Vlad stood beneath a tear in the canopy where the sky opened up—just a narrow breach in the bentree limbs above like the forest itself had forgotten to grow there. The downpour slashed through the gap, hard and relentless. Painting his ruined arm in rivulets of clean, dim, crimson light.
His gauntlet and the part of the rad suit that covered his left arm were back on, fingers stiff beneath, trembling with strain. Water sheeting down his shoulders. His left arm—still slightly screaming beneath the surface—was strapped tight to his chest with a thick vine. Makeshift sling. The knot dug into the skin at the back of his neck, but at least the bone wasn't moving anymore.
He tilted his head back slowly. Let the rain hit full force.
The drops struck his skin like soft coins—cool and heavy. They rolled over his temples, down his neck, into his mouth. He drank. Greedily, messily. It tasted pure. Cold and sweet and alive. Like something ancient and clean had cut through the canopy just for him.
A small, breathless sound escaped him. Almost a laugh.
Good.
He swallowed again. Again. It didn't take the pain away, but for a second it dulled the edges, letting something else in.
Did we look bad back there?
Spasming like that. Screaming like some animal.
The thoughts weren't loud, but they settled in like stones. Heavy. Wet. Inevitable.
Have we fallen too deep?
Vlad stood motionless, eyes still on the red clouds boiling above. He let the rain fill his mouth again. Let it run down his throat, his jaw, his neck.
And then, softly, barely audible beneath the drum of water:
"No."
His eyes fell shut for a moment. He breathed in through his nose. The rain washed over him like absolution.
"Not that deep yet."
***
Vlad stepped forward, pushing aside the heavy, dripping leaves that hung like curtains over the entrance to the shelter. The damp wood and bentree limbs creaked softly under his steps as he crossed the threshold, stepping into the warm glow that flickered against the dark.
Inside, the fire burned low but steady, casting golden light on the rough floor made of bark. Thin wisps of smoke curled lazily upward, mixing with the scent of damp wood. Strips of meat, skewered and sizzling over the flames, released a rich, smoky aroma that filled the air—a deep, mouthwatering promise of warmth and sustenance.
Lana was there, bent slightly forward as she turned the skewered meat with careful hands, her fingers steady and sure. Her wet green hair, wild, caught the firelight, a halo of copper and gold around her focused face. Her emerald eyes, intense and soft all at once, flicked toward him with a mixture of relief and annoyance.
Vlad's gaze lingered. The way she moved, methodical but effortless, the way her lips parted just slightly when she exhaled, the faint crease of concentration on her brow—there was a quiet strength in her that made his heart twist in a way he…could explain.
Just as I thought.
His mouth watered involuntarily, the scent of the cooking meat stirring hunger deep in his belly.
Lana didn't say anything right away—just looked at him like she was scanning for hidden damage. Then her voice cut gently through the fire's crackle.
"Is it too tight? Is your arm… okay?"
Vlad lowered himself slightly, shifting some of the wet strands of hair from his forehead. He didn't smile. There was a crookedness in his expression that carried the shape of one.
"No it's fine, and I'm better than before," he said, voice rough from the cold. "I'm not screaming like a child anymore."
Lana gave a soft exhale that could've been a laugh or just tension bleeding out of her shoulders. She looked back at the fire, turning the meat again, letting the silence stretch a little.
Vlad stepped closer, his legs aching from hitting his knee somewhere in his pain-filled frenzy. He eased himself down onto the makeshift bed tucked in the back corner of the shelter—a low pile of bentree leaves woven and stacked into a makeshift bed. By who knows what.
Lana didn't look at him, but the side of her mouth curved faintly as she said:
"Good. I was getting tired of hearing you cry."
Vlad exhaled slowly. His shoulders sagged just a little, a quiet surrender settling into him.
Figures. I wouldn't let an opportunity like that slip as well. He thought, chuckling and sliding his wet hair back.
Without looking over, Lana reached over and handed him a piece of the cooked meat, warm and glistening with fat. She bit into her own, teeth sinking through the tender flesh with a satisfying snap.
Vlad stared a bit too long making her shake the piece of meat in her hand.
He blinked, then took the meat carefully.
"Oh, thanks."
Vlad brought the meat to his mouth and took a slow bite, the warmth spreading through his jaw, down his throat, and into his chest like a living thing. It was perfectly cooked—crispy at the edges, tender in the center, and rich with the flavor of open flame and hunger. For a moment, nothing else existed. Just the taste, the warmth, and the quiet flicker of firelight across walls made of Bentree.
Then Lana spoke, her voice calm but edged with quiet alertness.
"Did you see anything out there?"
Vlad looked up, chewing slowly.
She glanced at him now, her expression unreadable.
"Your scream… it might've drawn in something nasty."
Vlad swallowed hard, the meat sliding down rough but comforting. His throat clenched from the weight of Lana's words.
That's true. The scream could've drawn something here.
He recalled all that he saw when he was outside.
No movement. No glowing eyes. No unnatural shapes.
Nothing unusual.
He met Lana's gaze and shook his head slowly.
"Nothing. Didn't see a thing."
Lana watched him for a moment longer, eyes sharp beneath her green hair. Then she nodded once—small, tight.
"Alright," she murmured, returning her attention to the fire, flipping one of the strips of meat.
Vlad leaned back against the bentree wall. He let his eyes close for a moment, the taste of the food still lingering on his tongue.
Then—a sudden crunch of leaves.
Both Vlad and Lana jolted—muscles tensing, instincts snapping into place like drawn wires. In a blink, Lana was standing, her longsword in hand, near the fire. Vlad pushed off the wall, staggering slightly as he rose. He reached for the vine with his good hand and yanked. The knot resisted. He hissed through his teeth and pulled harder, fingers fumbling in panic. The vine came loose with a wet snap, the tension suddenly gone. His injured arm dropped slightly—and the lingering pain struck again.
Another sound—closer now. Leaves shifting. Footsteps that shouldn't be there.
Vlad's breath caught in his throat.
No. No, no—why…
There was nothing there! I didn't see anything!
Vlad's jaw clenched.
There's only one entrance.
His eyes flicked around the shelter, heart pounding harder now, breath shallow and fast.
If that thing gets in…
There's no escape.
They'd have to fight.
The shelter, high in the canopy, was surrounded by massive bentree branches—dozens of meters thick—sealed on all sides but one.
The front—just that narrow, leaf-draped slit they'd come through.
One way in.
One way out.
The fire crackled in front of him. Lana took one slow step forward, blade raised, her body between the entrance and Vlad.
He clenched his fists and swallowed hard.
The last veil of leaves stirred. The uninvited guest was entering their abode.