For a while, after the queen’s body finally stopped moving and the last twitch of the colony had faded away, the cave had settled down into a quiet place.

  I exhaled slowly, my arms still felt like the static lived inside them.

  Rok rolled one massive shoulder with a low grunt, Damien stood a few feet away, blade lowered but not sheathed, his posture still annoyingly perfect even after everything we had just survived.

  For a moment… it almost felt over.

  Then— footsteps, faint but unmistakable footsteps.

  My head snapped toward the chamber entrance.

  Rok moved first, his massive body shifting forward as the club in his hand lowered slightly, ready in that dangerous way that meant something was about to get flattened.

  Damien’s fingers tightened just a fraction on his pommel.

  “…More?” I muttered under my breath, my shoulder still aching from the earlier encounters.

  The footsteps grew louder, closer.

  But to my surprise, it wasn’t the skittering sounds from earlier, but instead it sounded different.

  Like… boots?

  The tension in my chest twisted sideways into something confused just as three figures finally emerged from the mouth of the tunnel.

  Sylvia stepped in first, breath slightly uneven, Harven right behind her, and between them— a very familiar, round, green traitor.

  Mr. Rocky.

  All three of them stopped dead the moment the battlefield came into full view.

  The cracked stones, the scattered bodies, and the very massive, unmoving queen.

  Silence stretched as Harven blinked.

  “…Oh,” he said faintly.

  Sylvia’s eyes slowly moved from the queen… to us… and then back to the queen again like her brain was politely refusing to process what it was seeing.

  “You…” she started carefully, “… handled it?”

  Rok gave a small, satisfied huff.

  Damien said nothing, because of course he didn’t.

  Meanwhile, I was still stuck on a much more important question.

  “…Why are you here?” I asked.

  Harven finally seemed to remember himself, straightening a bit. “We came because of your message,” he said.

  I blinked. “My…what?”

  Sylvia reached into her pouch and pulled out a slightly crumpled piece of paper, holding it with the kind of careful politeness usually meant for bad news.

  She handed it to me as I slowly read it out loud. “I Elias the great need help.”

  I stared at it once, my brain doing a full system reboot.

  “…I didn’t write that.”

  Harven frowned when I said that. “You didn’t—“

  “I absolutely did not write that,” I cut in immediately, already feeling the beginnings of offense warming up in my chest. “First of all, my handwriting is worse than this. Second of all—“

  I suddenly stopped, because something felt… off.

  Slowly, I turned my head.

  Mr. Rocky stood perfectly still on the shoulders of Sylvia, suspiciously still.

  His round eyes were doing that thing.

  You know, the thing where he was very clearly pretending not to exist.

  My eyelid twitched a bit. “…Mr. Rocky.” I said.

  The frog did not move.

  Rok’s head tilted slightly as Sylvia looked between us, Harven scooted in closer, squinting.

  And then— Mr. Rocky attempted the single worst innocent face I had ever witnessed in my entire life.

  It was the hesitation, that tiny, guilty freeze.

  The way his little body looked like it was trying to whistle casually without actually knowing how.

  My shoulders sagged. “You—“ I pointed at him weakly. “You wrote the note?”

  Mr. Rocky puffed up slightly, proud and unrepentant.

  For a moment I wanted to be angry, but the fact that a frog managed to write that, and travel that far was a feat by itself.

  “…I cannot believe I’m being emotionally sabotaged by a frog,” I said in a low whisper.

  Rok let out a low, rumbling chuckle.

  Damien, being the traitor he looked away quietly.

  Sylvia pressed her lips together, and Harven made a sound that was dangerously close to a laughter.

  For a few seconds, nobody moved.

  But then Rok let out a low breath through his nose and finally turned toward the tunnel. “…Well,” he rumbled, rolling one shoulder, “since the emergency rescue squad arrived late, we might as well leave before something decides to crawl out.”

  Harven let out a quiet laugh behind us as Sylvia shot him a look.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose once, then dropped my hand and started to move forward, boots crunching softly against the ground.

  The walk back was… quieter than I expected.

  Not awkward quiet, but not exactly the peaceful kind either.

  Just… the kind of quiet that comes after surviving something that had no business of letting you live.

  Our footsteps had echoed softly through the tunnel, the cave feeling smaller somehow, like it had lost whatever made it terrifying in the first place.

  Rok walked beside me, his massive body relaxed, his club resting easily over his shoulder like he hadn’t just used it to cave in the horrors.

  Damien walked on my other side, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous, perfect posture, perfect pace, perfect hair… somehow.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  It was honestly getting a bit unreasonable.

  For a while, none of us said anything.

  Until Damien spoke. “…This armor is uncomfortable.”

  I blinked and looked at him, he didn’t look uncomfortable. He looked like had been born inside the armor and simply decided to stay there.

  “It’s heavy,” he continued calmly, eyes forward. “It slows me down.”

  I stared at him for a moment, trying to process the complaint of someone who had, just hours ago, moved faster than my survival instincts.

  “…You moved pretty fast,” I said carefully.

  Damien was quiet for a few seconds. “I would have moved faster without it.”

  I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

  That was… I didn’t like how reasonable that sounded.

  Rok let out a low amused grunt beside us as Damien adjusted one of the gauntlets slightly.

  “…It was chosen for me,” he added.

  That made me glance at him again.

  He didn’t sound angry. He didn’t sound sad. He just sounded… done.

  We walked a few more steps before— “… I don’t think I like it.”

  I nodded immediately. “Yeah,” I said. “It looks heavy.

  Damien glanced at me briefly. “…That isn’t what I meant.”

  I frowned as he didn’t explain, which was honestly very rude of him.

  We kept walking.

  My legs were starting to notice everything I had done today, and I was beginning to suspect they were planning a formal protest later.

  Then Damien spoke again. “…You fight strangely.”

  I looked at him. “I fight effectively,” I said, slightly defensive.

  There was a pause. “…The lightning,” he said.

  “Oh…that.”

  My fingers twitched slightly at the memory, “I handled it,” I said.

  Damien was quiet for a moment. “…You survived it,” he said.

  Rok let out a low grunt beside us. “…Lightning answered,” Rok said simply.

  We walked a few more steps before Damien spoke again. “You were afraid of it.”

  I opened my mouth immediately. “I was not—“ I stopped, because lying felt pointless. “…Yes, yes I was, ” I admitted.

  Damien nodded once. “…Good.”

  I blinked. “…Good?”

  He glanced at me briefly, “fear keeps you alive.” He said.

  I stared at him as it took my brain a few seconds to process that.

  “…That might be the most comforting and insulting thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  Rok snorted as Damien looked forward again.

  “You stayed anyway.” Damien said.

  That shut me up, mostly because I didn’t have a joke.

  We kept walking, the cave entrance closer now, the cold air waiting for us.

  Damien spoke one more time. “…Thank you.”

  I blinked. “For what?”

  He didn’t hesitate, “for not running.

  I didn’t answer, instead just looked at him.

  Rok spoke instead, “you stayed too.”

  Damien didn’t respond. something in his posture at ease, not Sunforged, just… Damien.

  Sylvia and Harven waited for us as we stepped out of the cave, and for the first time since this started, it felt so… lively.

  The cool air hit my face the moment we stepped out of the cave, and for a second I just stood there breathing it in.

  Night had fully settled over the village, the sky wide and dark above us, scattered with stars that looked uninterested in everything we had gone through.

  But then I noticed them, they were everywhere.

  The villagers stood in front of the village entrance, packed close together, holding whatever they could use as weapons.

  Pitchforks. Knives. Old hunting bows. Tools that had never been meant for war now clenched in shaking hands.

  They weren’t standing like soldiers, they were standing like people who had fully expected to die.

  Waiting for whatever came out of that cave.

  For a moment, nobody said anything. They just stared at us.

  At our dirt-covered clothes, at Rok’s massive size, at Damien’s streaked armor, at me.

  I suddenly became very aware of how tired I looked.

  Harven, who had been walking beside us, suddenly stepped forward past me.

  “…It’s over,” he said.

  His voice wasn’t loud, it didn’t need to be.

  The villagers stared as Harven continued.

  “…The creatures are dead.”

  Silence followed as nobody moved or reacted, like their minds refused to accept it.

  One of the villagers frowned slightly. “…Dead?”

  Rok answered. “…Dead.”

  That was all. The word hung there before everything broke at once.

  Someone dropped their weapon, it hit the ground with a dull clatter.

  A woman had covered her mouth.

  Someone else laughed, but it came out wrong, like halfway between relief and disbelief.

  A man slowly sat down where he stood like his legs had given up.

  They weren’t cheering or celebrating. They were just… relieved.

  Their eyes kept moving over us. Over Rok. Over Damien. Over me.

  And that was the part I didn’t like. Because they weren’t looking at us like before.

  Before, they looked at us like outsiders, but now? They looked at us like their saviors.

  I shifted slightly as discomfort slid in, I didn’t know what to do with that.

  An older woman stepped forward slowly. “…You killed it?” She asked.

  I hesitated for a second, “…we did,” I said.

  Her eyes watered immediately. “…Thank you.”

  Those two words hit me, simple but so… weird.

  But then others started saying it too, quietly.

  “…Thank you…”

  “…Thank you…”

  “…Thank you…”

  It spread through the crowd like a wave.

  I could feel my face heating up, but they didn’t care, they just cared we saved them from their nightmare.

  Beside me, Rok stood calmly, taking in the praise with pride.

  On my other side, Damien stood straight, silent, as if he’s used to it somehow, like he wasn’t surprised by it.

  But I didn’t know how to stand, where to look. “You’re welcome,” is all I said, awkwardly.

  My voice sounding smaller than I wanted. But nobody laughed. Nobody corrected me. They just smiled.

  The smiles were still hanging in the air when one of the older villagers suddenly clapped his hands.

  “Well don't just stand there,” he said, already turning back toward the village. “They look like they're about to fall over.”

  That… was painfully accurate.

  Before I could protest, hands were already gently pushing us forward.

  “Inside.”

  “Bring out the tables.”

  “Light more torches.”

  Shouts rang out as the fear started to fade away. Torches flaring to life one by one, a warm orange light shining across the wooden homes and streets.

  Rok leaned slightly toward me as we walked. “...I smell meat.”

  Of course he did.

  And just like that, the night officially lost control. By the time we reached the village square, long wooden tables were already being dragged into place. Someone rolled out barrels. Someone else brought out baskets of bread like they had been waiting for this moment.

  Which, to be fair, they probably did.

  Plates had appeared, with stew pots following behind.

  A whole roasted animal– which I absolutely refused to identify, had been carried out by four very determined villagers who looked like they would fight Rok personally if he tried anything too soon.

  Which he did notice.

  I stood there for a second, slightly stunned at the fast it was happening.

  “This feels excessive,” I muttered

  Harven, who was suddenly holding two mugs he hadn't been holding five seconds ago, handed one to me.

  “They thought they were going to die tonight,” he said simply. “Let them celebrate surviving.”

  …That shut me up.

  Music started somewhere to my left, loud and confident, and I could hear someone clapping off-beat.

  The villagers moved differently now, laughing too loudly, talking too fast, like they had suddenly become lighter.

  An older woman suddenly grabbed my arm. “You sit,” she ordered.

  I blinked. “I'm fine—”

  “Sit,” she repeated, already pushing me toward a chair.

  I sat, Rok did not need to be told.

  He had already claimed a section of the table with the calm dominance of someone who had earned it.

  Within seconds, three plates were placed in front of him

  He stared at them, then at the massive roasted animal, then back at the plates.

  “This is insufficient,” he said.

  Two nearby villagers froze as I buried my face in my hands.

  “He means thank you,” I translated quickly.

  “...Yes. Thank you. I will require more.”

  To my surprise, the villagers laughed. Like actually laughed.

  And just like that, something tight in my chest eased.

  Across the table, Damien remained standing for a moment longer than the rest of us, his posture straight, hands loosely behind his back like he was guarding something.

  A villager approached him cautiously with a bowl of stew, he looked at it like it was a strategic decision.

  “... It is not poisoned,” I offered helpfully.

  He gave me a flat look, “I am aware.” Before sitting down.

  Which, for some reason, felt like a small victory.

  Sylvia had already been dragged into a cluster of villagers who were asking rapid questions all at once.

  Harven was laughing, retelling something that made Rok sound ten times more heroic than reality.

  Mr. Rocky had secured a position near the bread basket and was observing the situation with intent.

  Someone started recounting the first time the creatures had appeared. Someone else interrupted halfway through to exaggerate Rok's entrance into the cave.

  I leaned back slightly in my chair, feeling the warmth.

  Hours ago, this village was bracing for survival.

  Now?

  They were arguing over who made stew.

  I glanced at Damien as he was watching the villagers quietly, like he was memorizing something.

  I exhaled slowly, maybe being looked at like a savior was uncomfortable

  But this? This was easier.

  The feast didn’t end all at once. One by one, villagers drifted away from the tables, laughter turning into tired smiles, mugs abandoned where they sat.

  Rok was still eating as I watched an older villager place another portion in front of him with solemn respect.

  “This is acceptable,” Rok said.

  The villager looked proud.

  I leaned back in my chair, exhaustion finally setting in now that no one was trying to kill us.

  Across the square, Sylvia was mid-story dramatically saying something that did not happen the way she was describing it.

  My shoulders relaxed, but that was when I noticed Damien wasn’t sitting anymore.

  He stood a short distance away from the tables, near the edge of the square where the torch lights faded into the shadow, his posture straight, gaze fixed not on the food, but on us.

  Specifically, Rok and I.

  The wind shifted softly, carrying the scent of smoke and cooked meat. A few remaining villagers passed by him without hesitation, offering thanks again in quieter voices.

  He inclined his head politely to each of them, but he didn’t smile, not even once.

  I stood, brushing crumbs from my hands, and made my way towards him.

  “You’re going to scare them if you loom any harder,” I said lightly.

  His eyes flicked toward me. “I am not looming.”

  “You’re absolutely looming.”

  A pause, “…It is unintentional.”

  For a moment we stood there at the edge of the square, celebrations reduced to lower murmurs and clinking glass.

  “You did well,” he said finally.

  “You were there too,” I replied.

  He didn’t answer, his gaze instead drifted back toward Rok, who was now being forcefully handed what appeared to be dessert by three determined villagers.

  Something shifted in Damien’s expression. He looked… distant, like he was standing there, but his mind was somewhere else.

  “You good?” I asked.

  A beat, “…Yes,” he said, hesitant. “I was merely considering something.” He added, quieter.

  For a moment, neither of us spoke, but I got a strange feeling that something had already changed. He just hadn’t said it yet.

  Up close, his expression was… calm. Too calm.

  The kind of calm that came after a long internal argument finally ended.

  “I have considered my position,” Damien said.

  I blinked. “…Okay?”

  Rok slowly lifted his head from his third—no, fourth plate, slowing down his chewing.

  Damien’s gaze stayed locked on me, steadily.

  Sylvia, who had just escaped the villagers, scooted closer to Rok.

  Harven’s mug paused halfway to his mouth.

  For a second, the noise of the feast had died down, but his eyes didn’t leave me.

  A strange tightness formed in my chest, this wasn’t a dramatic speech, Damien didn’t seem the type to give dramatic speeches.

  Panic struck me, maybe something happened that angered him, or something that Rok did back at the cave, but whatever it was, my mind couldn’t register it as—

  “I want to join your party.”

  Total silence hit, with only Rok’s fork dropping to break the tension.

  “…You want,” I said slowly, “…to voluntarily join this disaster?”

  For the first time all night Damien’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but dangerously close.

  “Yes,” he said calmly.