The asphalt road they traveled on became increasingly ruined as they went. If before it still looked like a highway, now the surface resembled a compacted river of gravel. To the left and right, the forest began to retreat, replaced by waist-high savanna grass, dry and brownish-yellow.
The wind blew harder here, carrying a different dust and scent. No longer the damp smell of forest and moss, but the scent of smoke, dust, and... livestock manure.
"Smell of cow dung," Dayat mumbled, sniffing the air. His eyes watered. "I swear, I've never been this happy to smell cow shit. That means there's life, Dol!"
Dola walked beside him, her steps still stable and precise, unaffected by the uneven road surface.
"Olfactory analysis confirms the presence of methane and organic ammonia," Dola replied. "However, Master Dayat, there is one variable we need to address before making visual contact with locals."
Dayat turned. "What? Do we smell?"
"Appearance," Dola stopped walking. She spread her arms slightly, showing herself off.
Dayat looked at Dola from head to toe. Unnaturally shiny long silver hair. A perfectly symmetrical face with no visible pores. Glowing electric blue eyes. And worst of all: A tight black bodysuit with neon lines still pulsing softly.
In the middle of this barren grassland, Dola looked like an alien fresh off a flying saucer, or a Cyberpunk character who wandered onto the set of a medieval movie.
"True..." Dayat scratched his head. "If the villagers here see you, there are only two options: You get worshipped as a Goddess, or you get burned for being a Demon."
"Probability of the second option is 65% higher considering the technological regression of this civilization," Dola added. "I require camouflage."
Dayat looked at his own clothes. A t-shirt that was already torn, dirty cargo pants full of mud, and sneakers with soles starting to peel off. He looked like a hobo, but at least he looked like a human hobo.
"Okay, we need clothes to cover those lights on your body," Dayat said. "I can't sew. And I don't have fabric."
"Use Manifestation, Master. Create a simple structure. Rough cloth. Burlap sack. Tarpaulin. Anything that conceals body contours and light emissions."
Dayat sighed. His energy had actually recovered a bit thanks to the leisurely walk, but using Mana always made him hungry.
"Okay. A cloak. A hobo cloak to match me."
Dayat closed his eyes. He imagined fabric. Not fine silk; the fiber structure was too complex. He imagined a used truck tarp. Rough, thick, dull brown. Simple.
Purple light glowed in his hand. This time the process was faster because Dayat was getting used to the "taste" of flowing Mana.
Fwoosh.
A sheet of thick cloth fell into Dayat's hands. The texture was coarse, fibrous, and dull earthen brown. There was a large hood at the top.
"Here," Dayat handed the cloak to Dola. "It's called the 'Anti-Thirst Cloak'. Wear it, cover your face."
Dola accepted the cloth. She scanned it briefly.
"Material: Dense cellulose fiber mimicking hemp. Durability level: Low. Camouflage function: Optimal."
Dola put on the cloak. She pulled the hood up until it covered most of her face, leaving only her lips and chin visible. Her futuristic body was now totally covered by the rag. She looked like a mysterious wandering mage, or perhaps an elite beggar.
"How is it?" Dola asked, spreading her arms. The cloak was oversized, making her look smaller.
"Perfect. The lights on your body are covered. Your hair too. Now just your eyes," Dayat pointed at Dola's blue eyes. "Can you turn those lights off? Or change them to brown?"
"Negative. Iris color is a Core Processor status indicator. Turning it off means total blindness. I will lower my head to limit direct eye contact."
"Okay. Remember, Dol. If we meet people later, don't say anything. Let me handle it. Your voice is too... Google Assistant."
"Understood. Activating Protocol: Silent Partner. I will play the role of an obedient mute wife."
"Mute wife..." Dayat smiled, amused. "Your acting needs to be good. Don't walk so upright. Relax your shoulders a bit."
Dola tried to hunch her body slightly, mimicking a tired person's posture. Her movements were still a bit stiff, but under the thick cloak, it wasn't too visible.
They continued their journey. The sun began to dip to the west, casting their long shadows on the cracked asphalt.
About a kilometer later, they saw it.
On the side of the road, under the shade of a large acacia tree growing alone in the meadow, were two wooden carts. The carts were pulled by large animals resembling buffaloes, but with scales on their backs.
There was a small campfire burning. Three people sat around it.
"Humans..." Dayat whispered. His heart pounded fast. This was the defining moment. Were they friends or foes?
"Target analysis," Dola whispered from under her hood. Her voice was very low, only for Dayat's ears. "Three adult male subjects. Weapons: Two machetes at the waist, one spear leaning on the cart. Clothing: Animal skins and rough woven fabric. Status: Merchants or Scavengers."
"Are they dangerous?"
"Threat level: Low-Medium. Their weapons are primitive. But do not underestimate numbers."
Dayat took a deep breath. He put his folding knife in his pants pocket for easy access but kept his hands visible and empty.
"Come on. Act natural. We're just two lost people needing water."
They walked closer. When the distance was fifty meters, one of the men at the campfire stood up. He held a spear, staring sharply at Dayat and Dola.
Dayat raised both hands to shoulder height. The universal gesture of peace.
"Hello!" Dayat shouted. "Excuse me! Just passing through!"
The man didn't answer. He nudged his sleeping friend. The three men now stood, observing the newcomers with suspicious gazes. Their faces were hard, sunburnt, and dusty. One of them had a long scar on his cheek.
Dayat reached the outer limit of their camp. He stopped, keeping a safe distance of about five meters.
"Afternoon, Bro," Dayat greeted with the friendliest smile he could muster. "We're travelers. Lost from the forest. Can we rest for a bit?"
The man with the scar stepped forward. He spat on the ground, then spoke.
"Gar'rok thum? Vash ne kota?"
Dayat blanked out.
The language sounded harsh, full of throat consonants, like someone gargling gravel.
"Uh... sorry?" Dayat scratched his head. "Don't understand, Bro. Bahasa Indonesia? English? Do you speak English?"
The man frowned, looking offended or confused. He pointed to the forest behind Dayat, then made a throat-slitting motion.
"Zon'tra! Zon'tra maat!" he snapped.
Dola whispered softly, barely audible, "He is saying we came from the Dead Zone. He suspects we carry disease or curses."
Dayat panicked a little. "No, no! We're healthy! Sehat! Fit as a fiddle!" Dayat patted his own chest, then pointed at Dola. "My wife is healthy too."
The men shifted their gaze to Dola.
Dola stood slightly behind Dayat, her head bowed deep, her hands clutching Dayat's arm tightly (like a fearful wife). The large cloak covered her body, but when the wind blew, her curves covered in the tight bodysuit were faintly imprinted against the rough fabric.
The men's eyes narrowed. Not with suspicion, but... hunger.
One of them, the fattest one with missing teeth, grinned. He said something to his friend while pointing at Dola. They laughed.
"Ki'ra vosh... Halus..." the Fat One said.
"Dol, what are they saying?" whispered Dayat, his gut feeling turning bad.
"Language data insufficient for accurate translation," Dola replied, her tone cold. "But voice tone and facial micro-expression analysis indicate: Sexual interest and objectification. Be alert."
Dayat immediately shifted his body, blocking Dola completely from their view. His protective instinct flared up.
"Sorry, Bro. We just want to ask the way to the city," Dayat said firmly, using hand gestures pointing to the asphalt road, then pointing to the horizon. "City. Town."
The scarred man seemed to be their leader. He understood Dayat's gesture. He pointed to the straight road ahead.
"Bakasa. Two days walk," he said (or so Dayat gathered from his two-finger gesture).
Then the man pointed to a leather water skin hanging on the cart. He pointed at Dayat, then made a gesture rubbing his thumb and index finger. Money.
"Ah, trade," Dayat understood. "You want to sell water?"
Dayat reached into his pocket. He had no local currency. But he had... a folding knife? No, that was a weapon. He reached into his other pocket. A green Tokai gas lighter.
Dayat took out the lighter. He flicked it. Click. A small flame lit up.
The three men's eyes widened. In this world, maybe fire was made with flint or magic. A mechanical gas lighter was a magical item.
Dayat threw the lighter to the leader. The man caught it, tried it, and laughed happily when the flame lit up.
"Grom! Good!"
The man threw the leather water skin at Dayat.
Dayat caught it. Heavy. Full of water.
"Thanks, Bro," Dayat said. He opened the cap, sniffed briefly (Dola whispered "Safe"), then drank a little. Fresh. Normal water, not weird forest water.
Dayat handed the water skin to Dola. Dola accepted it, then drank by lifting her hood slightly—only up to her lips.
As Dola drank, her smooth white neck was visible for a split second. Skin too perfect for a hobo traveler. The men fell silent again, staring at Dola's neck.
"Let's go, Dol," Dayat grabbed Dola's hand roughly. "We're walking."
Dayat didn't like their stare. He dragged Dola away from the camp as fast as possible.
"Hei!" the Fat One shouted, trying to call them back.
Dayat pretended not to hear. He quickened his pace. Luckily, they didn't pursue. Maybe they were satisfied enough with the magic lighter, or maybe they were too lazy to chase two beggars.
After they were far enough away, Dayat could finally breathe a sigh of relief.
"Bastards," Dayat cursed. "See a girl for one second and their eyes go wandering. Even though your face is covered in a burlap sack."
"Analysis: Body posture and visual pheromones remain detectable despite covering," Dola stated flatly. "In a post-disaster world like this, healthy and clean females are high-value commodities."
"Commodities..." Dayat clicked his tongue. "You're not an object, Dol. You're my wife. Fictional or not, I won't let them touch you."
Dola turned to Dayat. Under her hood, her blue eyes shone softly.
"Master's possessive statement recorded. Thank you."
"Not possessive, it's called... ah, whatever," Dayat acted awkward. "The important thing is we know the direction is right. Two more days to Bakasa."
"One more thing, Master," Dola reminded. "We have a fatal communication obstacle. If we enter the city without understanding the local language, we will be scammed, arrested, or worse."
"Right. So what now? I don't have a dictionary."
"I require data samples," Dola said. "The more they speak, the faster I crack the code. But we cannot interact directly due to the aforementioned risk."
Dola looked back, toward the camp which now looked small in the distance.
"Tonight, while we rest... I will perform long-range audio interception. I will 'learn' from their conversation while their guard is down."
Dayat nodded. "Okay. We play spies tonight. Tomorrow morning, you better be able to be my language teacher."
The sun finally set, leaving Dayat and Dola walking on the lonely road, watched by alien stars and the shadows of human greed they had just tasted.