Heka leaned his frail body against the cold, jagged flowstone wall of the cave. His limbs trembled with exhaustion of frostiness. He was struggling to breathe under the invisible weight pressing his chest.
He seemed so weak, so powerless, half alive, half fading into the silhouette that clung to the cavern's depths. His breaths came shallow and uncertain. He was barely enough to sustain the fragile thread within him.
A- numbness crept through his body. The pain was absent, but also his strength. His limbs felt like lead, sluggish and unresponsive. As if his very essence was slipping away.
Yet, amidst this haze of weakness, his senses remained sharp. His eyes pierced the darkness with startling clarity. His ears attuned to the faintest whisper of sound. He was painfully aware of his own frailty.
That awareness was a cruel reminder of how close he was to surrender.
Beside him, Waylinn moved with quiet determination. Soon a small fire circle blossomed into a steady one. It was quite warm. The blue flames cast flickering shadows on the cave's flowstone.
It pushes back the frostiness that had swept into Heka's bones. Slowly, the fire's warmth began to thaw the freeze that gripped him. It melted the stiffness in his joints. It brought a faint flush of life back to his pale skin.
"I hope you don't mind if we stay here for a while." Waylinn said softly. His voice comforted his presence in the cold silence.
Heka nodded weakly. His throat was dry and- the voice barely whispered. "Never mind."
But before he could say more, a glimmer of doubt crossed his mind. Did Waylinn see him as anything more than a burden? Was he just dead weight slowing their journey?
The thought gnawed at him. However, he pushed it aside. Instead, he focused on observing around the cave.
"Anyway, what is this cave? Is there something special or is it just an ordinary cave?" Heka asked. His voice trembled slightly because the chill didn't vanish yet. Those words were just to shoo away his negative thinking.
Though it was his choice to wander around in the immortal realm, following Waylinn everywhere. He didn't regret his decision at all.
For being burdened, he knew well from the beginning. He was futile, both in the immortal realm, and in the human realm.
His eyes roamed the dim flowstone. At first glance, it resembled any other cave from the human realms. It was dark, cold, and enclosed by rough stone.
But something about it felt different. The flowstone seemed almost alive.
Curious, Heka reached out and pressed his hand against the flowstone. To his surprise, his fingers sank slightly into the surface. As if the stone would consume every touch.
He pulled his hand back. Nothing happened to his hand. It was still intact. That meant the flowstone wasn't dangerous. It was safety.
A flicker of hope stirred within him. Here, in this secret place, perhaps he could find the strength to endure. Perhaps, with Waylinn's help and the cave's mysterious embrace, he could rise again from the brink of oblivion.
"It is Grottverna." Waylinn said quietly. Finally, he said something. For a while, he stayed silent and ignored Heka. He just glanced over him.
Heka's brow furrowed in confusion. "What? Grottverna."
The word was unfamiliar, foreign to his ears. Like a secret whispered in a language lost to time.
Waylinn nodded. He explained that Heka was curious about. "It's a cave, yeah. But not just a cave. Grottverna are specially created by the noble immortals. They are scattered in every hidden corner of the realms."
The Grottverna was a sanctuary for those who had suffered severe injuries. It served as both a hiding place and a healing.
When an immortal was gravely wounded, showing weakness was dangerous. It drew unwanted attention to other immortals, the opportunists, and predators who would seize the chance to steal power, the sacred artifacts, or even the essence of the soul.
Thus, they were not easy to find. Only those of noble or those trusted implicitly could locate it.
The rest would wander endlessly, never knowing such sanctuaries exist. It was a secret kept by the elite, a safeguard against betrayal and exploitation. It was the lack of immortal eyes that did not belong to nobles.
In that hidden cave, surrounded by ancient stone and flickering firelight, one immortal and one human found a fragile peace. A momentary sanctuary where healing could begin, and hope could take root once more.
Heka's gaze drifted to the softly glowing flame, the warmth slowly rekindling his soul. He felt a fragile hope stirring within him, a sense of safety he hadn't known the next day.
"Thank you for taking care of me." Heka said quietly. His voice was thick with gratitude.
Those words struck deep down in his conscience. Knowingly he had nothing to offer Waylinn, to do something useful for him. Just to make himself not a burden anymore.
Waylinn said. His voice was low and heavy with frustration. "My wound is not healed yet. Otherwise, we can teleport right to the Kiervant Sky."
He glanced down at the part of his body where Youfiel's blade had pierced him. Though the wound had closed, the pain lingered as a dull ache. Like a persistent ache that reminded him of his vulnerability.
In his current state, Waylinn was no different from a human. His once formidable power had been stripped away by Marchio, leaving him powerless and fragile. The injury had sapped what little strength he had left, rendering him unable to summon even the simplest of spells.
If he tried to push himself beyond his limits, even for something as essential as teleportation, he was terrified that he would disintegrate into dust.
At least, he could muster a small fire to provide warmth for Heka. It was a modest comfort.
But in the immortal realms especially in the vast, unforgiving vibe they inhabited it was a necessity. Waylinn knew all too well that a human body was ill-suited to endure the harshness of this place for long.
He should have refused when Heka insisted on accompanying him to search for Marchio. It would have been safer for Heka to remain within Kiervant Sky, a sanctuary protected where no one could break the barrier that Marchio made.
After all, it was his fault. His failure had brought them both into this precarious situation. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on him, mingling with the pain in his side.