Night fell.

  Silent. Heavy. Starless.

  Kael remained seated against the stone, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them.

  Every sound gave rise to a hypothesis. A step? A breath? A creature imitating silence?

  He was almost drifting off when soft footsteps broke the air again.

  The stranger reappeared, holding a small animal by its hind legs.

  Furry. Greyish. Empty-eyed.

  He laid it on a flat stone and pulled out a short, serrated blade.

  Kael stepped closer, frowning.

  “What is that thing? It’s not an Overdrawn, at least?”

  “No. It’s a rabbit.”

  Kael blinked.

  “A what?”

  The other stopped dead and stared at him.

  “A rabbit. Small mammal. Two ears. Eats roots. Runs fast. Not dangerous. Tastes good.”

  Kael tilted his head.

  “I’ve never heard that word. ‘Rabbit.’ You’re not making that up, are you?”

  The stranger went back to work.

  “What hole did you grow up in, not knowing what a rabbit is?”

  Kael shrugged.

  “A hole, actually. The only things we ate were already dead. Or in the process of dying.”

  The other didn’t reply.

  He was skinning the animal with precise, clean movements. No waste. No excess.

  Kael watched him, partly disgusted, partly fascinated.

  “And that… you eat that thing raw?”

  “No.”

  “You’re going to cook it?”

  “No either.”

  “…Seriously?”

  “We smoke it. Or dry it. No fire here. Not with this kind of terrain.”

  Kael frowned.

  “You say that, but… there hasn’t been a single sound for hours. Even the beasts are hiding.

  Maybe we could, just this once—”

  The stranger stopped. He scanned the surroundings.

  A long silence.

  Then he stood slowly and turned in place, eyes half-closed. He extended a hand, palm open.

  Kael watched, intrigued.

  “What are you doing? Picking up some magical wave?”

  “I’m checking.”

  He took two more steps, drove a small knife into the ground, and knelt. Ear pressed to the earth.

  A few seconds passed. Then he straightened.

  “Dry ground. No signal indicating a reaction to light excitation.”

  Kael stared at him.

  “So… that means?”

  “We can make a small fire. If we keep it low, no sparks, and smother it at the first anomaly.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “No. But I’m doing it anyway.”

  He got back to work. Gathered a few dry twigs, arranged them in a natural hollow against the stone.

  He struck flint—quick, precise. Within seconds, a timid flame came to life. Almost discreet.

  No higher than a clenched fist.

  Kael moved closer to the fire, hands extended.

  “I swear, I’d forgotten what this was like. A real flame. It’s almost… comforting.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The stranger began smoking pieces of the rabbit, hanging them from a split branch.

  “Don’t get used to it,” he said.

  “Luck like this never lasts very long.”

  The stranger began smoking the meat, carefully placing the thinner pieces closer to the flame and the thicker ones a bit farther away.

  A gentle, almost sweet smell started to drift around the fire.

  Kael took a step closer, nostrils twitching.

  “Seriously… you’re not going to burn it, right? Your thing’s tiny. Are you drying it, or murdering it a second time?”

  “I’m making it edible,” the stranger replied without looking up.

  “It takes longer than burning it, but at least we’ll survive eating it.”

  Kael rolled his eyes.

  “I’m starving now, not in three hours. You don’t have a piece already done? A little charred, I don’t care.”

  “You really want to eat something undercooked, potentially infested, just to save ten minutes?”

  “…Maybe.”

  The stranger sighed. He picked up a small, well-seared piece from the edge of the fire and held it out.

  “Here. But if you start vomiting black blood tonight, I’m not helping you.”

  Kael grabbed it without hesitation.

  He devoured it without ceremony, as if it were the first real food he’d touched in days—which, in truth, wasn’t far from it.

  The stranger watched him, one eyebrow raised.

  “You’re a pig.”

  Kael shrugged, mouth full.

  “I haven’t eaten since this morning, and it was leftovers from two girls… let me live.”

  “Exactly. Eat slowly, if you want to keep living.”

  Kael chewed a little more slowly, but the look he cast at the next piece betrayed how badly he wanted the cooking to be over.

  The rabbit continued to smoke gently, hanging from the branch. The smell filled the air, scratching at the nostrils.

  Kael was silently salivating, eyes fixed on the meat.

  Beside him, the stranger had moved on to another task. He was meticulously scraping the rabbit’s hide, pulling at it with a small blade—focused, precise.

  Kael watched him for a moment, then narrowed his eyes.

  “That’s a massacre you’re committing there.

  Trying to kill it a third time?”

  The stranger didn’t even look up.

  “I’m making a pouch.

  To store berries. If we find any.”

  Kael leaned forward slightly.

  “Give me that.”

  The other man stopped and looked at him for a moment, hesitant.

  “If I can’t do it properly, there’s no way you can,” he grumbled.

  But he eventually handed over the rabbit’s skin, still lined with fur, along with a half-dried strip of leather.

  Kael settled more comfortably near the fire, took everything carefully, and got to work.

  His fingers moved fast. Too fast.

  He folded, stitched one seam, then another, closed an edge, pulled an improvised strap from a thread torn from his tunic.

  The stranger watched in silence, arms crossed.

  “How do you know how to do that? You don’t have any survival training.”

  Kael didn’t look up. He kept working, calm and focused.

  “You really think I’m useless, don’t you?”

  Silence.

  “I grew up in a good school, with the weavers. Doing this kind of thing is child’s play.”

  The stranger stayed quiet for a moment, his eyes fixed on the pouch.

  Kael shrugged.

  “I’m not used to working leather, sure, but… it’s not that complicated when you’ve got two hands and a bit of logic.”

  “You still don’t have any survival instincts,” the stranger replied, as if he needed to cling to that belief.

  Kael looked at him, almost amused.

  “I just stitched a bag out of a rabbit skin I didn’t even kill myself,

  in a canyon potentially haunted by creatures I didn’t even know existed two days ago,

  without tools, in the middle of the night.

  What do you call that?”

  Kael tied the final knot, pulled tight, tested the pouch’s strength between his fingers.

  Then he set it gently beside the fire without looking at it.

  The stranger stood frozen, staring at the pouch in silence.

  Kael met his gaze directly.

  “You really think I don’t know how to survive?”

  A pause.

  “Do you even know where I grew up?”

  The stranger hesitated, then shook his head.

  “No.”

  Kael inhaled, eyes locked onto his.

  “I grew up in the Broken Crown.”

  The stranger’s eyes widened.

  Kael continued, his voice steady.

  “Do you know what it’s like to grow up there?

  You keep your head down. Always.

  Because if you look at someone the wrong way, you get beaten half to death and left on the stones.

  You ever eaten leftovers already chewed by rats or dogs?

  I have.

  You ever watched a woman get raped while her husband and kids were forced to watch because the man owed money?

  I have.

  You ever pissed yourself on purpose just to get a bit of warmth during winter?

  I have.”

  Kael had straightened up without even realizing it. The fire danced across his face, sharpening every word.

  “So don’t tell me I don’t know how to survive.

  I may not know how to build a proper camp, but I know how to survive in the world of men.

  And it’s no cleaner than the world of the Overdrawn.”

  A heavy silence fell.

  The fire crackled softly.

  The stranger lowered his eyes. For once, he had nothing to say.

  The silence lingered.

  Then—

  “…I’m sorry,” he said at last, without looking up.

  “For underestimating you.”

  Kael watched him for a moment, surprised by the honesty. Then he slowly sat back down, forearms resting on his knees.

  He stayed quiet for a bit, eyes lost in the flames, before turning his head toward the other man.

  “So… do you have a name?

  Or should I keep calling you ‘useful asshole’?”

  The stranger allowed himself a faint smile.

  “Lucanis.”

  Kael raised an eyebrow.

  “Lucanis? No grand title attached?

  ‘Lucanis of the Mists,’ ‘Lucanis the Impassive,’ ‘Lucanis of the Great Order of Outstanding Arrogance’?”

  “Just Lucanis,” he replied. “You don’t need to know the rest.”

  Kael studied him for a second, gauging whether he was bluffing. Then he shrugged.

  “Works for me.”

  Lucanis looked back at him.

  “And you?”

  Kael tapped his chest with two fingers.

  “Kael. No pompous title. No great noble House.

  Just Kael.”

  A silence followed. Lighter, this time.

  Lucanis nodded slowly.

  “Works for me.”

  “Alright. In my infinite generosity, I’ll take the first watch.

  Because, you know, I actually understand that term. ‘First watch.’ Impressive, right?”

  Lucanis looked at him without moving.

  “Are you sure you won’t fall asleep?”

  Kael rolled his eyes.

  “Obviously not. I’m not completely useless.”

  Lucanis narrowed his eyes slightly, doubt creeping into his tone.

  “Mm. Allow me to doubt that.”

  But he said nothing more. He leaned back against the rock and closed his eyes.

  Kael stayed awake for a while. The fire crackled softly. The forest’s silence almost felt… normal now.

  His gaze drifted to the rabbit hanging nearby, fat slowly glistening in the heat.

  He swallowed.

  Five more minutes. Just five. Let the good piece finish drying.

  His head dipped slightly.

  He straightened. Blinked. Rubbed the back of his neck.

  Then, slowly—without even realizing it—he slumped against the stone.

  And fell utterly, tragically asleep.