The smell of meat still lingered in the air.
Thick. Sweet. Metallic.
Lusian carved another piece from the S-Omega's corpse. The blade met resistance before giving way, parting dark fibers heavy with mana. He brought it to his mouth without haste.
He chewed.
They had survived.
Barely.
But it would be enough.
Around him, the settlement was beginning to take shape—disturbed earth, improvised structures rising from effort and necessity. It wasn't a refuge yet… but it would be.
That meat would do more than fill their stomachs.
In this world, growth meant devouring.
Every bite was stolen strength. Every fiber, a step further from fragility.
Lusian swallowed.
It wouldn't make them invincible.
But they would no longer be prey.
"The more the Mother Tree grows… the more will come."
Selvryn's voice wasn't loud, yet it cut through the air like a root beneath the soil.
Lusian didn't turn immediately.
"Monsters feel mana," she continued. "They follow it. They need it."
When he finally looked up, he found her leaning against a young tree, too still to seem at ease. Her eyes weren't on their surroundings.
They were on him.
"That mana is creating something," she said. "A forest. Our forest."
A brief pause.
"But it doesn't exist yet."
Lusian wiped the blade clean with a strip of cloth.
"Then it's exposed."
Selvryn nodded once.
The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable.
It was taut.
She stepped toward him. Then another. Close enough to see the marks on his skin—remnants of the night, of the battle… of whatever had happened.
Her gaze lingered there longer than necessary.
Something in her expression tightened.
"I don't understand…" she murmured. "You shouldn't be alive."
Lusian exhaled softly, almost a humorless laugh.
"I don't fully understand it either."
He didn't add more.
Selvryn studied him as if the answer were insufficient… yet acceptable.
There was something binding them. She didn't understand it yet, but she could feel it.
Like the Tree.
Like an invisible root already driven deep.
"Every day will be worse," she said. "More creatures. Closer."
Her fingers curled slightly, as if gripping something that wasn't there.
"And if the Tree falls before it grows… all of this will have been meaningless."
For the first time, she hesitated.
Just an instant.
"I won't be able to hold it alone."
She didn't look at him as she said it.
Lusian watched her carefully.
It wasn't a plea.
It was an acknowledgment.
Of limits.
Of need.
Of something more.
He set the knife aside.
"Then you won't hold it alone."
Selvryn lifted her gaze.
Lusian met it without wavering.
"But don't mistake that," he added. "If everything breaks… we survive first."
There was no harshness in his voice.
Only clarity.
Selvryn held his gaze a moment longer.
Then she nodded.
She didn't agree.
But she understood.
"You're terrible at this," she murmured.
Lusian raised an eyebrow.
"At what?"
Selvryn looked away—but this time, she didn't step back.
"At being part of something you can't control."
The wind passed between them, carrying the scent of meat and fresh sap.
And beneath it…
The pulse.
Faint. Persistent.
The Tree.
They both felt it.
Not as a sound.
As a presence.
Then came footsteps.
Uneven.
Lusian didn't need to turn to recognize them.
But he did anyway.
Kara approached, bandaged, rigid, holding herself together through sheer will. Her posture tried to remain firm… but her body didn't lie.
Lusian watched her for a moment.
Then smiled.
"You're still in one piece. A miracle."
Kara frowned and, without stopping, struck his arm with a sharp hit.
"Don't start."
"Does it hurt?"
"Obviously it hurts."
She stopped in front of him, breathing carefully.
"But I didn't fail."
Lusian inclined his head slightly.
That was what mattered.
"You rushed in without measuring," he said. "That's not your style."
Kara hesitated.
Barely.
"I knew you wouldn't let me fall."
She didn't look at him as she said it.
Lusian let out a low chuckle.
Not mocking.
"That's not a strategy."
"It worked."
He shook his head, but didn't press further.
He cut another piece of meat and held it out to her.
Kara took it after a second.
Her fingers brushed his—just slightly.
Nothing intentional.
Nothing prolonged.
But enough.
She chewed in silence, avoiding his gaze.
The warmth in her face had nothing to do with the wound.
From the shade, Selvryn watched.
She didn't intervene.
But now her stillness had changed.
Tighter.
Sharper.
Her eyes moved between Kara and Lusian, tracking the smallest details:
The ease.The closeness.What went unsaid.
Something in her chest tightened.
Not anger.
Not exactly.
It was older than that.
Closer to instinct than thought.
The Tree pulsed.
Once.
Faint.
But enough to remind her:
None of it was coincidence.
Not the meeting.Not the survival.Not that bond that still had no name.
Selvryn slowly curled her fingers.
As if, in silence…
she was already claiming something.