The potion Seren had provided worked quickly. A heavy, dreamless slumber claimed X, pulling him under for several hours.
When he awoke, the light filtering through the canvas of the healer's tent had softened to the gentle gold of late afternoon.
The sharp, throbbing pain in his leg had subsided to a dull, distant ache. More importantly, the oppressive fatigue that had been a constant companion since waking in the desert had lifted.
For the first time, X felt something approaching normalcy, a clarity of mind that was both a relief and a source of fresh anxiety. With clarity came the full weight of his predicament.
Seren was sitting at her table, grinding herbs with a focused intensity. She looked up as X stirred, a small, hesitant smile on her face. "You slept well. That's good. Your body needed it."
"Thank you," X said, the words feeling inadequate. "For… everything."
"It is my job," she replied simply. "To mend what can be mended." Her eyes, however, still held the troubled curiosity from before. The paradox of X be the blight-carrier who was also unnaturally resilient, the empty fortress that was clearly a puzzle she was still trying to solve.
Before more could be said, a shadow fell across the entrance of the tent. One of the guards from the gate stood there, his expression impassive. "Zarok sent me. He's ready to speak with you now." The message was for both X and Jacob, who had been dozing lightly in a corner.
Jacob was on his feet instantly, his weariness replaced by a sharp alertness. "About time," he muttered. He looked at X. "Remember what I said. Let me do the talking. Answer his questions simply. Don't volunteer anything."
Zarok's quarters were not in a tent, but in one of the few permanent structures in The Well, a squat, functional building made of reinforced mud-brick and scrap metal. It was likely a command center or barracks from whatever pre-cataclysm installation this oasis had once been.
The inside was as spartan and pragmatic as the man himself. There was a large table in the center, covered with hand-drawn maps of the surrounding wasteland, marked with symbols for known hazards, potential water sources, and raider activity.
Weapons racks lined one wall, holding a variety of scavenged and handmade arms. There was no decoration, nothing personal, only the tools of survival and command.
Zarok was standing over the table, studying one of the maps, when they entered.
He didn't look up immediately, letting the silence stretch, a simple but effective power play. He was making it clear who was in charge.
Finally, he straightened and turned to face them, his scarred face impossible to read. Two other guards stood silently by the door, their presence a clear statement.
"Jacob," Zarok began, his voice a low rumble. "You bring a stranger to my gates, claiming he has information. I've given him my water and the time of my best healer. I suggest you don't waste any more of my resources."
"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important, Zarok," Jacob replied, his tone respectful but firm. He was not intimidated. "We're not just dealing with raiders and dry wells anymore. The blight is getting worse. The creatures are changing, becoming more organized. More intelligent."
Zarok's expression didn't change, but a flicker of interest showed in his dark eyes. "I know. Our patrols have reported as much. We lost two scouts last month to a pack of sand-cats that hunted with tactics I've never seen before. What's your point?"
"My point," Jacob said, pausing for effect, "is that we found a reason why." He looked at X. "Show him."
Hesitantly, X pulled the pendant from beneath his tunic. The heavy, dark metal object lay in his palm, seeming to absorb the light in the room.
Zarok's eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer, his gaze fixed on the artifact. He didn't reach for it, but circled the table to get a better look, his movements like those of a cautious predator examining a strange new animal.
"What is it?" Zarok demanded.
"We believe it's a blight-locus," Jacob explained. "An artifact of the Pharaoh's Curse. We took it from the leg of a scorpion brood-mother, the size of a trade-cart. When the pendant was removed, the creature and all its spawn died instantly."
The guards by the door shifted uneasily at the mention of the curse. Zarok, however, remained impassive, though his focus intensified. "You're telling me this trinket was controlling that beast?"
"More than that," Jacob continued, pressing his advantage. "It was amplifying it. Warping it. These things are seeds of the curse, planted throughout the wastes. They're the reason the blight is spreading, the reason the creatures are becoming more monstrous." He also produced the journal.
"This was found in a ruin near where I found him. It confirms the legends. The cataclysm wasn't random. It was the curse reawakening."
Zarok picked up the journal, his scarred hands surprisingly careful with the brittle pages. He didn't read it, but seemed to weigh it, as if judging the gravity of its contents. He then looked back at X, his gaze sharp and penetrating.
"And you," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "Who are you? Where do you come from?"
"I don't know," X answered honestly, his voice steady. "I woke up in the desert two days before Jacob found me. I have no memory of who I am or how I got there."
Zarok stared at X for a long, silent moment, searching for any sign of deception. "Amnesia. Convenient," he echoed Jacob's earlier sentiment, but his tone was far more menacing.
"So let me get this straight. A complete unknown, a blank slate, appears out of nowhere, survives an encounter that should have killed him, and just happens to possess an artifact that can supposedly control the very blight that's strangling the world." He let out a low, humorless chuckle.
"It's either the greatest stroke of luck this settlement has ever seen, or it's a trap so elaborate I can't even see the jaws."
He placed his hands flat on the map table, leaning forward, his presence dominating the room. "I am responsible for the lives of over two hundred people, stranger. My only concern is their survival. Everything else is a distant second. Your story is unbelievable ,and this pendant is a direct link to the curse we all fear. My first instinct is to put you and that thing in a very deep hole and bury you."
"And my first instinct," Jacob countered, stepping forward, "is that you'd be burying the first real chance we've had to fight back, not just hide. For decades, we've been treating the surface, Zarok. Hiding behind walls, fighting off the sickened creatures and people. This," he pointed to the pendant, "is a chance to go after the disease itself."
Zarok straightened up, his gaze shifting between the hopeful historian and the dangerous artifact. He was a mercenary, a pragmatist. He dealt in tangible threats and measurable risks. Hope was a variable he didn't trust, but the evidences be the changing creatures, the journal, the very existence of the pendant were compelling.
"You want to fight the curse," Zarok said slowly, the idea taking root. "You want to go on some grand quest to save the world. That's your fantasy, old man. My reality is the raider clans gathering in the west, and the fact that our well water has been tasting more brackish every month. The blight is already here, inside our walls."
He fell silent, his mind clearly weighing the monumental risk against the potential, however slim, of a reward. "I will not risk the lives of my people on a fool's errand," he declared finally. "But I am not a fool myself. This information is valuable."
He looked at X, his decision made. "You will stay. You are under my protection, and my watch. You will not leave The Well without my permission. We are going to find out exactly what that thing is and what you are. And if I find for one second that you are a threat to my people…"
He let the threat hang in the air, unspoken but perfectly clear. "Jacob, you'll answer to me for him. Now get out. I have patrols to organize."
They were dismissed. X had found sanctuary, but it was a cage, ruled by a man who saw him not as a savior, but as a potential weapon, or a bomb waiting to detonate.