Huff. Huff. Dmitri's breath came out in ragged gasps, each one heavier than the last. His chest burned with exhaustion as his magicule reserves dwindled to nothing. I'm tired as shit! he thought, barely able to keep his crossbow steady. Across from him, Sera stood, still breathing deeply, but clearly in far better shape. Though both of them were roughly at the same skill level, Sera had an advantage—a hidden one.
Years ago, when she was ten—she made the deal with Eikþyrnis after her parents died, granting her a talent with no name, It made her body more resistant to physical and magical damage. She could shrug off most hits that would cripple others, her natural durability outpacing nearly anyone she'd faced so far. The only weakness she carried from the deal was a vulnerability to Blight and physic-based magic. It didn't matter in most fights, but when it did, it was her Achilles' heel.
Sera stared Dmitri down, her irritation growing. He's holding on longer than expected, she mused, but there was an edge to her patience. "Are you done, or do we need to keep going until you calm down?" Her tone was biting, impatient. Without waiting for a response, she dashed forward, landing a flurry of blows on Dmitri's midsection, forcing him to his knees. A well-placed kick sent him sprawling on the ground, writhing in pain.
Some members of Dmitri's group averted their eyes, while others instinctively clutched their weapons. They knew better than to intervene.
Minutes later, Dmitri was on his feet again, shakily injecting pain suppressors into his arm. Sera's eyes, hidden behind her mask, scanned the group, particularly the ones infected with Oripathy. He wasn't lying after all. Some of them won't make it through the next few days. Damn. She thought of the limited supply of suppressors she had back at the landship. I don't even have enough for us.
Sitting down on a small trunk nearby, Sera's gaze shifted back to Dmitri. "Where did you come from? And how did you manage to bring so many people here?" she asked, her voice steady but with a trace of exhaustion.
Dmitri wiped the sweat from his brow, his crossbow resting across his lap as he cleaned it. "I'm from Kazimr, but this group is from all over the continent. Nothing too crazy." He spoke casually, like this was just another routine day in the wilderness. He glanced up at her. "What about you, Sarkaz? You don't look like you're from around here."
Sera's response was curt. "I come from nowhere." She didn't elaborate, nor did she plan to. Standing up, she whistled sharply, signaling her crew to join her. Alaric and Zyra would take a little longer to reach her, but they'd arrive soon enough.
"What's with the mask?" one of Dmitri's group asked, the awkwardness in her voice betraying the growing curiosity. Her companions stared at her in silence until she kicked a pebble out of frustration, accidentally hitting another member's shin.
Sera turned her head slightly, not revealing any emotion behind the mask. "Because it hides my face from people," she said flatly. No way was she giving them more than that. In a world where trust was a rare commodity, sharing details was dangerous. People would take what they could if they thought you had something valuable.
As they exchanged words, both Dmitri and Sera suddenly perked up, their ears twitching in unison. Footsteps. Rapid ones, headed straight toward them. In moments, Alaric and Zyra emerged from the trees, their approach quieter but hurried.
Dmitri's eyes flicked toward the pair, observing them intently. What an odd trio. Alaric looked as if he'd been molded from the forest itself, an old man with eyes sharp as blades. Zyra, on the other hand, looked out of place in her maid outfit, and Sera looked like she was straight out of a mercenary camp, her posture and movements betraying years of battle experience.
Alaric's eyes briefly scanned Dmitri's bruised form. "What happened to him?" he asked, his tone neutral but probing.
"He had a bad fall and sprained his arm. Nothing major," Sera replied, brushing off the encounter as she leaned against a tree, crossing her arms. "Anyway, this is Dmitri. My name's Sera, that's Zyra, and the old pile of bones there is Alaric."
Dmitri raised an eyebrow at the introduction. "Is this all of you? Or do you have more people back at your base?" he asked, wariness creeping into his voice. Some of his own group wouldn't last long without help—especially not those suffering from Oripathy.
His mind churned with calculations. Should we follow them? Some of us might not make it if we don't get to a safe place soon.
"Say, could you take me and my group somewhere safe? Even just for a day?" Dmitri asked, trying to sound as neutral as possible.
Sera's response was immediate. "No." Her voice was cold, with no room for negotiation. "I don't know you. I don't even know your name."
Dmitri's shoulders slumped slightly, though he tried not to show it. Alaric, however, stepped up beside Sera, whispering something in her ear. She turned, her eyes hidden behind her mask, but she stared at Alaric's face with intense scrutiny, as though weighing her options.
A moment later, Zyra spoke up, breaking the silence. "Sera, they could help us with the exploration later on. We could use the extra hands."
Dmitri's eyes sharpened at Zyra's words, realizing that she was likely a Banshee. Sarkaz was often used as a broad term for their kind, but banshees were different. They were a dying race, cursed with low birth rates, and even more rare to see this far out on the frontier. A banshee, huh? You don't see them every day.
Sera finally relented. "Fine. But if they try anything, they're gone." She gestured toward the landship, her voice commanding. "Hurry up, or you're staying here."
Without another word, Sera turned and began walking toward the landship. Alaric and Zyra followed immediately, with Dmitri's group close behind, some hesitant, others too tired to question it. They didn't have many options left.
As they walked through the forest, small pockets of conversation emerged between the two groups. Sera, Zyra, and Alaric learned more about Dmitri's past—how he had once served as a guard in Chernobyl, a relatively peaceful nomadic city in Usegal. He had lived a quiet life up until his father's death, which had pushed him to leave his home despite his mother's pleas for him to stay.
For Dmitri, that departure marked the end of normalcy, but he knew it was a necessary sacrifice. His world had already fallen apart, and now, like so many others, he was simply trying to survive.
Eventually, they reached the towering, decaying structure that was the landship. Its enormous hull loomed over them, a silent testament to a forgotten era. The dilapidated ship looked both grand and tragic, a relic of a time when it had likely roamed the world, powerful and proud.
Now, it was their refuge.
Sera stood at the front, her hand resting on the side of the ship's rusted exterior. "Welcome to what's left of it," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. Behind her, Dmitri's group exchanged glances, unsure of what awaited them inside.