I like a challenge, mate. Anyway, figured I'd give it a shot before we move on."
Rudra's eyes flicked back to the girl, noting again the way the deel flowed around her, the effortless command in her stance. "Hmm," he murmured. "I'll admit… she does have presence. Just don't get eaten for your stupidity, kangaroo."
Riley grinned sheepishly. "Noted, boss. Noted."
The girl turned toward Rudra, tilting her head slightly, her dark eyes calm and steady. She spoke softly in her local language:
"Ta nar yahaa irewee?"
"Geez, where's my translato…" Rudra muttered, rummaging through his pack. "…fuck, it's out of battery." His eyes scanned frantically until he spotted the device.
"Here it—Riley?!" Rudra barked, holding up his translato. "…why is my power bank charging your… whatever this is?" His gaze fell on the small, ridiculous contraption Riley had dragged along—a toy kangaroo portable juice mixer, currently whirring as it blended his morning banana-chocolate shake.
Riley looked up guiltily, a smear of chocolate already on his cheek. "Ah… yeah, uh… needed some juice. Didn't think it'd eat all your power like that. My bad, mate."
Rudra groaned, rubbing his temple. "Mate… this is why nothing works around you. Every single thing I own somehow ends up powering your bloody monstrosities."
Riley shrugged innocently, grinning anyway. "Hey, at least you've got coffee, energy, and a smoothie all in one."
Rudra's glare could have melted steel. "…I'm reconsidering leaving you in the middle of Mongolia with those marmots."
Riley chuckled nervously, picking up the tiny kangaroo mixer. "Fair enough, Red. Fair enough."