The Buddheim Jungle—a sea of green so vast it threatened to swallow the sky itself—was, at long last, beginning to recede.
According to Glenn's oh-so-reliable words, they were finally clawing their way to the outskirts. Just a few more hours, he'd said, and they would reach the city of Guaral—a name that gave the promise of high walls and civilization, supposedly a major fortress within the infamous Vollachian Empire.
Useless trivia for anyone born in this world, perhaps, but for Lacerta, it was a lifeline. Trudging behind Glenn's concentrated back, he clung to every scrap of information he could. In all honesty, he found it a tad pathetic...
But none of that mattered as much as one, simple, undeniable fact— he was sick of it.
So, so incredibly sick of the color green.
The endless canopy, the suffocating leaves, the tyrannical trees that blotted out the sun. Yes, Lacerta had seen enough of the jungle to last him several lifetimes. The sight of a man-made wall would be a paradise beyond imagining.
And in that very instant—
An intense thud lanced through the air, followed by a guttural cry abruptly cut short. The ambient noise of the jungle ceased, replaced by the frantic sound of unseen creatures scattering in terror.
Finally. Finally. A stroke of luck? Or had the world simply grown tired of tormenting him?
His half-baked theory that all the animals actively conspired to avoid his presence wavered. Maybe… maybe he wasn't cursed with cosmic misfortune, but had just been plain unlucky until now!
He was thankful for it—so, so thankful. He wouldn't dare voice it, but the gnawing emptiness in his stomach had escalated from a mere nuisance to a ravenous beast demanding satiation.
His gaze fell upon the source of the commotion: a beast, now utterly still, with the grim visage of Glenn's hand-axe protruding from its flank. A practical, and slightly disgusting, question surfaced in his mind: how in the world was he supposed to tear into that with his bare hands?
It was a quadruped, that much was clear. A single, sharp horn jutted from its snout. And its last meal, judging by the green mash still around its mouth, had been… grass?
With a practiced grunt that betrayed no emotion, Glenn wrenched the axe free. A heavy squelch accompanied the motion as it tore free.
He gave the blade a single, sharp flick, sending a spray of blood onto the forest floor.
Glenn: ["Hey kid. Make yourself useful and rustle up some decent kindling. I'll start turning this Black Deer into something we can actually chew on."]
A simple nod was his reply. Lacerta's feet, already poised to carry him into the surrounding woods, froze mid-step. His gaze was snagged by an unanticipated action— Glenn wasn't carving into the supple meat.
No, with a grunt of effort, he was hacking away at the base of the singular horn jutting from the creature's skull.
What is he doing? Is that part... edible? A delicacy, perhaps?
Lacerta: ["Is... that part for eating as well?"]
With a final crack, the horn broke free.
Glenn caught it deftly, a sly, wolfish grin spreading across his face as he held it out to the boy.
Glenn: ["Oh, this? Yeah. This is the best part. A real treat, see? Vollachia's finest. Go on, have a taste."]
Vollachia's finest...? For his first meal—the first he could remember, anyway—to be a delicacy... a flicker of something akin to gratitude sparked within him. He took the horn, its surface cool and unnervingly solid. He trusted the man, he was his guide after all. Why wouldn't he?
Bringing it to his lips, he bit down—
Lacerta: ["————!?"]
A sharp, jarring CRUNCH echoed, not from the horn, but from his own teeth. Pain immediately shot through his jaw. It was like biting stone. No, it was exactly like biting a polished, unyielding stone. Not that he'd exactly know what that's like, but imagining it doesn't seem too hard.
Pain. Just pain.
The sound of it made Glenn erupt into a fit of raw, unfiltered laughter. He slapped his knee, doubling over as he snatched the horn back from Lacerta's stunned grip.
Glenn: ["Haaa-ha! Oh, man... your face! Priceless!"]
Wiping a tear from his eye, he waved the horn.
Glenn: ["Nah, kid, you don't eat it. Gods, no. It's a souvenir. Proof of the kill. Wouldn't recommend chewing on it, that's for sure."]
Lacerta's jaw throbbed, a dull, persistent ache. His brow furrowed, not in anger, but in profound confusion.
A joke? Was that... a joke? He offered it. I trusted him. I felt pain. He is laughing. Therefore, my pain is the source of his laughter. I see...
He couldn't grasp the logic, only the result. He had been made a fool.
Lacerta: ["Hmph."]
The sound was quiet, a puff of air laced with indignation.
Glenn: ["Alright, alright, truce."]
Glenn's laughter finally subsided into a wide grin.
Glenn: ["Seriously this time. Sticks. Fire. You get me?"]
———————————————————————————————
Retracing his steps, his boots crunching softly on the forest floor, he skipped over the occasional grasping root. A single, absurd thought echoed in the hollows of his mind.
Kindling for a fire… Kindling, he said. But what does the right kind of kindling even look like? Is there a wrong kind? A stick is a stick is a stick, isn't it? They're all just dead wood, so surely— it doesn't matter...
Giving up on the pointless deliberation, he bent down. With a frantic energy born of impatience, he began scooping up an assortment of twigs and branches, indiscriminately gathering anything that wasn't still green. Soon, an awkward, precarious bundle was stacked high in his arms.
Lacerta: ["This… this has to be enough, right…?"]
He muttered the words to himself, a flimsy attempt at self-assurance. Nodding decisively, he turned to head back to Glenn. It was in that exact moment of resolved satisfaction—
—Crack.
The sound was sharp, sudden, and completely to the rhythm of his own movements.
Ice shot through his veins. In an instant, every muscle fiber in his body screamed, coiling tight. His legs tensed, a primal instinct preparing to evade, to attack.
This wasn't the cacophony of Glenn and his troupe. Nor was it the earth-shaking tremor of the Elgina's charge—that terrifying rush that had slammed into him like a battering ram.
This sound was singular. Cautious. Whatever was approaching, it was smaller. Lighter. And alone.
Lacerta: ["———?"]
His deduction, born of terror and logic, proved correct. As his eyes darted forward, peering through the latticework of leaves, a silhouette took shape amidst the dappled light. Not a beast, not a monster— A person.
???: ["——"]
And that person—a woman with tanned skin and dark green hair that bled into the color of the foliage—was staring directly at him. Her pupils, two sharp emeralds, were locked onto his. Unblinking. Unwavering. As if she were a predator of the forest itself, judging his intrusion.
—But Lacerta did not look away. He met her stare, his own breath caught in his throat amidst the confusion.
She didn't radiate malice, didn't scream 'enemy.'
There was only a profound, unnerving stillness.
An eternity seemed to pass in the span of a few heartbeats.
Then, she moved. Without a word, without a sound, she simply dissolved into the surrounding foliage. One moment she was there, and the next, she had melted back into the greenery, a phantom swallowed by the very woods that had birthed her.
The tension broke. The air rushed back into Lacerta's lungs in a shaky gasp. The bundle of sticks suddenly felt immensely heavy.
Lacerta: ["...What was that? An observer? Was she following us that whole time?"]
———————————————————————————————
With the sound of crashing wood, Lacerta returned.
He came back to the clearing where Glenn—with a deftness that belied his rough appearance—was methodically butchering the carcass of a black deer. Lacerta dumped the armful of branches he'd collected into a chaotic pile, the clatter echoing in the sudden silence. He then crossed his arms, his expression expectant, as if awaiting a hero's praise.
Glenn's hands, slick with crimson, froze mid-slice. His gaze slowly, reluctantly, lifted from the corpse to the… the veritable mountain of kindling. His eyes didn't just widen; they bulged.
Glenn: ["Oh, Praise Vollachia… What is this? Are you planning to signal to Guaral from here? To burn the entire Jungle to ash?!"]
A slight furrow formed between Lacerta's brows, his head tilting with genuine confusion.
Lacerta: ["You said you required sticks for a fire... the instructions weren't all thatat specific regarding what they had to look like so I just gathered all that seemed suitable."]
Glenn: ["You what—"]
The words died in his throat. He couldn't even form a proper response.
A hand, the one not holding the skinning knife, slapped against his own forehead, a dry, grating chuckle escaping his lips. It was the sound of a man whose reality had just been thoroughly beaten with a club.
Glenn: ["…Is swinging that damn sword the only thing you know how to do?"]
Lacerta's expression remained placid, considering the question with unnerving seriousness.
Lacerta: ["Ah, well.... that too, is a recent development, I suppose."]
The simple statement landed with the weight of a boulder. Glenn's weary eyes narrowed, a flicker of something other than exasperation—perhaps dread—stirring within them.
Glenn: ["…What is supposed to mean?"]
Lacerta nodded, as if the request for an explanation was the most natural thing in the world.
Lacerta: ["The moment my hand closed around the sword's hilt, I just simulated the motions in my mind. I repeated the process, thousands of times, correcting every imperfection in what I did, the stance, the follow-through. Once the ideal form was perfected, I basically just… performed it."]
A vein throbbed on Glenn's temple. His jaw hung slightly agape.
Simulated? Perfected?
Glenn: ["You… what…? Argh, whatever! That still doesn't explain the monstrous strength behind it! Kid, tell me… you know anything about 'magic,' by chance?"]
Lacerta's mouth began to open, a neutral answer forming on his lips—
Glenn: ["Gah, who am I kidding? 'Course you don't."]
He cut himself off, waving a dismissive hand.
Glenn: ["Look at you. You can't even build a proper fire. No way you'd be privy to something as rare as that. Forget I asked..."]
Utterly unbothered, Lacerta simply shrugged and sat on a nearby log.
He watched, his gaze sharp and intensely focused, as Glenn sighed, tossed aside ninety percent of the collected wood, and with a few practiced movements, brought a flickering flame to life. To Lacerta, it was as if he were witnessing a grand and mysterious new technique being unveiled for the very first time.
A sudden whoosh—and the kindling caught, causing a crackling flame that clawed at the encroaching darkness.
With a grunt that seemed to carry the weight of the world, Glenn turned from the fire.
His hands found the prize: thick, crimson slabs of meat, resting on a simple wooden plank. He didn't hesitate, laying them directly upon the roaring fire. The immediate, sharp sizzle was a promise of sustenance, a sound that cut through the gloom.
And then, silence.
A heavy, suffocating blanket of it fell between them. The world, however, refused to be still. The fire popped and spat, a defiant conversation with itself. The unseen chorus of the jungle—the chirping, the buzzing, the rustling—filled the void the two of them left empty. For a long, drawn-out minute, that was everything.
It was Lacerta who tore through the quiet. His voice, hesitant and almost swallowed by the night, cut in.
Lacerta: ["...By the way. When I was gathering wood... there was a woman."]
Glenn's head snapped up. The motion was sharp, a predator catching a scent on the wind. His eyes, narrowed to slits, scanned Lacerta's face—searching, processing. Then, a flicker of comprehension.
Glenn: ["Darker-skinned woman, you mean?"]
A swift, single nod was Lacerta's answer. That was all it took. A low hum rumbled in Glenn's chest, a sound of deep contemplation. Then with a swift motion, he plunged the tip of his knife into the sizzling meat, prying a perfectly cooked slab from the flames. The blade, still hot, was extended toward Lacerta—an offering, a command. Eat.
The searing heat on his tongue was a shock, followed by an explosion of flavor—salty, greasy, divine.
It was the first real meal he'd had in—well, who knows...
Glenn, meanwhile, rested his chin on his fist, his gaze lost in the dancing flames.
Glenn: ["Shudrakians… So they followed us. Suppose it ain't a problem, them not attackin' or nothin'… still. Damn strange."]
Lacerta raised a brow mid-chew, a silent question.
Glenn: ["—Either they don't mind riskin' their folks on a long trek through this place, or… or we've seriously underestimated how many of 'em are roamin' these woods."]
He let out a tired sigh. A sudden rustle. Glenn's eyes snapped open, his hand instinctively tightening. But it was only Lacerta, finished. The knife blade, once laden with meat, was now wiped clean. Retrieving it without a word, Glenn speared a chunk for himself and took his first bite.
After swallowing, his gaze drifted back to the boy.
Glenn: ["You got any family… kid?"]
The question landed with the weight of a stone.
Lacerta: ["Family…? I… don't think so. Maybe? I'm not sure. I told you, I don't have many memories…"]
A frown creased Glenn's brow. He let the silence hang for a moment, chewing thoughtfully before opting not to push. He took another bite instead.
Glenn: ["Right. Well, what's your name, then? If you can remember that, at least. Gettin' tired of just callin' you 'kid'."]
Lacerta: ["Ah… It's Lacerta. I think."]
Glenn nodded, a short, sharp motion. A low chuckle escaped his lips, a dry, rasping sound.
Glenn: ["Lacerta, huh? Right then, Lacerta. The name's—"]
The boy—Lacerta—interrupted him, busy trying to impale the last hunk of meat over the fire with his own cracked shortsword.
Lacerta: ["I already know your name, though. It's—"]
Glenn: ["Bah! Don't care if you know, I'm not gettin' left out of introductions! The name's Glenn. Got it?"]
Lacerta paused his attempts at trying to stab the piece of meat with his sword and turned his head toward Glenn, blinking.
Then he nodded.
Lacerta: ["... Got it."]