After about six hours, Silas finally stirred. His body ached, but the paste he had applied was doing its job, sealing his wounds and dulling the worst of the pain. He sat up slowly, every movement reminding him of the beating he'd endured. His ribs felt tight, and his muscles were sore, but he could move. That was enough. The cavern's faint light flickered around him, casting his shadow on the rough walls.
The bo staff rested across his lap, worn and weathered from countless battles. Its once-smooth surface was now rough in places, showing the toll of repeated use. The edges felt uneven beneath his fingers, and he could tell the weapon was nearing its limit. It hadn't splintered or cracked yet, but it wouldn't last forever. The realization gnawed at him. The staff had been more than a weapon—it had become a part of him, an extension of his will and skill.
"Pseudo-spiritual weapon," he muttered under his breath, remembering Amelia's daggers. They seemed similar, though clearly more advanced. "Maybe it's time I find something better." But even as he thought it, the staff felt alive in his hands, like it still had something to offer. He spun it experimentally, feeling its balance, its weight. It wasn't perfect anymore, but it would do for now.
Silas leaned back against the cool stone wall, exhaling slowly. His mind turned to Amelia. She'd abandoned him during the fight—that much was clear. It wasn't a betrayal in the emotional sense, but it was cold and calculated. The kind of move that kept someone like her alive in this world.
Smart, Silas thought bitterly. But smart didn't mean comrade material.
If Amelia thought about teaming up again, she could shove the idea right up her ass and fuck right off. And yet, her decision forced him to reflect. Would Aberham have done the same? Silas doubted it. Silas hoped he was holding his own wherever he was.
With a deep breath, Silas stood, stretching slowly as his body protested. The paste on his side had sealed the worst of his wounds, but the dull throb of pain was still there. He ran a hand over his ribs, grimacing. Rest was tempting, but he knew it wasn't an option. The herb he needed for his fruit was here somewhere, and every second spent idle was a missed opportunity.
The thought of Amelia crossed his mind again, but he brushed it off. Looking for her wasn't worth his time, but should he look for the hidden realm? He wasn't sure at the moment.
He wasn't her keeper, and she wasn't his. His priority was finding the herb and leaving this place behind.
Adjusting his grip on the staff, Silas began to walk deeper into the cavern. Each step echoed faintly, the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence. As he moved, the air grew warmer, a noticeable shift that made the cavern feel almost alive. The rocks beneath his feet radiated faint heat, and the walls glistened with moisture. He could feel the change in the atmosphere—the air was thicker, harder to draw in, like the cave itself was trying to push him back.
Eventually, he reached an opening that led into a lower chamber. A faint red glow emanated from below, casting jagged shadows on the walls. Heat rolled out in waves, brushing against his skin like an invisible force. Silas paused at the entrance, staring down into the glowing depths. It wasn't lava—not exactly—but it was hot enough to push the limits of what an ordinary human could endure.
The cavern seemed to pulse with life, the heat and shadows combining into an almost hypnotic rhythm. Silas gripped his staff tightly, the rough wood grounding him as he stepped forward. This was it—the path to the herb, to strengthen whatever the fruit did.
Each step felt heavier as he descended, the heat wrapping around him like a suffocating blanket. His breathing grew shallow, the lack of fresh air gnawing at his lungs. But Silas didn't stop. Whatever waited for him in this hellish cavern, he would face it head-on