The fire crackled low, casting long, quivering shadows across the blackened rocks. Kairo lay on the uneven ground, the Ashweave bindings still fused to his side, each movement a sharp reminder of the violence that had brought him here. Pain was a constant companion now, but so was silence.
He stared into the flames, not seeing them, letting his thoughts drift through fragments of memory — flashes of light he couldn't name, voices screaming in languages he almost remembered, and the endless, falling darkness that had brought him here. Each recollection burned as brightly as the fire before him, yet left no warmth.
Time became meaningless. Kairo did not eat. He did not speak. He only breathed, each inhale shallow, each exhale a quiet surrender to the emptiness.
Igron moved around him silently, gathering scraps, examining the horizon, sharpening blades that would never touch Kairo. Occasionally, he muttered to himself — a low, rough sound, more habit than conversation. Kairo did not respond; he had no words left to offer.
The silence was broken only by the occasional howl from the distance — the cries of creatures that no longer belonged to life or death. Kairo felt the pull of them, a distant echo of the instinct to survive, but it was faint. He felt hollow, an empty vessel, watched over by a demon whose very presence reminded him he was still tethered to this world, unwillingly.
And yet, amid the quiet, Kairo noticed something subtle — a shift in the air. The smell of sulfur deepened, a tremor ran through the ground, and Igron stiffened. Kairo's gaze followed the demi-demon's, though he saw nothing at first.
"Something's coming," Igron muttered, his single eye narrowing. His voice held a tension Kairo had not heard before — alert, almost wary. "And it's not one of the usual scavengers."
Kairo remained still, letting the sensation wash over him. He had grown accustomed to the dangers of Hell, but instinct told him this was different. Igron glanced at him briefly, then turned toward the dark horizon as if preparing to vanish into it at any moment.
The fire crackled. Shadows danced. And somewhere far off, a summons, sharp and unyielding, began to ripple through the oppressive air of Hell — a signal that Igron could not ignore, and a call that would pull them both toward the next chapter of their fates.