The minutes ticked by, yet there was still no sign of the Matriarch. Meanwhile, Dylan couldn't believe how talkative Basaros was being.
The cyclops answered questions Dylan hadn't even mustered the courage to ask. So, he decided to let him talk, absorbing every bit of information the other poured out. Yet, much of what Basaros said seemed directed at someone already familiar with the world. Dylan, on the other hand, was completely clueless.
Still, he managed to learn that they were in the cave of the Thunder Clan. This clan apparently controlled access to the Dark Continent. No one could pass through without their permission.
It was thanks to this strategic position that the clan had grown so powerful. Some were willing to do anything to gain passage: selling their families, offering themselves as servants, or trading rare jewels or metals—the most coveted goods. There were even items considered sacred by others, but viewed as mere treasures here.
When Dylan asked a simple question, "Why?" Basaros raised an eyebrow, clearly annoyed.
"Are you sure you just got hit on the head? Now I have to explain everything again," he grumbled, visibly irritated yet faintly enthusiastic at the chance to share his knowledge.
"Well, your 'world' is dying. The icy walls that surrounded it suddenly began to melt. The waters rose, and flood after flood, almost all the land was submerged. The majority of your people now survive on massive ships. But, little by little, their resources have run dry. Drifting on the oceans, they eventually washed ashore here, at the edge of the Dark Continent."
Basaros paused, gauging Dylan's reaction before continuing.
"As soon as they landed, they waged war against us. And they lost. Most of them ventured further into the forested zone to build new homes. Those who stayed here... well, they became our favorite meals."
A shiver ran down Dylan's spine, though he kept his reaction hidden. Basaros went on:
"That didn't stop more ships from arriving. You humans are a tenacious species. That's when the Thunder Clan came up with the idea to impose terms for showing... mercy." He emphasized the last word, a predatory smile spreading across his face.
"This all began long before I was born, of course. The Thunder Clan established passage fees. All humans—or what was left of them—started flocking here. At first, we called them 'outsiders,' but that name has long been forgotten, for at least two centuries. Now, there are plenty of humans on the Dark Continent. But it's so vast that no one has ever seen its end. No one has ventured beyond the forested zone. That said, there are still survivors unable to pay the fee."
Basaros stopped again, as if to assess Dylan.
"At the same time, you humans are fascinating. You're willing to do anything to cross: give up your possessions, your lives... even your own kind. All for a chance to reach a place worse than your version of hell."
A heavy silence hung in the air after those words. Dylan stared at Basaros, his thoughts whirling. He was beginning to understand why this world operated as it did. But that didn't make things any easier.
A low hum echoed at the entrance of the hall, and almost immediately, the servants rushed forward to greet the imposing figure that had just entered.
Basaros stood calmly, bowing his head deeply in a respectful gesture. Dylan, on the other hand, hesitated before immediately kneeling, lowering his head so far that he couldn't see what the newcomer looked like.
"Lady Cynitha," Basaros said as he approached her, his tone steeped in deference. "I'm pleased to see you again."
"Ah, Basa... I thought you were on a mission?" she replied, mildly surprised. Her gaze then fell on Dylan, still kneeling. "And what's this... little thing next to you?"
Without hesitation, Basaros grabbed Dylan by the collar and lifted him abruptly, forcing him to stand. Caught off guard, Dylan finally raised his eyes to see the woman Basaros referred to as "Lady Cynitha."
She was tall, her stature commanding and her aura nearly suffocating. Her jet-black hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing a face marked by features that were both severe and strikingly beautiful. But what struck Dylan most was the icy glint in her eyes, as if she could see straight through him.
Before Dylan could look away, Basaros spoke:
"This boy was part of the slaves from the last shipment we received last week. Do you remember the spectacle against the little red-maned ones? He's the sole survivor."
Dylan felt his heart skip a beat. A spectacle? Wolves? He had no memory of participating in such an event.
"Ah, yes," Cynitha replied, a mocking smile curling her lips. "I remember it clearly. It was three days ago. The slaves were pathetic, unable to defend themselves, getting slaughtered one-sidedly. I recall ordering the wolves to retreat. Just a waste of food, those weaklings."
Cynitha's words echoed in Dylan's mind. Three days? That would explain the blurred fragments in his memory, the unexplained aches in his body... and why he remembered nothing. The images he couldn't piece together were starting to take on a terrifying meaning.
Cynitha stepped toward him slowly, her gaze scrutinizing every inch of his face.
"And you... how did you survive?"
Dylan opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He had no answer. No clear memory, only a primal sense of survival. Cynitha, visibly annoyed by his silence, narrowed her eyes and turned to Basaros.
"Can he even talk? Or is he just another animal we should put down?"
"He can talk, my lady. But maybe the shock has made him lose his words," Basaros replied, giving Dylan a slight push forward. "Come on, boy, say something."
Dylan swallowed hard and finally murmured,
"I... I don't know. I don't remember anything."
Cynitha's smile widened, but this time it held a darker, almost amused edge.
"Oh, interesting... You're a mystery, then." She took a step back, crossing her arms.
"We'll see if you're truly worth something, or just another piece of trash to be recycled."
She turned to Basaros, her expression growing serious.
"Basa, you know what to do. If he fails, you know where he'll end up."
Basaros nodded silently, pushing Dylan gently toward the exit. Dylan felt his stomach churn, but he kept quiet, knowing that even the smallest mistake could cost him dearly.