Sato fell silent, his mind racing. He felt the weight of her stare pressing on him like the cold stone beneath his back.
Why are you asking? — he asked, voice low and cautious.
Just answer my question. I'll explain the rest later, — Veyra replied, her tone sharp but controlled, like she was holding back a storm.
First, — Sato said quietly, barely above a whisper.
What? Speak louder. I didn't hear, — Veyra pressed, leaning forward slightly, impatience flickering in her blue eyes.
I'm the first, — Sato repeated, this time forcing his voice higher, though it cracked at the end.
Veyra shot to her feet in an instant. Her body went rigid, eyes widening as if she'd been struck. For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire and the distant howl of wind outside the cave.
She stared at him—really stared—like she was seeing something impossible.
How long do you think it's been since you arrived here? — she asked, her voice suddenly quieter, laced with something close to awe.
Why are you asking again? — Sato shot back, suspicion tightening his chest.
Just answer, — she said, softer now, but the intensity in her gaze hadn't faded.
I don't know. Maybe a day. Maybe two at most. But why do you care so much? — Sato pressed, his heart starting to beat faster.
A day. It's been one day since you arrived, — Veyra said, almost to herself. Her fingers twitched at her side.
What? Why do you think that? — Sato asked, confusion creeping into his voice.
Because when I left for the hunt this morning, the village was untouched. No attack. Nothing. I returned near evening and found… this. And now night has fallen, — she explained, her words measured, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of disbelief.
So what if it's one day?
How old are you? — Veyra asked next, her voice dropping even lower.
Fifteen, — Sato answered, watching her reaction carefully.
Fifteen? — She let out a short, incredulous breath. — You're so young. But your face… it tells a different story.
What about my face? I'm telling the truth.
You look at least twenty. Maybe older.
I'm not that old, — Sato muttered, a faint edge of frustration in his tone.
What date was it before you came here?
If I'm not mistaken, November 17th, — he said.
The exact year, — Veyra insisted, her voice now almost urgent.
January 17, 2025, — Sato answered.
Veyra froze.
Her knife slipped from her fingers and clattered to the stone floor. Her blue eyes widened, pupils dilating in shock. For several long seconds she didn't move, didn't breathe. Then her lips parted, and a single word escaped in a whisper.
Damn it… That's exactly the date I died.
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Sato stared at her, stunned.
What? What happened? — he asked, his own heart pounding now.
Veyra didn't answer immediately. She turned away slightly, shoulders tense, fists clenched at her sides. When she spoke again, her voice was raw, almost broken.
That's the day I died on the Continent. January 17, 2025.
So what if you died? — Sato said. — You were reborn here. You're living your life now.
You still don't understand, do you? — Veyra asked, her voice serious.
What? — Sato suddenly went quiet, as if something had clicked.
Unlike you, I'm number 46. My Hunter number is 46. Do you understand? I was sixteen when I died, and I've spent thirty years here. But one thing bothers me. How is the person at the beginning of the count appearing at the very end? After all, didn't both of us get taken on the same day? — Veyra looked straight into Sato's face and fell silent.
So you mean… — Sato started, but Veyra cut him off.
Yes. Someone… or something… is deceiving us, — she said.
"What? Is something happening?" Sato asked, rising to his feet and gripping the sword tightly. His heart pounded with a mix of fear and strange, newfound resolve—the weight of the blade felt reassuring in his hand.
Veyra stood silent for a heartbeat, her body tense, ears straining toward the cave mouth.
"They're coming," she said, voice low and grim.
"Who? Who's coming?" Sato pressed, his pulse quickening.
"The Imperials," Veyra answered, her tone cold and bitter. "They've been wiping out the northern mountain tribes one by one. I'm from the north too. But they won't think you're from here." She glanced at him, eyes sharp. "They'll see you as an outsider. Easy prey."
Then she nodded toward the corner of the cave.
"There are a couple of cloaks over there. You won't last long out there in your current state. Put them on."
As Veyra slowly stepped toward the cave entrance, she paused and turned back, her voice softer now, almost vulnerable.
"Can I ask you for one thing?"
"What?" Sato replied, already moving toward the cloaks. "I'll do whatever I can."
"If you ever find the one who brought us here…" Veyra's eyes darkened, a quiet fury simmering beneath the surface. "Give them a really good beating."
She held his gaze for a moment longer—long enough for Sato to see the raw pain hidden behind her iron mask—then turned and slipped out into the falling snow.
Sato hurried to the cloaks. They were thick, lined with soft inner fur, boots crafted from animal hide, and though the wool layer was thin, it trapped warmth like nothing he'd worn before. As he pulled them on, the biting cold retreated a little. For the first time since the portal, he felt a fragile sense of protection—like he might actually survive the night.
Then the sounds began.
Shouts.
Screams.
The unmistakable ring of steel clashing against steel.
Sato's stomach dropped.
He raised the Asam Sword, the blade steady in his hands now, and moved cautiously toward the cave entrance.
Outside, Veyra had already begun fighting.
They were at the foot of a towering mountain, snow swirling in violent gusts. Veyra moved like a storm—axe flashing, body a blur of speed and fury.
Sato stepped out of the cave, turned right, and ran.
The wind whipped at his face, but the new cloaks held the cold at bay. His legs—stronger now—carried him faster than before. He didn't know where he was going. He only knew he couldn't stay still.
The sounds of battle grew louder behind him.
...
Sato ran.
He didn't know how long. Time blurred in the snow and wind. His new boots pounded through drifts, legs pumping with unfamiliar strength. His breath came in sharp bursts, fogging in the freezing air.
He pushed between jagged rocks, squeezing through narrow gaps until he burst into an open clearing.
He started to run again—
**BOOM.**
The ground vanished beneath him.
He plummeted.
Snow and stone rushed past as he fell into darkness. He hit the bottom hard, rolling across smooth, icy floor. Pain flared through his knees and elbows, but his new stats softened the worst of it.
Everything went silent.
No wind. No shouts. Just the echo of his own ragged breathing.
Sato lifted his head slowly, wincing. He was in a tunnel—wide enough for a man to stand, long and dark, stretching into shadow. One side was blocked by fallen rock. The other disappeared into endless black.
He looked up.
The hole he'd fallen through was high above—too high to reach, even if he jumped.
No way back.
He stood, legs unsteady but holding.
The tunnel walls glowed faintly. Small, embedded stones gave off a soft, pale light—enough to see, barely. The air was cold, but still. No snow reached down here.
Sato gripped the Asam Sword tighter.
Looks like there's no choice but to go forward, he thought, a mix of dread and grim determination settling in his chest.
He took one step.
Then another.