On top of a silent cliff, far from the heart of the slaughterfield, Melly lay prone beneath the cover of wild grass. Night dew crept along the blades, clinging coldly to her bare arms.
She pressed her body tighter to the earth, trying to make herself as small as possible, as if she could vanish into the darkness. The night wind drifted past, carrying the scent of damp soil mixed with a faint tang of rusted iron.
It had been almost an hour since Ryan left her up here. Since then, Melly hadn't taken her eyes off the field below. The remains of shattered war chariots, the yawning craters, and the scattered shadows of broken bodies were only faintly visible through the night fog. All seemed silent, but the silence itself made her skin crawl.
Her stomach had felt sick for some time, twisted from within. Her heart pounded too hard, uneven, every second feeding her unease. Overhead, the moon was hidden behind thick clouds, as though the world had lost its only light. Even the stars refused to show themselves, leaving Melly swallowed by darkness.
She swallowed hard, but her throat was dry as sand. Her eyes strained, searching for her brother's figure down below, but the dark was too tight.
She didn't know what Ryan was doing. She didn't know if he was still scraping weapons from rotting corpses or hiding from something unseen. Bad thoughts forced their way into her head.
What if Ryan ran into trouble down there? What if some beast or stranger found him? Or worst of all… what if Ryan never came back?
Her brother had let her come this time. Not because he trusted her, but because he knew Melly would never dare step down into the field of corpses. And Melly knew that was true.
She had always imagined she could help—gathering weapons, picking up scraps they could sell. But the moment her eyes saw the battlefield, littered with charred bodies and dried blood, her courage collapsed. The stench of rot and iron wafting even from a distance was enough to twist her stomach. In the end, the only thing she could do was wait.
But the longer she waited, the sharper the emptiness bit at her. Uselessness gnawed at her chest, pressing down until it hurt to breathe. She felt herself nothing but a burden. A sister who could never help, who only knew how to hide behind her brother's courage.
And yet, stronger than that shame was the weight of her worry for him.
More than once she thought of rising, of climbing down just to make sure Ryan was alive. But every time she gathered resolve, her legs trembled violently. The thought of stepping over rotting flesh, of touching earth still warm with blood, froze her. She knew if she forced herself down, she would only drag Ryan down with her.
Her eyes drifted back to the battlefield. Deep down, she understood: Ryan's work was far more horrific than she had ever imagined.
The thought of her brother digging through corpses for scraps of steel, or rifling through pockets of the dead, made her chest curl inward. But it was from that filthy work that Ryan kept them alive—fed her, kept them both surviving in this cruel world.
Melly gripped a handful of grass so hard her fingers shook. "After tonight… I'll make him stop. I have to," she whispered, her voice almost lost, as if afraid the night itself would hear.
Her jaw clenched, teeth chattering softly as she forced herself to affirm the words. She began forming the sentences in her mind, how she would beg Ryan to abandon this work. Even if it meant hunger, even if it made their lives harder. She didn't want to see him come back with bloodstained hands and eyes grown cold.
But as she drowned in thought, her ears caught something. A faint sound—soft, broken. At first she thought it was just the night wind stirring the bushes. She held her breath, listening sharply.
Then it came again. Clearer this time. Footsteps. Heavy. Steady. Drawing closer.
Melly's blood felt as if it froze. Her body locked, as though the earth had swallowed her courage whole. She pressed herself deeper into the grass. Cold sweat broke along her temples. Her breathing grew shallow, afraid even the sound of it would betray her.
Moments later, out of the rolling darkness, shapes emerged. Human silhouettes. Two, three, she couldn't tell. They walked slowly, their feet pressing the earth with soft but certain weight.
Melly dared not lift her head too high, only stealing glimpses through the blades of grass.
They were coming closer.
Her chest thudded like blows from inside. Fear, despair, and panic tangled into one.
***
Ryan stood rigid, his eyes locked on the figure before him. His muscles were taut, but his mind raced, weighing every path. He could run. His legs were fast, he trusted them. But if the man had time to shout, to call his comrades, Ryan would be surrounded in seconds. And if that happened, it was over.
So why had he chosen to run before? Well, back then, the men had been tailing him in silence, clearly waiting to ambush. That was why he'd slipped away, vanishing the moment their eyes lost sight of him.
Had they then called for more of their friends to hunt him down? That was certainly possible. But he was already far from that place.
Now, fighting one-on-one wasn't a real option either. One glance told him this man wasn't a common scavenger. The way he stood, the calmness in his gaze, the grip on his weapon… all of it spoke of experience. Not like Ryan, who had only trained alone without a teacher, rarely tasting real combat.
There was also the possibility that the man possessed abilities beyond that of ordinary humans. He couldn't afford to dismiss that.
Ryan drew a short breath. No good choices, but he had to take the smallest risk. So he cast aside his pride.
Slowly, he lowered his sword, then bent his knees. His body bowed, his face angled down. He forced his voice out, trembling just enough to sound weak, as if pleading for mercy.
"P-please… I'm nobody. I just came here to scavenge… broken weapons, anything to sell. I… I have family to feed. I don't want trouble. Just let me go…"
The words dripped with desperation, but inside Ryan knew exactly what he was doing. He was playing the part of the coward, the frightened nobody. It was always easier to make someone drop their guard against a weakling than against a fighter.
The man stared at him for a long moment, silent. Then the corner of his lips curved upward in a mocking grin. His eyes gleamed with scorn, as if looking at a stray dog groveling for a bone.
Ryan felt the heat crawl up the back of his neck, but he kept his head bowed, clinging to the act. He knew that sneering smile could be his opening, if only he waited long enough.