By the time Kairos finished his second batch, the sky above the pit had shifted from the raw white of midday into a deep, bruised orange. He hadn't seen a sunset like it since Earth — if this cursed place could even be bothered to call it a sun.
He leaned back against what remained of the scorpion's nest, stomach full for the first time in days, and let out a groan that was somewhere between relief and disbelief.
"Never thought I'd say this," Kairos muttered, licking a smear of cooked egg off his thumb, "but that might be the best meal of my life."
No reply came. Just silence, and the wind.
'Right,' he thought, rubbing at his chest like he could summon the feeling back through sheer will. 'No wolf. No dragon. No one to agree with me that I've officially hit rock bottom, culinarily speaking.'
