Mella's lips pressed into a thin line, as if weighing the words before they emerged.
Finally, she sighed. "I want to be strong," she said quietly.
Andrew arched a brow, waiting for her to continue.
"I mean really strong," she clarified, her tone firming. "Strong enough that when something big happens, they call me. They don't hesitate, they don't try anyone else first—they just know it's beyond them, and they need my help. Me." Her gaze flicked to him, daring him to mock her, but Andrew said nothing, letting her speak.
"It's not about ego," she added quickly, shaking her head. "It's… it's just this feeling I have. Like I'm capable of more. This power—the iron spear generation—it's amazing, and I know I can push it further. I don't want to be just strong for myself. I want to be the most reliable person to exist. Someone who makes a difference when it matters most." She let out a breath, her voice softening. "I'm a system-chosen, after all. That has to mean something, right?"
Andrew studied her for a moment. There was no boastfulness in her words, only raw determination. "That's not stupid at all," he said.
She smiled faintly. "Your turn. What about you? What do you want to do in the future?"
Andrew shrugged, glancing at the stars above them. "Nothing, really. I don't have some deep, personal goal. Anything I care about… well, you already know. I'm pretty boring."
Mella blinked at him, startled. "I don't think you're boring at all," she said firmly.
Andrew turned to her, surprised by the conviction in her voice. Before he could respond, Bar-jui's voice broke the moment. "We should get moving soon. The Mao tribe isn't known for hospitality, even at the best of times."
Andrew nodded, pushing himself to his feet. "Let's go."
The night swallowed them as they set out, Bar-jui leading the way through narrow jungle paths. The journey stretched long, the sound of their footsteps blending with the rustle of unseen creatures in the underbrush.
They finally reached their destination. Before them lay a massive flat black stone, its surface gleaming faintly under the moonlight. It was enormous, the diameter of a very long tree and perfectly smooth.
Andrew frowned, running his hand over the cool surface of the stone. "Why hasn't it moved? How do they get in and out?"
Mella walked on it. "Does it need a certain amount of pressure?"
Bar-jui stepped on it, inviting Andrew over. "Based on the amount of weight on it, those inside will be alerted and come outside urgently."
Andrew walked over and stood on it. "How long do we wait now?"
"Give me a second," Bar-jui muttered. He crouched and placed his palm flat against the stone, muttering something under his breath. His brow furrowed, and suddenly he yanked his hand back, a look of shock crossing his face as he fell back and rolled to the edge of the stone.
"What's wrong?" Mella asked, alarmed.
Bar-jui stood, his movements jerky. "Huh… I guess I just managed to trick two fools."
...
Andrew's mind reeled. "What?"
Before he could process the words, Mella shouted. "Jump!"
Instinct took over. Andrew grabbed Mella's hand, activating his super jump, but before he could launch, the ground beneath them lurched violently. The platform flipped with a grinding crack, and the solid stone fell away beneath their feet. They plunged into the chasm, swallowed by a darkness that felt infinite.
The air whipped past them, cold and stale. Andrew's stomach dropped as they fell, and his grip on Mella's hand tightened. The sensation of freefall was overwhelming, disorienting, and endless. His mind raced, but there was nothing to push off from, no clear plan forming fast enough.
Suddenly, a sharp sound rang out above the wind—a loud, metallic scrape. It was followed by a shuddering jolt that pulled them sharply upward for a moment, then let them continue downward, but slower than before. Andrew's stomach twisted at the sudden shift, and his body jerked against the pull of gravity. The deceleration wasn't smooth—it came in bursts and lurches that made it impossible to feel stable.
"What did you do?" Andrew shouted over the rushing air.
Mella's voice was tight, strained. "I made a spear! It's… pushing against the walls!"
Andrew craned his neck, looking up and down. There was nothing but dark above and below.
It wasn't enough to stop their fall entirely; they were still moving, sliding downward in halting bursts as the spear scraped and dug into the unseen walls of the chasm.
"Can you hold it?" he called, his voice tense.
"I'm trying!" she snapped, her voice cracking. "It's hard—it keeps slipping. The walls are so rough, I have to keep adjusting it!"
Each time the spear caught, their bodies jolted, shocking Andrew's arms and shoulders. He clenched his jaw, focusing on the feeling of her hand in his. The pauses between jolts became shorter as the spear dug deeper into the walls, grinding and creaking under the force.
The minutes dragged on. Every new jerk felt like it might be the last, the spear straining as it bore their combined weight against the walls.They were still moving down, the pressure against the spear evident in the sound of scraping and grinding stone.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the sliding slowed to a crawl. Andrew felt the spear grind one last time, followed by a deep, resonant groan as it came to a stop. His body swung gently in the air, the motion jarring but finally stable. For the first time, he could breathe without feeling the constant pull of gravity dragging them downward.
"We stopped," Andrew said, his voice low and disbelieving.
"Yeah," Mella murmured, her voice hoarse and exhausted. "It… finally held."
Andrew let out a long breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Relief washed over him as the sense of falling was replaced by stillness. His muscles ached from the tension of holding on, but it was a small price to pay. He glanced upward, trying to spot where the spear had lodged itself between the walls, but the darkness swallowed everything above and below them.
"You okay?" he asked, turning his attention back to her.
"Just tired," Mella muttered. "That… took more out of me than I expected."
Andrew's mind raced. They couldn't just hang there forever. An idea formed, risky but their best shot. "I'm going to put some pressure on you," he warned.
"Do whatever you're going to do," she said. "Just do it fast."
Andrew swung himself upward, using his free hand to feel along the spear. His weight pressed against Mella, drawing a grunt of discomfort from her, but he ignored it, focusing on finding the spear's length. His fingers brushed against it—it was slanted.
"Got it," he muttered.
With one hand on the spear, he reached back and grabbed Mella's arm. "Release," he said firmly.
Her voice was tense. "You better not get us killed."
She let go, and Andrew gritted his teeth, holding her weight with one arm while his right hand slid down the spear. He coated his palm in slime, enough to reduce friction but not ruin his grip entirely.
"Sliding down," he said.
"What?" Mella's voice was sharp with alarm.
"Trust me," Andrew replied, his voice steady.
The descent was slow, the slime allowing him to control their speed. Minutes passed, each second stretching into an eternity. Finally, his feet touched something solid. The spear had embedded itself into a wall.
Andrew exhaled in relief, but Mella's labored breathing reminded him the danger wasn't over. He shifted her to his side, his grip firm. "I'm going to need you to climb on my back," he said.
"I can't," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "No energy… I'll fall."
Andrew's jaw tightened. He adjusted his hold, bringing her closer. When he realized his left arm was burning with fatigue, he made a snap decision. With a sharp tug, he secured her by biting down on the leather of her armor. The taste was unpleasant, but it freed his arms.
He adjusted his grip on the spear, his muscles straining with the effort. One wrong move, and they'd plummet into the unknown.
"Hang on," he muttered through clenched teeth.