A pain so intense filled his head that it felt like his forehead was going to explode. His eyes burned at the simple touch of his eyelids, and involuntary tears leaked out to lubricate his dry corneas.
— Oh, you horrible bastard, I know you're waking up! If you keep pretending, I'll finish what they started with you.
Ezkiel didn't have time to compose himself before the female voice shouted in his direction. She sounded irritated, but a tone of fear could be felt in her speech.
He slowly opened his eyes. He saw the old wooden floor and the chains from his arms and neck thrown on the ground. Dried blood stuck the old rags of his clothes to his back, gluing them to the wood.
"No! No! No! I'm back in this hell! How? Holy shit! Did I pass out because of the symbols on the website?"
The woman was not in his field of vision, and Ezkiel was too confused by his abrupt appearance in the dream. He ran his hands over his face, trying unsuccessfully to relieve the burning. His head was still throbbing, but the rhythm was slowly decreasing.
Unlike last time, he wasn't so lost; he could assimilate the information better. The desperate euphoria he had felt before was rapidly diminishing, and he was adapting to the situation in a surprising way.
"This body is more used to pain than my real body. It must be because of that damned talent."
— By the Gods, you can still move in this state?
She took a few steps forward, emerging from the shadows of the room and into Ezkiel's field of vision. Everything was still a bit blurry, but he managed to make out her details.
She was young, around 18 years old. She had dark brown hair, chopped irregularly at the ends, probably from a homemade cut. Her skin, a little dirty, contrasted with her oval face, which reinforced a wild air. She wore a simple beige dress, almost entirely hidden by several pieces of leather armor: a corset, a pauldron, elbow pads, and a pair of boots that went up to her thighs, with an opening at the knees to accommodate the fabric.
As she got closer, Ezkiel noticed she was holding a curved saber, similar to the ones he saw in pirate movies with his girlfriend. The blade, however, was worn and slightly bent. Her thin body made her look slender and stealthy, but the way she held the weapon, with trembling hands, revealed her inexperience. In addition, Ezkiel's dagger, strapped to her right thigh with a leather strip, made her move uncomfortably. She was definitely not a fighter.
— In this state, not for long. — Ezkiel stood up slowly, his left hand touching his wounded shoulder. A wave of nausea pulsed with the pain, but he was starting to get used to it.
The chains clinked on the floor. He realized he was much shorter than the woman, which caused him a slight discomfort. He hadn't noticed his real height until now.
— For someone who tried to rob me, you don't seem very quiet. — A restrained smile appeared on her face. She was trying to look brave, but the accelerated trembling of the blade betrayed her act.
— How long was I out? — Ezkiel asked, taking the initiative. He needed the information, and the woman seemed to feel in control.
— The sun came up a while ago. About four hours, maybe? A little more? — She glanced at the window, but upon realizing the distraction, she turned her gaze back to Ezkiel, extending the blade. — Lucky for you that you woke up, otherwise I would have finished the job. You're in such bad shape I thought you were an Other, but Others don't sleep! Maybe I'll still finish it!
"Four hours. That's the time I was awake until school. So, my body in here sleeps when I'm out there? Shit! What happens if it dies? Do I never dream again, or do I die in my sleep?"
A shiver ran down his body, an instinctive warning that the second option was the correct one. Ezkiel had noticed that this body's instincts gave him clues about this world, and it was better to follow them.
— Holy shit, — he thought aloud, indignant at the trap the filter had placed him in. He would need to be more careful every time he woke up, as he could be killed without even knowing. If it weren't for his appearance, he would have been killed.
"Then again, with my appearance in this world, even I would be afraid of myself."
A bitter taste formed in his mouth, and dissatisfaction filled his face. He cared a lot about his appearance.
— What? Do you have an appointment? Speak up, stranger, what do you want before I kill you! — She approached, pointing the curved blade at his head.
— I... — Ezkiel hesitated, thinking about what he really wanted. — I need supplies and some medicine for my wound.
"I need to survive in this world. I have to take care of this body. I don't even know how I'm still standing. Okay... maybe this talent is actually useful."
— Is that all? Damn! You think it's that easy? You invade my house and still ask for supplies. You're lucky I'm letting you live. — The woman grumbled, lowering the saber a little. She seemed thoughtful; she felt that Ezkiel was not a threat, just very strange.
— So why did you let me live?
He regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth. He could have sealed his fate with that line, but he was used to talking to normal people. He was communicative and spontaneous, which was why people liked him. But this was a different world, with different rules.
— Two reasons, actually! First, because I'm very curious, and that leads me to make dumb choices. Second, because you have something that belongs to someone I know. — The girl slapped her left hand on the dagger strapped to her thigh.
— You're talking about the one-eyed warrior?
The woman's response was unexpected. He didn't quite know how to digest the situation. It was too much of a coincidence that they knew each other.
— So you really did meet him... You didn't do anything to him, did you? — The woman's voice intensified, and the saber stopped trembling, held firm, pointing at his mouth. — Of course not. Look at your pitiful state. What confuses me is how you're still alive. Barton is not the type of man to leave people like you alive, much less give them gifts. — She gave a slight laugh as she examined him. Her eyes scanned the chains and the state of his wounds with a morbid curiosity.
A rage surged through Ezkiel's body just from remembering the man. He had left him to die. Worse, to kill himself in that cell. It was through his own effort that he managed to get out of there. On second thought, surviving the prison had been insane. Breaking the wall, fleeing from the Others, finding the prisoner, descending the prison from the outside... all of it injured and malnourished. But this wasn't the time to think about that. He needed to get out of this situation.
— I'll tell you if you help me with what I asked for. Anything will do.
"I have nothing anyway. And I need to think about what to tell her. Goddammit! I have so much to think about that I feel like I could spend hours alone."
The woman ran her left hand through her hair, snorted, and pointed with her sword to the stove on her right.
— There's jerky and water there. I'll give you a clean cloth and alcohol as soon as you finish the story. — She kept the sword pointed at him, but gestured again for him to go get the food.
The boy couldn't contain himself. The chains danced against the ground in an alarming symphony as he walked, but he ignored them, focused on the food.
He saw a few pieces of dark, rock-hard jerky. He didn't care. His body was begging for nutrients. Just seeing the food made saliva drip from his chin. Like a Neanderthal, he devoured the pieces as if they were the best food of his life. And they really were. The saying "hunger is the best spice" made complete sense. The saltiness of the meat and the brittle texture crumbled between his teeth. The simple act of swallowing something solid gave him an almost convulsive pleasure. It seemed that all the pain in his body had disappeared, replaced by the joy of eating. When his mouth became dry, he poured water from a bucket straight down his throat, turning the mass of meat into a juicy bolus.
The scene was horrendous. He looked like a pig eating slop. His hands didn't stop stuffing more food into his mouth and, right after, pouring water. A dark paste stained his lips and ran down his neck, getting caught in the metal shackle. Luckily for the woman, the food ran out quickly, leaving only the exhausted prisoner scraping the bottom of the salt-covered pan.
— Satisfied? — She looked at him with a mixture of disgust and pity. — Now, you can start talking.
Ezkiel came back to his senses the moment he heard her. He looked at his filthy body and wiped the food scraps from his mouth and chest with his hand while he thought.
"That was the best meal I've ever had... Too bad it's over! Focus, Ezkiel! What do I tell her? Well, she's already seen the chains, I can't hide that I'm a fugitive. She knows the one-eyed son of a bitch, so she must know he explores that place. Fuck! Those acolytes are going to ask about me... Everything I say here could reach their ears... Think! Think, Ezkiel!"
— I was in the prison. I don't remember how I got there. Barton found me when I was running from the Others. He gave me this dagger and told me to fend for myself. I managed to escape, but I was attacked. I ran as far as I could and ended up finding this place. You know the rest. — Ezkiel summarized the story, omitting the part about the dark room and the prisoner. He needed to give enough information to satisfy her, but without revealing everything.
— You were imprisoned in the old prison? How old are you? — The girl's eyes lit up with sudden understanding. — You're one of those special ones, aren't you? The ones with unique abilities?
"Shit... She's asking too many questions! What do I do?"
— I think so. I'm not sure. I'm very tired and I'm not understanding things right. I just know I woke up imprisoned. Could you help me take this off? — Ezkiel pointed to the shackles, hoping to get the supplies and disappear from there.
— Prison chains... That metal is the city's greatest mystery. Most explorers come here just to collect that ancient metal. — She paused, slowly lowering the saber. — They're indestructible. No one can break them.
Ezkiel stared at her, expressionless. A part of his world collapsed in that moment.
— Indestructible? How?
— They say they were made in the Ancient Era, before the gods. That must be why Barton gave you the dagger. It's just like him. Since he couldn't save you, he decided the best choice was for you to kill yourself, so he could later take the chains from your corpse. Who would have thought you'd manage to survive... — She paused again, watching the chains move with his breathing. — I've never heard of a prisoner getting out of there alive. Usually, the chains are taken from the bodies and sold at the tower for a good price. Whoever gets a pair disappears from here; they already have enough wealth to buy land in the North.
Ezkiel's hands rested on the shackles on his arms, a weight of sadness adding to the weight of the metal. He would have to live with them until he found a way to remove them. The hope of removing them hadn't died, but it would cause him so many problems.
"How am I going to get out of here with these chains? My plan to escape is shot. I can't move silently with them. Besides, those acolytes will recognize me instantly. Shit! I just keep getting more fucked in this dream!"
Then, an even worse thought hit him.
— Wait. Are you trying to say that I'm a walking treasure?
— Yes. Your chains are worth a fortune, and they can only be removed from a corpse.
Ezkiel swallowed hard and took a few steps back.
— So... why didn't you do it?
The girl sheathed the saber in her clothes and pushed a strand of hair from her face, revealing dark brown eyes that narrowed as they observed the fear in his expression.
— Because I'm not a monster. If I kill someone for money, I'll be worse than the Others.
A sense of relief washed over Ezkiel. His own stable mind calmed down. She moved to a piece of furniture hidden in the ceiling of the house, taking out a glass bottle and some white cloths from a drawer.
— Come... I'll try to do something about that wound of yours.