Kael moved forward.

  One step after another.

  Still in the same narrow gorge, the rock crushing him from all sides.

  He still held the Needle-Blade.

  But his hand had begun to hurt.

  A dull ache, born from numbness.

  His fingers refused to release the weapon, but his muscles begged for relief.

  He exhaled slowly through his nose.

  The heat was falling on him like a lead blanket.

  The sun—high in the sliver of sky carved between the cliffs—beat down hard.

  Sweat clung to his neck, his back, his temples.

  “Great… that’s exactly what I needed.”

  He ran his tongue across his lips. Dry.

  His throat had turned rough, tight like stretched leather.

  He kept walking.

  Always alert.

  Always tense.

  The Overdrawn had vanished, yes…

  But he didn’t feel safer.

  Only aware it could return.

  He advanced another hundred meters, maybe more.

  Hard to tell in this maze of stone and vertical light.

  But suddenly… a sound.

  Faint, discreet.

  But real.

  A soft splashing.

  He stopped dead.

  Senses bristling.

  Somewhere, water was running—not a cascade, not a river.

  Just a whisper.

  But in this rocky desert, it was a miracle.

  He approached cautiously.

  And he saw it.

  A thin ribbon of clear water winding between two piles of stone.

  Not wide, but enough to drink from, to cool his face, to breathe a little.

  But Kael didn’t move.

  Not immediately.

  He watched.

  A natural stone ledge—maybe an old rockfall—gave him cover.

  He crouched behind it slowly, pressed his back to the stone.

  And waited.

  His eyes scanned the opposite bank.

  The cliffs, the shadows, the nooks.

  He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

  Not after that.

  Kael watched for a long moment.

  Nothing stirred.

  No breath, no suspicious shadow.

  He waited one more minute, just to be sure.

  Then he slipped out of his hiding place, circling the rocks with care.

  His boots pressed gently into the sandy ground as he approached the thin stream.

  He crouched, one knee touching the earth.

  The water was clear, cool, sliding between the stones with a laziness that almost felt insulting.

  Kael cupped his hands and drank first from his palms…

  Then, unable to restrain himself any longer, he leaned down and practically plunged his whole face into the water.

  He drank greedily, as though the liquid might flee from him.

  A messy rush. Urgent. Vital.

  Water streamed down his cheeks, his temples, his chin.

  He drank until his throat felt alive again.

  Then he pulled back slowly, a sigh of sheer bliss escaping his lips.

  He sat cross-legged directly on the ground, elbows resting on his knees, eyes closed for a brief moment.

  “Finally, some peace… Looks like my luck’s turned again.”

  He didn’t even finish the thought before he felt something.

  A cold touch against the skin of his neck.

  Thin. Sharp. Precise.

  Metal.

  “Don’t move.”

  The voice was utterly calm.

  Not threatening—just firm. Absolute.

  A man’s voice, judging by the tone. Young, maybe. Seventeen at most.

  Kael froze on the spot.

  He lifted his eyes slowly, but didn’t turn his head.

  The Needle-Blade, still sheathed at his belt, was impossible to reach like this.

  “You drink like an animal,” the voice behind him said.

  “What exactly are you supposed to be?”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Kael gave the faintest smile, without moving.

  “A man.

  Terribly thirsty. A very ordinary specimen. But tame, I promise.”

  A breath. Almost a quiet laugh.

  Then an irritated sigh.

  The weapon—an actual sword, judging by the pressure—pulled away from his neck.

  “You can move.”

  Kael raised his hands slowly, then turned his head to finally see the speaker.

  He pivoted cautiously, the Needle-Blade still in his hand—barely.

  Standing before him was a young man.

  Tall. Upright posture. Steady gaze.

  And above all… those eyes.

  Green. Cold. Deep like a bottomless forest.

  Kael frowned.

  “Wait… hold on—

  I know you.”

  The young man looked him over, expression unreadable.

  “I doubt it.”

  Kael raised his eyebrows.

  “Oh, I’m sure. You were at the Lucénine rampart. On a horse. Alone.”

  The man didn’t even flinch.

  “That doesn’t ring a bell.”

  Kael stared at him for another second, then shrugged.

  “Well… if you say so. Let’s just pretend I mixed you up with some other mysterious guy with snake eyes.”

  He stepped aside, pointing toward the small water source.

  “You saw the creature, right? Big as two men, rotten skin, smelled like a graveyard? The kind that rips your soul out just by looking at you?”

  The young man lifted an eyebrow—just slightly.

  “What immense creature?”

  Kael’s eyes widened.

  “Seriously? The thing! Mouth up to its ears! Smells like spoiled blood from thirty paces away! We need to move, now, before it comes back—”

  The other crossed his arms, his gaze drifting toward the nearby rocks.

  “There are only Class-Four Overdrawn here.”

  Then he motioned subtly toward a small heap of still-steaming flesh, a short distance away.

  Three twisted, blackened bodies.

  Canine-looking creatures with cracked grey skin, no bigger than starving dogs.

  “Look. I took a few down before you arrived.”

  Kael blinked.

  “That’s… that is a Class-Four Overdrawn?”

  The man nodded.

  “The ones in this zone, yes. Not very impressive.”

  He added, almost amused:

  “And far less disgusting than what you’re describing.”

  Kael stepped back, as if the information had landed a second too late.

  He glanced at the corpses, then at the man.

  “Then what the hell was that thing?”

  Silence pressed in for half a heartbeat.

  The young man looked away briefly, scanning the surrounding stone.

  His green eyes swept the canyon with mechanical precision.

  “Then you must have hallucinated. Or something like that.”

  Same neutral tone. Almost… detached.

  But his eyes kept probing the cliffs, as if searching for confirmation.

  Or for a crack in the world.

  Kael clenched his teeth.

  “I’m not hallucinating. I know what I saw.”

  The man didn’t answer.

  He simply gave a slight tilt of his chin—neither agreement nor denial.

  And then, as if rising from the depths of the stone itself:

  A sound.

  Slow. Visceral.

  A filthy rasp from somewhere else.

  Not a cry.

  Not even a threat.

  An echo that warped the air, made the ground vibrate beneath their feet.

  Kael felt the hairs on his arms stand upright.

  He slowly lifted his gaze toward the other.

  They looked at each other.

  Straight into each other’s eyes.

  Silence.

  Kael exhaled sharply, a nervous smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  “So? Still think I’m talking nonsense?”

  The man didn’t answer.

  He only tilted his head, listening intently.

  Then, in a lower tone:

  “That’s impossible.

  A higher-class Overdrawn here… This sector is secured. The Institute monitors it. They would never let a—”

  A crack of gravel.

  They looked up.

  The creature was there.

  Standing on the rocky ridge above them.

  Towering over them.

  Its shadow warped the ground below like a promise of carnage.

  Its long, uneven limbs.

  Its twisted jaw, split into an endless grin.

  The man stared at it, frozen.

  Something flickered in his eyes—not panic.

  But… recognition.

  As if he had just understood something unpleasant.

  And dangerous.

  Kael didn’t wait.

  “See? Told you.”

  A tone caught between sarcasm and clear-eyed terror.

  He wasn’t joking. But it was the only lifeline he had.

  The man drew his blade in a fluid motion, never breaking eye contact with the creature.

  “I think we’re going to have to run. And fast.”

  Kael didn’t answer.

  He was already sprinting.

  They bolted like two hunted rabbits.

  Dust burst beneath their feet, their boots echoing against the canyon walls like war drums.

  The creature screamed.

  Not the low, corpse-born rasp from before.

  No.

  A shriek.

  High, tearing, almost metallic—

  like blades scraping together inside a skull.

  Kael felt his heart detonate in his chest.

  Ahead, the man was running.

  Fluid, fast, precise.

  His legs ate up the rocky ground as if he were sprinting along a straight line.

  They emerged at a fork.

  Two paths.

  One to the right—narrower, slanting upward.

  Another to the left—wider, but sinking into shadow.

  “Take the right!” the man barked without slowing, his tone neutral but sharpened by urgency.

  He veered left immediately.

  Kael froze for half a second.

  Then followed him.

  The man glanced back, startled to see Kael at his heels.

  “I said right!”

  Kael, panting, arms already numb from the effort, shot back in a strangled breath:

  “And let my best chance of survival run off without me? Not happening!”

  His legs pounded the ground, his breathing erratic.

  His vision blurred.

  The wind lashed his eyes, and fear tightened his gut.

  He wasn’t thinking anymore.

  He was reciting—

  a panicked monologue spilling out without filter.

  “I learned about Overdrawn not even twenty-four hours ago, for fuck’s sake…

  And now I’m sprinting through some damn canyon chased by a nightmare from a post-traumatic hellscape…”

  He dodged a stone, nearly tripped, caught himself at the last second.

  “I haven’t even started my training and they already throw a giant Overdrawn at me—one that reeks of blood and screams like a demon trapped inside a recorder!”

  Behind them, the creature’s steps hammered the rock.

  It was gaining on them.

  Kael felt adrenaline bite harder.

  His legs burned.

  His lungs screamed.

  But he kept running.

  Because the alternative was turning around…

  …and dying in two clean pieces.