The landscape outside remained still, its silence broken only by the occasional whisper of wind through the skeletal trees. Zami's silver eyes scanned the shadows one last time, his heightened senses ensuring no threat lurked in the broken wilderness. Satisfied there was no immediate danger, he turned back toward the hut, stepping inside quietly.
The girl was already asleep, curled up against the wall with her pale hands clutching the wooden bird figurine to her chest. Her small form seemed even more delicate in rest, her breathing steady but shallow.
Zami stood for a moment, watching her. The life she carried was a stark contrast to the countless deaths he had witnessed and endured. She was fragile but alive—a reminder of what he had fought so long to protect, even if the world had left him hardened and unrecognizable.
Without a word, Zami removed his cloak, its dark, tattered fabric falling from his broad shoulders. He approached the girl, careful not to disturb her sleep, and draped the cloak over her small frame. It covered her entirely, its weight light but enough to keep her warm.
He didn't feel cold; he never did anymore. His body had been forged in the fires of survival, enduring extremes no human could comprehend. The biting air of this broken land was nothing compared to the merciless void of the colony.
Zami sat down near the wall, his back straight and his katana resting across his lap. His hand brushed its hilt as if seeking reassurance from its presence. The blade, now infused with the shards of the Eternal Hunger and Wailing Dread, pulsed faintly, resonating with the malevolent energy it contained.
He stared at the girl, her peaceful expression contrasting with the chaos of the world outside.
"What are you?" he murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible. He had faced horrors beyond imagination, but something about her unsettled him in a different way—not as an enemy, but as an unknown.
Hours passed, the gray light outside shifting slightly as time moved forward. Zami didn't move, his senses attuned to every creak of the hut, every distant sound carried by the wind.
This moment of stillness felt foreign to him. His life had been a relentless march toward impossible battles, each step heavier than the last. Yet here he was, waiting—for her to wake, for the next step in his path, for whatever fate the entities had yet to reveal.
He closed his eyes briefly, not to sleep, but to think.
When the girl finally woke, he would have questions. Until then, he would wait.