Silence filled the chamber, broken only by the soft trickle of water and the faint whisper of a cold breeze drifting through the shadows. The flickering torchlight cast trembling silhouettes across the stone walls, illuminating two bodies lying motionless on the ground.

  A faint scraping sound echoed—barely audible. Slowly, Alynia opened her eyes. Pain immediately dragged her out of a restless sleep, a heavy pressure weighing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. She tilted her head to the side and saw Veil slumped against her, his face resting on her torso.

  “...Little Wolf…” she whispered, her voice frail and strained.

  No response.

  Her heart tightened. He wasn’t moving. She couldn’t feel his breath. A cold panic began to rise within her, but she swallowed it down, fighting back the wave of dread that threatened to swallow her whole. Dried tear tracks still marked his cheeks—a silent testament to whatever he had endured.

  Summoning what little strength she had, she gently shifted his head down onto her lap. Her hand trembled. Her left arm was completely numb—useless. Every movement sent a wave of agony through her muscles, like blades carving into her flesh. She clenched her teeth, struggling to stay composed, but the sting behind her eyes betrayed her.

  With painful slowness, she pushed herself into a sitting position, her gaze immediately dropping to Veil. His breathing was shallow, but his chest still rose and fell in uneven intervals.

  “What… happened…?” she murmured, anxious.

  It was only then that she noticed his condition. His shirt was torn across the chest, revealing a strange scar with an unnatural texture. His left arm and right leg bore open wounds, with thin rivulets of blood trailing down to pool beneath him in a dark stain.

  Her breath caught. A quick glance at her own injuries confirmed what her nerves had already told her—sharp stings pulsing across her side, her hip, her ribs.

  With a shaky hand, she reached into her pouch and pulled out a small glass vial. Inside, a thick, reddish liquid shimmered in the torchlight. She brought it to her lips, uncorking it with her teeth before downing half the contents.

  “...At the very least, it should dull the pain,” she muttered, her voice dry with bitter irony.

  She gently touched her ribs, then her abdomen, her hip... Each contact drew a grimace. She couldn't heal herself properly—not in this state.

  Her gaze snapped back to Veil.

  She couldn’t leave him like this.

  Mustering her resolve, she placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a gentle shake.

  “Little Wolf… wake up,” she said, tension lacing her voice.

  Still nothing.

  A chill ran down her spine. Something was wrong. The denial in her chest clashed with the fear creeping up her throat. She pressed harder on his shoulder, calling him again—but he remained unresponsive.

  Her heart pounded louder. Her fingers brushed his face, trailing quickly down to hover near his nose. She held her breath, searching for the faintest sign—

  A breath. Weak… but there.

  Her muscles loosened, but the fear refused to let go. She had to wake him. Now.

  Fighting through the pain, she shook him harder this time. A moment passed… then, slowly, Veil stirred. One arm lifted slightly, his hand coming to rest on his forehead in a sluggish, exhausted motion.

  His eyelids fluttered open, revealing his bright blue eyes—slightly glazed over with pain. A grimace twisted his features as full awareness returned.

  “...Tch… Fuck…” he groaned.

  He struggled to sit up, one hand rising to his head. The world spun around him, forcing him to lean to the side for balance. It took him a few seconds to register Alynia—awake and watching him.

  Their eyes met. He froze.

  In an instant, he pushed himself upright, dropping to his knees in front of her—but immediately regretted it. A sharp pain shot through his injured leg, forcing him to catch himself with one hand before collapsing.

  “Careful, idiot…” she murmured, a faint smile tugging at her lips—amused despite everything.

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  Veil ignored the pain. His concern for her took precedence.

  “What about you? How are you feeling?” he asked quickly, voice laced with worry.

  Alynia let out a soft sigh, managing a weak shrug before replying, her voice laced with biting irony:

  “Perfectly ready for a swim.”

  But Veil didn’t laugh. His expression remained tense, his eyes searching her face, as if trying to read the truth behind her sarcastic tone.

  Alynia's gaze softened, and her voice turned serious again.

  “What happened, Little Wolf…?” she asked gravely.

  Veil looked away for a moment, then exhaled and extended his arm to show her the deep gash running along his skin.

  “We’ll talk after. Right now, I need to take care of you,” he said, low and resolute.

  Alynia opened her mouth to protest, but stopped when she saw the look in his eyes. She knew that look.

  He wasn’t going to back down.

  Veil kept his eyes on her, concern etched deep into his tired features.

  “We need to do something about your arm,” he added firmly.

  But Alynia saw something else.

  Her gaze scanned his face—his skin was pale, almost translucent under the dim violet light of the torches. He was exhausted. Completely drained.

  “Little Wolf…” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

  She hesitated. She couldn’t do this alone—not in her current state. Her fingers trembled slightly as she took a deep breath, then spoke with quiet resolve:

  “You’re going to have to set my arm back in place.”

  Veil’s eyes went wide, as if she’d just asked him to torture her.

  “What?! No, I—! I don’t know how to do that! What if I mess it up? It could make things worse!”

  Alynia met his eyes, steady despite the pain eating away at her.

  “I can’t stay like this. And I can’t do it alone… I need you,” she said, calm and firm.

  Veil opened his mouth again, searching for some way out—but there was none. She was right. As much as he hated it, she was right.

  He swallowed hard, jaw tight, then gave a reluctant nod.

  She slowly rotated her forearm until her palm faced upward. Even the smallest movement sent waves of pain through her, but she endured.

  “Take my wrist,” she ordered through clenched teeth.

  Veil hesitated… then obeyed, wrapping his fingers carefully around her wrist.

  “I’ll hold the upper part of my arm. You… you pull. Straight and sharp,” she instructed, her voice low and focused.

  Her fingers clenched tightly around her bicep, her skin turning pale under the pressure. She was bracing for the pain.

  Veil felt sweat bead at the nape of his neck. He didn’t want to do this—every instinct screamed against it—but faced with Alynia’s resolve, he had no choice. He grit his teeth, took a deep breath…

  And pulled.

  A sickening crack echoed through the room.

  Alynia screamed.

  Her entire body seized under the jolt of blinding pain, her fingers clawing convulsively into her arm. Her strength gave out immediately, and she collapsed forward, her forehead hitting the stone floor with a trembling gasp. Her breathing came in ragged bursts, shoulders shaking as the searing pain radiated through her entire arm.

  Veil panicked, immediately leaning over her, one hand pressing gently against her back.

  “Alynia! Are you okay?!” he shouted, frantic.

  She remained curled on the ground for several long seconds, one hand gripping the cold floor as she tried to regain control of her breath. Eventually, she pushed herself up with effort, cradling her arm against her chest.

  Carefully, she rotated her elbow in small, slow circles. The pain was still there—sharp, persistent—but at least… it was back in place.

  “It’s… done,” she whispered.

  She exhaled deeply, a mix of relief and exhaustion flooding through her. Her eyes shifted back to Veil.

  “We need to stop the bleeding,” she said seriously.

  She gestured to her wounds—her left arm and right leg—where blood still trickled steadily, pooling beneath her. Reaching into her pouch, she pulled out a few bandages. Supplies were running dangerously low. After everything they’d been through, their stockpile was almost gone.

  But as she moved closer to tend to Veil, he stopped her with a firm gesture.

  “No. I’ll do it. Don’t push yourself,” he said, voice resolute.

  Alynia opened her mouth to argue—but something in his tone silenced her. There was frustration in it… and something else. Embarrassment?

  Why did that bother her so much?

  She turned her head slightly, looking away, unsettled by the feeling she didn’t want to name.

  Without another word, Veil took the healing salve she handed him and applied it to his leg, then wrapped a bandage tightly around the wound. He repeated the process on his arm, his movements steady and precise despite the heavy fatigue weighing on him.

  When he finished, he looked up at her again.

  “We need to get warm… and eat something,” he said quietly.

  Alynia nodded, but her gaze turned grim.

  “This is our last meal. Our rations are nearly gone. If we don’t get out of this Dungeon soon… hunger will finish the job,” she warned.

  A heavy silence followed her words.

  Veil didn’t respond right away. Instead, he got to work. He lit a small fire with the last pieces of wood they’d salvaged from the forest on the fifth floor. The flickering flames cast soft light on the rocky walls, bringing a fragile warmth to the freezing air.

  He pulled out the final bits of meat and laid them over the flames, careful to preserve every drop of juice.

  Then, he turned toward Alynia, his expression somber and steady.

  “We still need to finish treating your wounds,” he said, his tone dark.

  But Alynia had no intention of letting the conversation slip away.

  “Little Wolf… tell me what happened,” she demanded sternly.

  Her eyes locked on his, her voice carrying a rare weight—a demand, not a request.

  “I don’t remember anything. Just… a cold feeling. Then nothing. Just emptiness,” she said quietly, tension creeping into every word.

  Veil took a breath, searching for the right words.

  “…Do you remember the fall?” he asked carefully.

  Alynia’s brows furrowed slightly. She answered hesitantly.

  “…Yes. But only vaguely,” she murmured.

  The fire crackled softly between them while Veil remained silent, eyes fixed on the flames.

  He knew he had to tell her.

  But where to begin?

  He drew in a slow breath… and began.

  He told her everything—or at least… almost everything. The fall. The fight against the Specter. The rage that had consumed him. And the moment he collapsed onto her, utterly drained.

  But the rest… he kept to himself.

  He said nothing of the voice. Nothing of the freezing void that had swallowed him whole. Or of that suffocating presence… that strange, twisted place he’d fallen into—and from which he never should’ve returned. He couldn’t.

  Just thinking about it tightened something in his chest.

  More than that… he feared how she would react.

  Alynia listened in silence, her piercing gaze analyzing every word, every pause in his voice. When he finally finished, she slowly reached out and placed her fingers against his chest.

  Veil flinched slightly at the touch.

  “…What’s this scar?” she asked, puzzled.

  Her palm radiated a soft warmth against his bare skin. Veil lowered his gaze, avoiding her eyes.

  “I don’t know,” he answered vaguely.

  He placed his hand over the mark. He could still feel it… but there was no pain.

  “I was wounded by the Specter. The wound closed on its own. I have no idea how,” he added quietly.

  Alynia narrowed her eyes slightly, thoughtful. Her fingers slowly withdrew.

  “Healing magic…? Like in the forest… could it be some power awakening inside him, without his control…?” she murmured under her breath, perplexed.

  Too many questions. Still no answers. Alynia wasn’t fooled. His story didn’t sit right. There was something missing—something important. She could feel it.

  His chest—healed. But his arm, his leg… Why are those still injured? What are you hiding from me, Little Wolf…? she thought, suspicious.

  Veil turned his gaze back to the fire, listening to its soft crackle. The scent of roasting meat hung heavy in the air, overwhelming after the hours of silence and tension. He picked up a still-hot piece, the grease dripping to the stone floor below. He cut it cleanly in half and handed a portion to Alynia.

  Without a word, he bit into his share, chewing slowly—as if each mouthful reminded him how close his body was to giving out.

  “Eat first. After that, I’ll take care of your wounds,” he said, offering a faint smile.

  Alynia hesitated… then took the meat without a word. She knew he wouldn’t let it go.

  For now… they just needed to regain their strength.