We sat around the campfire, the flickering flames casting shadows that danced on the nearby trees. The night felt heavier now, weighed down by exhaustion and the lingering tension from our earlier fight. Barten sat across from me, his mechanical arm reflecting the warm light as he worked on crafting arrows. He moved with practiced efficiency, though the frown on his face suggested his thoughts were elsewhere.
Barten: So... are you really going through with the idea?
The question hung in the air, as heavy as the night itself. I didn't respond immediately, just glanced up at him. My silence was answer enough.
Barten's breath hitched, and his movements grew harsher. The crack of a stick breaking in his hands startled me.
Asellus: Now's not the time. Surviving comes first.
He froze for a moment, then let out a sharp, humorless laugh. Without warning, he threw one of the arrows he'd just finished into the ground with enough force to embed the tip deep into the soil.
Barten: Survive now just to die later? That's your plan?
The firelight caught in his eyes, and I saw something I hadn't expected—fear.
Asellus: Barten—
Barten: No, listen to me! You're gonna end up just like that Hopper you mentioned. And then what? You think that's gonna fix anything?
I stared at him, caught off guard by the anger in his voice. He wasn't just mad—he was scared. For me.
Barten: We didn't leave our home dimension just to die out here, Asellus. We didn't survive all that crap just to throw it away fighting something we can't win against!
The campfire crackled between us, the only sound in the tense silence that followed. I opened my mouth to respond, but the words wouldn't come. What could I say to him? That I didn't care about the odds? That I'd rather die fighting than live cowering in fear?
Barten: Don't bite the hand that feeds, even if it feeds us poorly.
His voice softened, but the weight behind his words remained. I looked at him, his features hardened yet vulnerable in the firelight. He'd been through so much, and now here I was, dragging him into even more uncertainty.
The fire crackled again, filling the silence.
I reached for my sword and began sharpening the blade, not because it needed it but because I needed something to focus on. Barten didn't say anything else, just returned to his arrows, his movements less angry but still sharp with purpose.
The night stretched on, unspoken fears and unresolved tension lingering between us.
I turned away from him, staring into the dark forest behind us. The trees loomed like silent giants, their shadows stretching long in the flickering firelight.
Asellus: I don't want to be their pawn anymore. This isn't something I decided on a whim. It's been eating at me for a while now.
Barten glanced at me but didn't stop working on the arrows, his hands moving with practiced precision. His silence told me he was listening, but the tension between us thickened.
Asellus: What was the deal we made when we were recruited? Do you even remember?
Barten: We join them, they protect our home dimension.
Asellus: I ran into someone a few months ago. He made it back to his home dimension. But when he got there, he told me it was destroyed. Gone, wiped out... just like one of these dimensions we're clearing.
Barten paused, his gaze flickering to me. His skepticism was clear, but I could tell he was trying to piece things together.
Asellus: At first, I didn't believe him. I mean, who could go back to their home after all this, right? We'd been summoned on a mountain when we were together, and he said this place felt familiar from the moment he entered that dimension.
I looked up, the fire's ash swirling in the night air, the crackling flames reflecting in my eyes. My thoughts felt heavy.
Asellus: After a while, he knew the land better than I did, no struggle, no hesitation. He started telling me stories, stories about his home. Then, he pointed out landmarks in that dimension—places we were clearing, but he'd never been to them. That's when I started to believe him. That's when I thought about our own home. About what happened to it. About our families.
The weight of it all settled in the silence, my words hanging between us like a bitter wind. Barten was still, his hands frozen for just a moment, but he didn't speak. I couldn't tell if it was because he didn't know what to say or because he knew exactly where this was heading.
Barten: So, not even our home will be safe?
His words hung in the air like a challenge, each one weighted with dread.
Asellus: If that Hopper was right... no.
Barten stopped working, his hands stilling as he carefully slid the unfinished arrows into a makeshift leather quiver he had crafted earlier. He closed his eyes for a moment, his brow furrowing. Whatever was going through his head, it hit him hard.
Barten: What's your plan then?
His voice wasn't accusing or dismissive—it carried a strange resignation, almost like he'd already accepted the inevitability of my decision. But the truth was, I didn't have much of a plan, not yet. The only thing I knew for sure was that I'd need to take off the dampener on my head to even start. The moment I did, though, I knew they'd come for me.
Asellus: I'm still working on it. All I know is that this thing has to come off.
I gestured toward the dampener, its metallic band glinting faintly in the dying firelight.
Barten: You're insane. The second you take that off, they'll be on you like vultures.
Asellus: Probably. But there's not much choice, is there?
Barten shook his head, muttering something under his breath. He wasn't the type to argue when someone's mind was set, but his silence spoke volumes.
Asellus: Let's focus on the swamp for now. I want to sleep somewhere with fewer undead trying to kill us.
He nodded reluctantly, his shoulders stiff as he helped stamp out the fire. The forest around us swallowed the light, the darkness closing in once more. With our gear in hand, we pressed forward into the night, the distant croak of frogs and the rustle of unseen creatures guiding us toward our next objective...
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