Chapter 113

  Written by Bayzo Albion

  "We'll camp here," I announced, shrugging off my satchel.

  She said nothing, as usual, simply standing nearby, her eyes following my movements.

  I pulled out the two blankets and pillows, spreading them on the mossy bed. I scanned for ant trails—ironic, given our destination—then kindled a modest fire, not for cooking but to ward off nocturnal prowlers, its flames crackling to life with a comforting glow.

  Surveying the setup—two blankets, two pillows, the fire flickering between them—a surreal feeling washed over me, as if this weren't a perilous mission but some bizarre outing, almost... domestic.

  "Damn..." I muttered, smirking at the absurdity. "Feels like a picnic. And here we are, heading toward a nest of house-sized horrors."

  I settled onto my blanket, propping the pillow under my head. She mirrored me without prompting, lying opposite with her arms crossed over her chest, as if this routine were etched into her very being.

  Watching her in the firelight was eerie: serene, ethereally beautiful, like a porcelain figure animated by some unseen magic.

  "You know," I said softly, the words slipping out into the night, "this all looks too cozy. For a place like this forest."

  She didn't respond, merely tilting her head slightly—as if in quiet agreement.

  And yet, I realized: this might not be a home, but it was the first evening where I truly felt another's presence beside me.

  The night deepened, the fire popping and spitting embers that danced like fireflies. I was on the verge of sleep, my eyelids heavy, when I caught her subtle shift.

  She sat across from me, silent as ever... but her posture had changed, something deliberate and unnatural. She leaned forward just enough for the flames to caress the curves of her form, drawing the eye. Then she edged closer to the fire, her movements holding my gaze captive.

  I frowned, a knot forming in my stomach.

  She uttered no words, but each gesture screamed intent—calculated, probing. As if testing me.

  In the next breath, her pose grew bolder, an unmistakable invitation. She adjusted her position slowly, "casually," but the implication was blatant, heavy with suggestion.

  The fire crackled louder in the silence, my chest tightening.

  "Stop," I breathed, turning away sharply. "Don't even think about it."

  She froze, but I could feel her stare boring into me, sharp as a blade.

  "I don't want to die tonight," I added quietly, my voice firm. "Understand?"

  Silence enveloped us, broken only by the fire's persistent snap and her unmoving silhouette across the flames.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, but sleep eluded me now, chased away by a churning anxiety. Because what she'd just done wasn't mere seduction. It was a trial—a gauntlet thrown down in the dark.

  – – –

  Morning greeted me with a crisp chill and dim light filtering through the dense canopy overhead. The fire had burned down to glowing embers, casting faint red hues across the mossy ground. I rose, stretching my stiff limbs, but my mind lingered on her actions from the night before, refusing to let go.

  The image replayed vividly: her sitting there, shifting her posture as if by chance, her eyes glinting with a quiet, deliberate challenge. And then—the moment etched into my memory—she moved just enough to leave no doubt, a silent invitation that made it clear there would be no turning back.

  I clenched my jaw, a surge of unease twisting in my gut.

  *That wasn't passion,* I thought grimly. *There was no real desire in her gestures. It was calculated. A test. As if she wanted to see how easily I'd give in... or how quickly I'd meet my end.*

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  I glanced at her. She was already up, standing by a nearby tree, smoothing her hair with that same doll-like composure. No hint of last night's provocation. As if it had never happened.

  And that made it all the heavier, like a stone settling in my chest.

  "You scare me," I murmured, more to myself than to her. "Because I don't understand what's going on inside you."

  She turned her head, meeting my eyes with that cool, unflinching calm, then looked away without a word.

  I rubbed my face and exhaled deeply, the forest's damp air filling my lungs.

  *If her smile yesterday held danger... then her silence today echoes an even greater fear. Not for her—but for me.*

  I gathered my satchel, checked my knives, and adjusted the skillet slung across my back. The motions were routine, muscle memory kicking in, but my thoughts churned relentlessly: keep your distance.

  I stepped forward onto the morning trail, and she followed. Her footsteps were nearly silent, padding softly behind me, which only heightened my anxiety, like an unseen shadow growing longer.

  *I need to be careful. Keep her at arm's length. If her gestures are calculated, if her smiles are threats, then getting too close could cost me everything.*

  I balled my fists. Yes, that would be the smart play—treat her like a tool, a burden to manage from afar.

  But the moment I turned—even for a split second—and saw her trailing me through the quiet dawn, everything crumbled. I knew I couldn't let her go. Not even if she was dangerous.

  I let out a bitter, weary chuckle to myself.

  "Damn," I muttered. "Looks like I've got fear and weakness wrapped up in one package now."

  She didn't respond, of course. But her steps never faltered, matching mine without missing a beat.

  The forest thickened by the minute. The path shrank into a twisting corridor of roots and thorns, branches locking overhead like a cage, letting in only scraps of light. With every step, it felt as though we were sinking deeper into a hostile, alien realm.

  I shifted my satchel and skillet again, the weight a constant reminder as my thoughts grew heavier.

  *The ant colony... They're not like regular beasts. Not a single foe, but hundreds. A swarm. Their power lies in numbers, not brute strength. You can't fight them head-on. You have to outsmart them. Think ahead.*

  I looked at her. She walked beside me with unwavering poise, as if this were a leisurely stroll rather than a march into peril.

  *Alone, I could handle it,* I mused. *Barely, but I could. But with her...*

  Doubt gnawed at me from within, sharp and insistent. Fight together? But how? She was silent, offering no explanations, no demonstrations of skill. Maybe she couldn't do anything at all. Or maybe... she was hiding far too much.

  I recalled her smile from the day before and her icy indifference this morning. Those two expressions were enough to convince me: if she joined the fray, I wouldn't be able to control her—or the outcome.

  "So, it'll be me alone," I grumbled under my breath. "Keep her out of it. Far away."

  My heart raced faster than I'd admit, a frantic rhythm betraying my nerves. I wasn't just afraid of the ants. I was afraid of her choices.

  We pressed on for another couple of hours, our steps growing more cautious instinctively—mine deliberate, hers graceful but alert. The air shifted subtly: the fresh scent of pine and damp earth gave way to a heavy, acrid tang that clung to the back of my throat.

  First, I spotted the tree. A massive trunk, gnawed clean through the middle as if devoured and spat out. Bark hung in ragged strips, and at its base, dark stains of acid etched the wood like burn marks.

  "There it is..." I breathed, a chill creeping up my spine.

  It only got worse from there. We advanced a bit further, and the ground became littered with empty husks—squirrels, rabbits, even a fox. Their bodies were corroded down to brittle skeletons, the chitinous shells intact while everything inside had been drained away, as if the ants had sucked the life out from within.

  I knelt, running my fingers over one of the fragile exoskeletons. It was dry, crumbling at the touch. The force that had hollowed these creatures was gone, but the aura of menace lingered, palpable and oppressive.

  My chest tightened.

  *So this is what they feed on. Anything. Everything alive.*

  I stood, casting a glance at her. She stared at the mutilated tree with her usual serenity, but her eyes gleamed faintly—for the first time, I caught a spark of interest in them.

  "This is bad," I muttered. "Really bad."

  The forest around us had fallen eerily still. Even the birds had ceased their songs.

  And I knew: we were nearing the colony's heart.

  My stomach growled loudly, a rude interruption to the tension. I halted, scanning the underbrush: the woods were hushed, but my eyes picked out the telltale signs—burrows and faint trails in the dirt.

  "Rabbits," I whispered.

  Knives in hand, I narrowed my eyes. A flick of the wrist, and one blade whistled through the air, embedding precisely beside a furry head peeking from the grass. Another motion, and a second rabbit twitched, caught before it could bolt.

  I smirked. To some, this was an art; to me, it was just survival.

  Minutes later, a small fire crackled on the clearing, and my enchanted skillet sizzled with the dressed carcasses. The pan worked its magic: meat cooked evenly, no burning, the savory aroma wafting through the air like a taunt to my hunger.

  I sat, flipping the pieces, when it happened.

  "Do you enjoy eating rats?" The voice came from beside me.