They slowly released each other, the warmth fading but the bond lingering. Angus wiped his eyes, drawing in a shaky breath.
"It's time we go," he said quietly. "Thank you, Makoto... for everything."
Makoto offered a faint smile, but her voice stayed distant, almost solemn.
"Don't thank me. Your fate was sealed long before this."
Without another word, Angus and Sakura turned away, stepping out of the dim, smoky camp and back into the endless corridors of the underground base.
For a while, they walked in silence, the echo of their footsteps filling the space between them.
Finally, Sakura spoke, her voice softer now.
"So... what's our next step?"
Angus thought for a moment before answering.
"Well... the closest region is the Merc Region. We'll head out tomorrow."
Sakura nodded, then motioned for him to follow.
"Come on. I know a place where we can rest. It's where I live. Where my friends are."
Angus followed her through a winding metal pathway, the walls narrowing, the lights flickering overhead. After several minutes, the tight corridors opened up into a massive underground campsite.
Clusters of tents and makeshift shelters spread across the cavern, each one patched together with whatever materials people could scavenge—cloth, tarp, scrap metal. The air smelled of smoke, oil, and worn fabric, a living space carved out of survival.
The area had two tents set up side by side. One was draped in long, flowing red silk that shimmered under the dim lights, giving it a soft, almost theatrical glow. Its entrance was pinned open with small golden hooks, letting the scent of perfume and old wood drift out. The second tent was rougher in appearance, made from an old reformed military tarp dyed a dark, weathered green. Patches and stitched seams told stories of past repairs, and thick ropes anchored it tightly to the metal ground.
Faint sounds of clinking tools and quiet voices leaked from within.
Angus stared, taking it all in.
"So... who exactly are these friends?"
"You'll meet them," Sakura said with a small grin.
Just then, a tall man approached, his footsteps heavy.
He had sharp, pointed ears, a rough black shirt, black pants, and a small metal chest plate strapped to his chest. A sword was painted across the front, and two guns hung at his hips. His hair was slicked back into a tight bun, and his skin was a warm brown tone.
The man stopped in front of Angus, eyeing him carefully.
"And who's this?" he asked, his voice stern.
Sakura shifted nervously. "He's my friend. He's just staying for today."
The man crossed his arms, glancing between them. "So this is where you've been hiding these past few days."
Sakura fidgeted, struggling to meet his gaze. "Well... yes. But there's a reason. When I was out, I almost got kidnapped by some lizards. Angus saved me."
The man's brow furrowed deeply. "You know he's that human, right?"
"I know," Sakura said firmly. "But he needs my help."
A heavy silence fell before the man spoke again, voice low. "Does Lagertha know about this?"
"Yes. I told her everything. She's fine with it," Sakura said quickly. "Look, he's just here to rest. He'll be gone by tomorrow."
The man sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Fine. But you're responsible for him. Find him a place to sleep—and make sure he stays out of trouble."
He gave Angus one last skeptical glance before turning and disappearing into the maze of tents and makeshift shelters.
Sakura turned to Angus, her tone apologetic. "I was kind of hoping you could stay with him. My sleeping spot's already taken."
Sakura gave a small smile and beckoned him to follow.
She led him to her tent—the one draped in worn red silk, the air thick with the scent of cheap perfume, oil, and old metal.
Gently, Sakura pulled the cloth door aside and waved him inside.
The tent was small but full of personality.
A bunk bed hugged the left wall, while a cracked makeup table with an attached mirror stood across from it. A battered dresser sat nearby, overflowing with vibrant, custom-made outfits—bright costumes that looked ready for a performance.
Sitting at the makeup table was a woman—medium height, slim-waisted, with long golden hair spilling down her back. She wore a sparkling purple crop top and a short white skirt streaked with purple stripes, both shimmering under the dim light.
Sharp, pointed ears poked through her hair, but what stood out most were the two large prismatic crystal horns jutting from her forehead, scattering tiny rainbows across the tent whenever she moved.
Sakura stepped in nervously, Angus following close behind.
"Um, Cristalle? Are you here?" Sakura called softly.
Cristalle immediately turned around, her eyes lighting up as she spotted them.
"Sakura! You're back!" she squealed, rushing forward and throwing her arms around her friend in a tight, affectionate hug.
After a moment, Cristalle pulled back, flashing a playful grin.
"I'm happy to see you! But... who's this handsome thing you've brought into our tent?" she said with a teasing wink.
Sakura blushed, glancing awkwardly at Angus. "He's Angus. My friend. He's just here to rest for a bit."
Cristalle laughed lightly, giving Angus an exaggerated once-over. "Well, he is a looker. But why's he here?"
Sakura straightened up, trying to sound more serious. "He needed my help. He's searching for something... and I brought him here to see Makoto."
At the mention of Makoto, Cristalle's playful expression shifted into something more thoughtful.
"I see..." she murmured, the weight of it settling between them.
After a pause, Cristalle's face lit up again with an idea.
"Well, why don't you have him stay with Chris?" she suggested brightly.
Sakura smirked, folding her arms. "Yeah... I think you remember how that went down last time."
Cristalle giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.
"Right... probably better not to wake up to another wrestling match."
Angus glanced around the tent, his nose wrinkling slightly.
"I'm not gonna say anything... but it really stinks in here," he muttered to himself, shifting awkwardly near the entrance.
Sakura knelt down beside a supply box. "I'll sleep on the ground. You take the bed."
Angus shook his head immediately. "No, it's fine. I'll take the floor. I'm used to it."
He tried to make it sound casual, but the truth was plain: the floor was familiar. The best place he'd ever slept was a moldy trash mattress stuffed in a broken-down shack. Compared to that, this wasn't too bad.
Sakura paused, looking at him for a beat—really looking. She could see it in his eyes: he wasn't just being polite.
"You sure?" she asked softly.
"Yeah," he replied with a faint shrug. 'Doesn't matter anyway... probably not going to sleep,' he thought.
Cristalle, now behind them, hummed to herself as she started cleaning up her cluttered makeup station. Brushes clinked into a cup, stray powders wiped away with glitter-stained clothes. The sparkle never quite disappeared.
Sakura opened a gray supply box lined with flickering neon strips, their light buzzing faintly in the quiet. With a click, the box unsealed and split open. Inside, it was tightly packed with blankets—most of them worn, mismatched, and slightly frayed, but clean.
She pulled out a couple and handed one to Angus.
"Here," she said. "It's not warm, but it's soft."
Angus took it with a quiet nod.
"Also… you hungry?" Sakura asked, glancing over her shoulder.
She grabbed a blanket and tossed it down gently. "We should probably eat before crashing. It's been a while since we had anything, hasn't it?"
"Yeah, that sounds good. I haven't even thought about food with everything that's been going on."
Sakura and Angus stepped out of the tent and made their way back through the dim hallway, retracing their path into the heart of the underground market. The once-bustling space had started to quiet down—stalls closing, lights dimming, voices softening as people retired for the night.
But one small ramen shop remained open, its flickering neon sign barely holding onto the words: Yasuo's Ramen Shop. The glow cast a soft orange hue over the area, warm and worn.
Sakura led the way, glancing back to wave Angus over. She patted a seat at the counter—an old, splintering wooden stool with a cracked cushion barely clinging to its shape.
Behind the counter was the kitchen, separated by a long bar table. The setup looked like it hadn't changed in decades. Rusted pans, dented pots, and weathered ladles hung neatly from hooks. The stove hissed gently, steam curling into the air. Despite its age, everything was clean—well-loved and maintained with quiet pride. These weren't just tools—they were heirlooms, likely passed down through generations.
Sakura rested her elbows on the counter, her eyes catching the low-hanging glow of the flickering ramen sign.
"Have you ever been to a ramen shop before, Angus?" she asked softly.
He nodded, eyes fixed on the steam rising from a nearby pot.
"Yeah… but it's been a long time. Last time I went was with my dad."
A shadow crossed his face—another memory clawing its way up from the past. He didn't say more, but the silence spoke volumes.
Sakura looked at him curiously, her voice dropping to something quieter, more sincere.
"Angus… why did you save me from the lizards?"
He turned toward her, surprised by the question. Her gaze didn't waver, locked on his, catching the dim light just enough to show she was waiting for the truth.
"I don't know," he admitted after a pause. "It just... happened. It felt like something inside me moved. And then I ran."
He looked down at his hands, curling his fingers slightly.
"Look, this world is already a bad place, and the people who watch what happens and let it go are just as bad as the ones who do it."
Sakura took in his words—like a brick to the chest. They hit hard, the weight of them settling on her shoulders like an anvil. She went quiet for a moment, eyes drifting to the quiet market beyond. Then, slowly, a faint smile crept across her face.
She realized something: she hadn't just found a friend—she'd found a man worth following. And not just on this journey. If it came down to it, she knew she'd lay her life down for him.
"Hey hey!" the ramen shop owner called out, snapping them back to the present.
"What'll you two have?"
Angus glanced over at Sakura. "What do you usually get?"
"We'll take the Yasuo Special," she answered with a small grin.
"Alright then! Two Yasuo Specials, coming up!"
Before long, the food arrived—steaming, fragrant, and comforting. The noodles were perfectly swirled in a rich, dark broth that smelled like it had been simmering all day. It hit them with layers of spice and warmth, like a home-cooked stew passed down for generations. On top, thick slices of seared steak rested alongside pink-swirled narutomaki, all crowned by a perfectly cooked, soft-boiled egg.
They ate in silence, savoring each bite.
After the meal, they made their way back through the market. The once-lively place was now wrapped in hush—only a few dim lights remained, glowing faintly along the walls.
Sakura walked beside Angus, glancing up at him now and then. She wasn't just thinking about what he'd said—she was still feeling it.
"He's made me realize... there's more to life than just surviving," she thought. "I don't want to stay trapped in the base forever. I want to thrive. I want to matter. And with Angus... I think that's possible."
They made it back to the campsite, the air still and silent. Not a sound came from the surrounding tents—everyone was already asleep.
Angus and Sakura slipped quietly into the red silk tent, tiptoeing their way inside. Cristalle lay curled up on her side, fast asleep, her breathing soft and even.
Sakura moved carefully onto the bed, not making a sound as she settled beneath the covers. She was exhausted, but her mind still lingered on Angus's words. A rare feeling stirred in her—purpose. She hadn't felt that in a long time. It gave her the peace to finally let go, to believe—for just a moment—that she deserved rest.
Angus eased himself down onto the hard, cold ground. He could feel every groove beneath him, every stray nut and bolt poking into his back. With a quiet sigh, he grabbed a corner of the blanket, bunching it up beneath him to form a makeshift cushion.
He stared up at the ceiling of rippling silk, the red fabric shifting slightly in the low breeze from the vents above. His eyes traced the folds and ruffles, following their curves as if they were maps of somewhere far away. Somewhere safe.
For once, there was no threat, no enemy lurking around the corner. Just quiet. Just stillness. It wasn't luxury—but it was comfort. And for Angus, this peace was worth more than the softest mattress money could buy.
He turned his head slightly and looked at Sakura. She was deep in slumber, completely still except for the slow, steady rise and fall of her breath.
"I can finally rest," he thought.
And as his eyes closed, it felt like the world drifted away. The spaceship, the noise, the weight—it all faded. For the first time in years, Angus slipped into sleep not with fear... but with calm.
Like floating through space, untethered—and free.
Then something pulled.
Not like sleep, not like rest. Like gravity, like being called.
A dark room.
No light—nothing—except a single candle flickering in the center.
From the far corner, a slow creaking begins. Back and forth. Back and forth. The sound of a rocking chair groaning beneath someone's weight. Then a breath—wet, ragged, drawn out—echoes from that same shadowed corner.
Angus steps forward, drawn toward the sound despite the ice crawling up his spine. The air is frozen, sharp like glass. His breath fogs in front of him.
Out of the dark, a figure begins to form.
A woman.
She's seated in a rocking chair, her gown draped wide around her like spilled blood—a puffed-out Victorian dress dyed a deep, rotting red, black floral patterns sewn into the fabric like vines creeping through decay. Her face is hidden in shadow—until it isn't.
A pale complexion emerges, too flawless to be human. Porcelain skin stretched perfectly over her face. Her eyes glow red, luminous and unnatural, burning through the darkness, framed by a mask of pure black. She looks at him. Through him.
Angus freezes. Every instinct tells him to run, but his legs won't move. He's paralyzed, locked in place like a statue in ice.
Then she stands.
Each step she takes echoes—booms—through the chamber like a drumbeat. The sound of her heels against the floor grows louder. Her shadow stretches long across the wall—too long. Twisting. Distorted. Impossible.
"Angus…" she whispers, and her voice is both velvet and static.
"You're here. You know I need you, Angus.
Angus.
Angus.
Angus.
Angus…"
She comes closer. Every detail of her face now visible—too perfect. A doll carved by obsession. Her single glowing eye locks onto his, unblinking, like a predator hypnotizing its prey.
Angus can't breathe.
This isn't a dream.
It's a vision.
Her presence smothers the room. The walls seem to close in. His chest tightens like something unseen has wrapped around it, squeezing.
Then she speaks one last thing—softly, directly into his mind. A sentence that shouldn't exist. Words that slip past the walls of reason and tear something open deep inside him.
They don't echo. They imprint.
They don't belong here.
But they're his.
And Angus screams.
He bolts upright—gasping, drenched in sweat. His heart slams against his chest like it's trying to escape. The tent is dark, quiet. But the cold remains.
His body trembles.
The fear is still there.
No peace left. Only the echo of her voice.