[There is an auxiliary chapter above, read it, it contains vital information]
"When you are stuck in a place like this, where everything is reiterated"
"It would be as if you are stuck in a time loop, and everything plays over and over again"
"The only instinct in your head, - will only be one,
- SURVIVE-"
.....
A blue tiger galloped before the mouth of a cave. It was no ordinary tiger that any traveler might stumble upon in a forested day.No, this creature shimmered like a living hologram, a projection made flesh, radiant yet tangible, its claws and fangs very much capable of harm.
It was a beast of light, its lucent body gliding in calm majesty, and as it prowled with surprising peace, its eyes, streaming rivers of blue, lifted toward the cave's mouth, where two figures sat in the gloom.
Outside, the cave was cloaked in living green. Moss and delicate ferns clung to the jagged rock, nature's lacework softening stone. But within, where no plant dared creep, there was only darkness, two travelers, and the weight of exhaustion.
The boy was a picture of ruin. What once might have been a brown jacket and shirt were now dulled to the same shade of ash, dirt, smoke, and dried blood concealing any memory of fabric. His face was crosshatched with bruises, his lips dry, his skin pale and drawn, his hair ragged and unkempt.
Thin to the bone, he crouched over a shallow pool on the cave floor, trying to wash the grime from his body with trembling hands.
One needed no history book to see that his past had been cruel. His present harsher still.
Opposite him sat a girl. She wore a black, leathery garb, sleek once but now dulled and stained from battle. Silver hair fell about her face, a beauty dulled by fatigue yet still luminous, like moonlight through storm clouds. In her hand rested twin fan-like blades, their metal edges glistening with dark blood. She leaned her back against the wall, her posture composed, though her breath betrayed her weariness.
Her eyes glowed, that same haunting blue as the tiger outside, linking her to the spectral beast that roamed in quiet vigil.
The boy rose, stepping closer until he sank to the ground opposite her, his head coming to rest against the stone. His gaze, though hollowed by hunger and fatigue, was fixed on the blue phantom pacing before the cave.
"Are we getting closer?" His voice was tired, hopeful, though his eyes lingered on the tiger's every step.
The girl turned, her face etched with fatigue. No stranger could look at them and not see the scars of battle.
"A little," she murmured. The blades in her hand dissolved into nothing, vanishing like mist.
The boy's eyes drifted back to the tiger, its glasslike body, its tranquil gait, its otherworldly calm. Some part of him admired it, almost envied it.
"Do you think I'll ever be able to summon mine, Sonja? My Within Beast… whatever it turns out to be?
Sonja's lips curved in the faintest grin. Adjusting her seat, she let out a calm reply, her voice carrying both weariness and conviction.
"If we live long enough, and escape... Simma… you will."
At her words, the boy (Simma) turned his gaze away from her, back to the beast outside. With a faint hiss of air, the tiger dissolved into nothingness. Gone.
Simma lowered his head, thoughts spiraling into the chasm of self-loathing. To himself, he was nothing. Nobody. He had no past worth claiming, no future worth dreaming, and worst of all, he did not even know who he truly was.
From birth, he had been shackled. A slave, born into chains. He did not know whether he was sold or simply discarded into, his town of slavery ...The Haydes.
All he remembered from his first days was emptiness: an empty belly, torn rags for clothing, cold stone for a bed. He had no one to look up to, no hand to guide him. Only labor. Endless labor. And when not worked like an animal, he was caged like one.
The slaves were branded with a single word:
Outcast.
By twelve, his boyhood was stripped away, replaced by training. Harsh training. Brutal. They taught him to fight, but not for himself. No, it was never for himself. To falter, to stumble, to cry of hunger or weakness was to earn stripes of iron across his back, metal rods biting flesh until screams filled the night.
And why? Because The Haydes was no ordinary town.
It was a den of monsters.
Singriths.
Once human, the Singriths had been cursed by a great tragedy called the Bloodbath. That calamity warped them into vampiric fiends, human in form yet monsters within. They could not bear the sun's gaze, could not live except by blood. To walk in daylight was death to them.
That was where the slaves came in.
Those with potential were forged into weapons, soldiers to fight under the sun where their masters could not. That was why Simma and the other outcasts had being put through those tough trainings....remolded.
And that also was why Sonja had been captured too. Unlike Simma, she had not been born into it; she had been taken, thrown among the outcasts.
There, amid suffering and torment, she and Simma grew bound, not by choice, but by survival. They planned escape after escape, failure after failure, until trust became steel between them.
Together, they swore they would one day be free.
The Singriths had many names. To some, they were "the Moonwalkers." But to Simma, they were his nightmares.
Two days ago, with Sonja's strength leading the way, they had broken free from Haydes. Two days of running, hiding, bleeding. Sonja spoke of a place she called the Great City, a place where Simma might finally be safe. But safety was never given freely.
On the second day, the hunt had caught up with them, four Singriths, astride roaring off-road bikes, tearing across the wasteland. By some miracle, they had evaded capture, fleeing into yet another cave; the fifth since their escape.
Now they hid, battered, weary, but alive.
Simma's eyes fell upon Sonja. Her head rested against the wall, her silver hair falling over closed eyes. She was strong, far stronger than him. But she was exhausted from battle, from hunger, from everything Haydes had taken from them.
Looking at her, so fragile in her sleep, Simma felt a pang of guilt. He could not bear to imagine her hurt. Not her.
If only his powers obeyed him. If only he could bend them, wield them, control them as Sonja could command her beast. But his gift betrayed him, answering only in bursts of rage, never in calm.
....
Night unfurled its blanket above the cave. Within, a small fire crackled, its golden halo chasing shadows along the curved stone walls. Its light flickered across Sonja's face, across Simma's as he sat apart, watching her.
Sonja crouched closer to the flame, gazing into it as though its glow might hold the answers to their pain. But whenever she tries to reach it, it would burn.
"What's wrong?" Simma asked quietly. He leaned against the wall, just far enough for the shadows to veil his expression.
Sonja drew her knees close, wrapping them in her arms. Her voice came low, edged with exhaustion.
"What if… we don't make it?"
Simma rose, his movement quiet but steady, and came to her side. Sitting down beside her, he spoke in a tone calm yet firm, a fire buried within his words.
He moved closer, his hand brushing hers as he settled beside her. "Hey," he said, his eyes locking onto hers with a fierce intensity. "Nothing's going to happen to us. Okay?"
The air between them shifted, growing heavier, charged with a tension that neither could ignore. Sonja's gaze softened, then darkened, her lips parting slightly as she leaned in. Simma didn't hesitate.
His hand cupped the back of her neck, pulling her into a deep, hungry kiss. Their lips collided with a ferocity born of desperation and desire, tongues tangling in a dance that spoke of everything they couldn't put into words.
Sonja's breath hitched, her hands tangling in his dirty, rough hair as the kiss deepened. She pulled away just enough to unzip her leather top, the sound echoing sharply in the quiet cave.
With a sly smile, she pushed Simma gently onto his back, straddling him with a confidence that made his pulse race. Her top fell away, revealing her full, soft breasts, the nipples already hard with anticipation.
Simma's hands trembled as they traced upwards from her waist, cupping her breasts with a reverence that made her shudder. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, eliciting a low, throaty moan from Sonja as she arched her back.
Her skin was warm, alive, and so impossibly soft under his calloused fingers. He squeezed gently, and she gasped, her head falling back as pleasure rippled through her.
"Aw...aw... Si…" she breathed, her voice trembling with need.
He didn't need words. Guiding one breast to his mouth, he took the nipple between his lips, suckling gently at first, then harder as Sonja's moans grew louder. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as she pressed herself closer.
The heat between her legs was impossible to ignore, and Simma's own desire surged, his cock straining against his pants like it was begging for release.