"So that's how you found me," I said. "Must've been terrifying."
Kora avoided my gaze, her expression tight. "I don't want your pity."
"I wasn't offering any. I was stating a fact." I pushed myself up, wincing as my wounds protested. "Thank you. For the healing. And for pulling me in here."
She finally looked at me, her eyes wary. "Don't thank me yet. The wounds from a gorekin are deep. The venom in their teeth lingers. You need more rest."
"Gorekins," I repeated, testing the name as I reached for my claymore and began wiping the dark, flaking blood from its blade. "Fitting."
For the first time, she seemed to really look at me, her eyes widening slightly as she took in my full height. "You're… enormous. You move like a Yorugøn in human skin."
I couldn't help a faint smirk. "I get that a lot."
Her brow furrowed. "You know what a Yorugøn is?"
"I don't. But you're not the first to compare me to some mythical beast. Even as a kid, they called me a giant."
A flicker of genuine surprise crossed her face, then a breath of a laugh escaped her, easing the severe lines around her mouth. It was a small sound, but it seemed to lighten the oppressive air in the cave. "You're a strange man," she said, wiping at her eyes. Then her gaze dropped to the cloth in my hands, to the weapon beneath it. Her breath hitched. "Is that… Mithral?"
I paused, looking from her startled face to the navy-blue sheen of the blade. "You know this metal?"
"Know it?" she whispered, her voice reverent and edged with fear. "Mithral is… a legend. A metal that drinks magic. A weapon forged from it is a mage's absolute nightmare. It's banned outright in the Luminocracy and the Arcane Kingdoms."
My grip tightened on the hilt. Immune to magic. The pieces clicked into place with a cold, heavy certainty. This wasn't just a weapon I'd found; it was a treasure. A key. "If that's true," I said slowly, "then this changes our odds."
"It does," Kora agreed, her voice regaining some of its steel. "But you still need to rest. When we move, you'll be the vanguard."
"Me? Why me?"
"Because you're a Berserker." She said it as if stating the sky was grey.
"How do you—"
"I saw you fight," she cut in, her tone flat. "You weren't a man wielding a sword. You were a storm wearing his skin. Only one kind of Class fights like that."
I sighed, the protest dying in my throat. "Fair point."
"I have a question," I said after a moment.
She settled onto the moss, draping a worn fabric over herself. "Carun."
I assumed that meant ask. "My body… it feels like it was built for this. The strength, the instinct. But I wasn't. Where I'm from, I was… average. Weak, even. This isn't just training. It's like something woke up inside my bones. Do you know why?"
She studied me in the firelight. "It's your Class. People are born with an affinity—a template imprinted on their soul. A Mage is born with deep Lumin reserves. A Tank is born with dense bone and muscle. A Berserker…" Her eyes flicked to my sword. "A Berserker is born with a forge in their blood and a void where their limits should be. You can't choose it. You can only become what you already were."
The truth of it settled over me, cold and comforting at once. It wasn't a miracle; it was a birthright from a world I never knew. "Thank you," I said, lying down beside her. "Goodnight, Kora."
The murmur came hours later, a fragile sound in the dark. Then a whimper.
My eyes snapped open. My hand found the hilt of my claymore before I was fully conscious, my body rolling into a low crouch, senses straining.
It was Kora. She was shaking, trapped in the throes of a nightmare, her words fragmented pleas. "No… please, not again… I'm sorry… I didn't mean to leave… Carrius…"
"Kora." I kept my voice low but firm, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Kora, wake up."
She jolted upright with a gasp, her eyes wild and unseeing. "I'M SORRY!"
"You're in the cave," I said, my grip steadying her. "You're safe. It was a dream."
The frantic light in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a well of shame. She laughed, a weak, broken sound. "Again. I just… I left them. I should have stayed. I could have—"
"Your brother made his choice," I said, my voice leaving no room for argument. "He gave you the only gift he had left: a chance. A good brother would do nothing less. Anyone would."
She stared at me, her lower lip trembling. Then the dam broke. A sob wracked her frame, and she leaned forward, her forehead pressing against my bandaged chest. I didn't speak. I just held her as the silent, shuddering tears came, her grief soaking into the linen. Her body shook with the force of it.
Finally, she stilled, her voice a ragged whisper against my skin. "Thank you."
"Get some rest," I said softly. "We'll need it."
She nodded, pulling away and curling back onto her side. This time, her breathing evened out into the rhythms of true sleep.
I awoke at dawn, feeling… whole. The deep ache was gone, replaced by a humming, restless vitality. I stretched, my spine popping in a satisfying series of cracks, and sprang to my feet. The claymore felt like an extension of my arm as I moved through a series of controlled swings, the blade whistling through the air with a speed and precision that would have been impossible yesterday. A fierce grin touched my lips. I'm back.
Kora was already up, tending a small pot over the revived fire. She handed me a wooden bowl filled with a steaming, fragrant broth. "Here. It's fortified with curatives and Lumin-rich herbs. It will help sustain you."
"Thanks." I took the bowl. The soup was surprisingly good—a hearty, peppery flavor that warmed me from the inside out. It was a stark reminder that this world had its own rhythms, its own sustenance, entirely separate from the one I'd lost.
"We're agreed on the plan?" Kora asked, her voice all business now. "We find the vault. We take what we can. We get out."
I nodded, finishing the soup. "If it gives us the means to survive, then it's the only plan that matters."
"Good." Her eyes hardened, gleaming with a purpose that went beyond mere survival. "Because I'm not just leaving with treasure. I'm leaving with their price. Every coin will be an answer."
After we'd eaten, Kora efficiently packed her few belongings into her leather pack. She stood at the mouth of the cave, the grim light of the forest painting her face in shades of green and grey. "Are you ready?" Her voice held a tremor, but beneath it was a newfound resolve.
I hefted the Mithral claymore, settling its familiar, deadly weight across my back. The cool metal seemed to hum against my spine, a promise and a threat.
"I have to be," I said, and stepped out.