I… I don't know how long I've been here.
Is there truly no end to this night?
The darkness feels alive now—thick, unmoving, clinging to my skin like damp velvet. When I inhale, the air scrapes down my throat. It's heavy. Rotten. Still.
I tried counting the days—three, maybe… or ten—but time stopped mattering when the hunger went quiet. My stomach doesn't even ache anymore. My lips are cracked; my tongue feels like stone.
And the others…
The others who were dragged here with me…
The screaming stopped yesterday.
For a moment, I thought silence would mean mercy.
But silence is worse.
Because now I can hear everything else—the dripping, the buzzing of flies, the muffled shuffling in the tunnels. And gods… the smell. Blood, filth, and something sweet and sour rotting just out of sight.
Every breath feels like swallowing death.
I close my eyes, but the darkness follows me inside. I still see them—the goblins, their jagged teeth, the way they dragged us through the mud like animals. I hear their laughter sometimes… somewhere deeper in the warren.
I used to pray. Every night. To the gods, the stars, to anyone who might hear.
But now?
I don't know if anyone's left to listen.
Still… if something is out there—god, spirit, devil—I don't care.
Please.
Please… someone.
I'll give anything. My name. My soul. Anything.
I curl into myself and whisper to the dark, barely audible:
"Just let me live…"
For a heartbeat, there is nothing. Only my pulse—faint, tired, losing rhythm.
Then—
A scream.
Not human. Wet. Ragged. Cut short.
The ground shudders. Chains rattle on the walls. Pebbles rain from the ceiling. Something outside—something huge—is moving too fast.
Goblins panic.
I hear them shrieking, scrambling, tripping over each other in their frenzy. Then—a sound like bones collapsing under a boulder. Steel carving through flesh. A wet thud. Another.
And then—
that sound.
A sharp, slicing whistle cutting through the dark.
Silence follows.
A goblin's head rolls into view, bouncing once before coming to rest a few feet from my cage. The eyes are wide. The mouth frozen mid-scream. Blood slowly pools beneath it.
I stop breathing.
Footsteps follow—slow, steady, utterly unhurried.
Not a goblin.
Too tall. Too heavy. Too calm.
A silhouette steps into the cave's dying firelight, dragging a blade that gleams like moonlit steel wrapped in smoke.
He looks human… maybe.
Ash clings to him like a second skin, but there isn't a single drop of blood on his clothes. His expression is relaxed—almost absent-minded—as if he'd wandered in here by mistake.
He pauses beside the severed head, tilting his own in mild annoyance.
"You'd think they'd learn after the first dozen…"
Then he places his boot on the goblin's skull.
Crunch.
The head collapses instantly, like rotten fruit.
"Guess not."
A tremor runs through me. I have never seen someone do that. I didn't know anyone could.
He moves deeper into the cave, crouching beside a circle of soot-stained symbols and half-melted offerings.
"Ritual markings… half-burned tributes."
He brushes ash off his fingers.
"Hm. Someone's been playing priest down here."
He turns to leave.
He doesn't look at me—maybe he didn't see me, or maybe he thought I was already another corpse on the floor.
My throat burns. I try to speak—nothing.
Try again.
Air. Just air.
And then—
"…help…"
The word escapes me, cracked, weak, barely a whisper.
But he stops.
The man doesn't turn right away. He just… stands there. One hand on his knife, the other loosely holding his blade. The silence stretches, thick enough to hear my heartbeat stumbling in my ears.
Then, with a lazy tilt of his head—
"…Hm?"
He glances over his shoulder, eyes catching the faint firelight. They're a pale, unreadable color—calm, half-lidded, almost bored. As if this entire place is just… mildly inconvenient.
"Was that you?"
He steps closer, boots crunching bone fragments without hesitation.
He stops in front of my cage, crouching until we're nearly eye-level. The glow of the dying fire illuminates him from below—ash-dusted hair, sharp cheekbones, relaxed expression.
He studies me like a puzzle he's too tired to solve.
"…A human. Huh."
His gaze sweeps around the cave.
"Didn't expect one of those down here. Goblins aren't picky… but still."
My voice breaks again, thin and trembling:
"...p-please…"
For the first time, something in his expression shifts. Not pity—something quieter. A faint softening at the edges.
He exhales slowly.
"…Damn. You're in worse shape than I thought."
He lifts a hand, conjuring a soft, cool light—not harsh, not blinding. It washes over the cage, revealing every bruise and tremble running down my arms.
He whistles under his breath.
"Goblin craftsmanship… gods, this is ugly."
He taps the rusted bars.
"Barely holding together. Complete waste of metal."
He leans a little closer, eyes narrowing in mock seriousness.
"Hey. Blink twice if you're dead."
I don't move.
"…Yeah, that tracks."
With a bored flick of his fingers, a sharp rune flashes—
crack
The shackle snaps open.
The cage door swings outward.
He steps back, giving me space I can't use.
"Alright, princess. Big moment. Let's get you up."
I try.
My knees buckle.
I collapse against the bars, breath shivering out of me.
His eyebrow twitches.
"…Right. Should've guessed."
He raises his hand again—but this time the glow changes.
Warmer.
Sacred.
Holy.
The air hums.
The light wraps around me like warm water, sinking into my bones. Pain eases. Cuts close. My lungs loosen. For the first time in days, I breathe without burning.
I stare at him in shock—wide-eyed, trembling.
Holy magic…
From a man like this?
He tilts his head.
"Better?"
His smile is soft, teasing.
"Can you stand?"
"I… I think—"
I try. My legs obey for a second, then give out again.
He doesn't sigh.
He simply steps in, sliding one arm behind my back and another under my knees—
—and lifts me effortlessly.
I gasp, heat rushing to my face.
"Ah—!"
He holds me like I weigh nothing. His body is warm. Steady.
"…Whoa."
He gives me a sideways look.
"You're lighter than a bag of flour. These goblins feeding you air?"
I blink, cheeks burning, too exhausted to speak.
He snorts softly.
"Yeah. Thought so. Goblins."
He starts walking—smooth, balanced, as if carrying me is nothing.
I manage a whisper:
"…wh-who… are you…?"
He glances down, a slow smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth—amused, but gentle.
"Me…?"
He taps his chest.
"Just a guy from Covalent Company."
A pause.
His voice drops to a softer, almost playful murmur:
"We'll talk names once we're out of this stinkhole. So do me a favor—"
He adjusts his grip on me.
"—and try not to drool on me, princess."
My face goes bright red.
I bury my face in his chest, mortified.
He laughs—low, warm, not unkind.
And for the first time since I was dragged into this hell…
I feel safe.