Deborah's POV
Following Matthew to his home, I immediately noticed how different this world was from mine.
The place was built for the "slave bloodlines," and it showed.
It was cramped, dark, and the air itself felt damp, oppressive.
Narrow hallways, filled with dust, led to small, decaying apartments.
Cracks on the walls spoke of years of neglect.
Compared to the apartments for public officials like me, this was a world apart.
Matthew's apartment was shared with eleven others, and the space was barely enough to breathe in.
Beds were stacked in three tiers, offering no privacy at all.
Luckily, Matthew slept in a lower bunk, which made it easier for him to recover from his injuries.
"They're not back from the quarry yet," he said casually, pulling out a small first-aid kit from a cabinet.
The kit was basic—just the bare essentials.
It made me feel helpless.
I had to remove the shards of Falshi from his wounds by hand.
Some of them were sharp and splintered, and I carefully extracted them one by one.
The fragments were fascinating, with their sharp edges and crystalline shape.
Falshi looked like an ancient gemstone, translucent and mesmerizing.
I held one up to the dim light, unable to resist whispering, "It's beautiful… even more so than any human-made jewel from centuries ago."
I turned the piece of Falshi in my fingers, watching its deep emerald glow shimmer in the faint light.
It was breathtaking.
But Matthew, gritting his teeth through the pain, snatched the piece from my hand.
"You shouldn't be touching Falshi," he said firmly. "It's heavily radioactive. It could harm you. Why were you at the quarry with Mark today?"
"I was transferred from the Life Breeding Department to the Falshi Research Department," I explained simply.
He shook his head, his expression tightening with concern.
"You're a public official now, you should've fought the transfer. Long-term exposure to Falshi is dangerous for anyone. Look at Mark—his health has been ruined by it. Most normal people—people who aren't like me—can barely survive fifteen years if they're exposed to Falshi."
I smiled softly, unable to explain my situation.
I wasn't sure whether I was still a priestess or a witch, but I knew I was different from ordinary people.
When Matthew mentioned Mark, I added, "Looks like Mark and I share the same misfortune of being transferred to the FRD."
"Yeah, well, he was born in Tirnanog," Matthew sighed.
I paused, surprised. "Tirnanog?"
He explained, "It's the lowest tier in Murias, just above the slave bloodlines. Even if someone from Tirnanog gets a government job, they're never really accepted."
I nodded thoughtfully, realizing this was a chance to learn more about Tirnanog. "So, your last name is Wellspring? Me too."
He smiled. "Really? That's right. Men and women are separated in Tirnanog—otherwise, we probably would've met sooner. It's a brutal place for women, but you were lucky. You became a public official and escaped the fate of being a breeding machine."
There was a pause, his voice taking on a wistful tone. "Compared to that, the radiation from Falshi is nothing. At least... you're free."
Free?
The word lingered between us, and I could see it in his eyes: a longing for something he didn't have.
His desire for freedom burned behind his gaze, suppressed but not gone.
He fell silent for a moment, then finally said, "I think... when I'm healed, I need to go back to Tirnanog."
I hesitated, then asked softly, "Can I come with you?"
He looked up, smiling. "Of course—how about tomorrow?"