"It's called chewing gum."
Inside a narrow cave lit by a single flickering torch, two figures sat shoulder to shoulder. A woman, brown haired and dull eyed, had her personal space invaded by a small rectangular wrapper pressed right up against her face.
"Oh, so it's food?" Myrhhl asked. He pulled the wrapper back and tried, with visible effort, to peel it open.
Sitting beside her, the boy looked almost ghostly. His blue hair hung unevenly around his pale cheeks, and the shadows under his cyan eyes made him look like he had not slept properly in weeks. Which, in truth, he had not.
"No, not as far as I'm aware. You're not meant to eat it," she said.
"Huh? Then why make it?" he asked, baffled, now finally freeing the gum from the wrapper.
"I'm not sure," she admitted, shrugging as she pulled her cloak tighter.
"Hmm. You people from the outside sure are strange," he said, tossing the stick of gum into his mouth.
"I'm sure we are."
His eyes widened almost instantly. The sweetness hit him like a jolt. Even after trying a few things she had brought before, outside food still amazed him. It tasted clean, flavorful, almost unreal. Nothing in the Habitat came close.
His name was Myrhhl. He had lived his entire life inside what outsiders called a Habitat. This one referred to as Occulas, one of the five most dangerous in the world.
After chewing enthusiastically for five minutes—just long enough for the gum to lose its flavor—Myrhhl proceeded to swallow it whole. Ignoring, or perhaps simply not noticing, the horrified look she gave him, he rummaged through her bag again, pulled out another package, and shoved it in her face.
"What about this?"
"Myrhhl, wait. That is a bad idea. You really shouldn't take that," she warned, sitting up straighter.
"Why not? What is it?"
"Those are called cigarettes. They're bad for you."
"Really? Then why make them?" he asked, repeating the same earnest confusion.
"I'm... not sure about that either," she admitted.
"Oh. Well, how do I take them?"
"I already said they're bad for you. It literally says on the box that you're likely to die young."
"First of all, I can't read. Second, I doubt it will cause that much trouble once I become a Pilgrim. Plus I have lived in this cursed place all my life. If that hasn't killed me yet, I doubt a little stick will do the job."
She groaned. "That isn't how it works."
"It is how it sounds," he said, already tearing the box. "Do I chew it too?"
"No! You light it and— actually, no. You know what? Give it. Give it here." She snatched the box out of his hands before he could try to swallow the whole thing.
Myrhhl blinked at her, puzzled but calm. "Why are the outside things always dangerous if they taste good or smell good?"
"Not all of them are dangerous," she sighed, tucking the pack deep into her pocket. "Most are fine. That one is not."
He looked genuinely disappointed, like a child who had a toy confiscated. It amused her to no end.
Silence settled over them for a moment. Outside the cave, the wind howled and snow drifted past the entrance in lazy spirals.
"How's your leg?" Myrhhl asked at last, glancing down.
"Not bad," she said, shifting. "It's itchy."
He frowned. "Itchy?"
She nodded. "That means it's knitting. Bone's already done, muscle's almost there. Skin's catching up."
As she spoke, a faint green halo flickered into existence above her head. It wasn't solid, resembling a mass of translucent light and an arrow suspended in empty space within the middle. Thin, luminous threads descended from it, brushing against her injured leg.
Myrhhl watched, breath caught in his throat, as scarred flesh smoothed, discoloration fading, her face scrunched up and she winced, then relaxed.
"It should be completely healed by tomorrow morning," she finished, pulling her leg back beneath her cloak.
Myrhhl stared, still in shock at how fast she healed. When he had found her two weeks ago, buried under a snowdrift, she was missing her left leg from the ankle down. Yet, despite claiming to be just a 'Blessed'—a rank he understood to be the initial one for Pilgrims—she had regrown bone and muscle in a matter of days.
"Do you need my services again this night," she asked lightly.
"No, not really, I didn't run into anything dangerous today," he said innocently his eyes still glued to her leg.
"If you say so."
"There's no need to worry I'll be ready tomorrow." she added after she noticed his gaze still fixed on her now covered leg.
"I'm not worried about you. Just filled with..." He trailed off, his expression scrunching as he searched his limited vocabulary for the term she had taught him. "Um, what's the word?"
"Anticipation?"
"That's it. Anticipation," he said with a small laugh that turned into a long, jaw-cracking yawn. "I am excited to leave this place."
He stretched his arms over his head. His joints cracked loudly in the quiet cave.
"Get some sleep," she whispered, though her own eyes were heavy with dark circles under her eyes. "You need the rest,"
In the noise of the snowstorm and crackling flame they both went to sleep.
↠ ↠ ↠ ↠ ↠ ↠ ↠ ↠ ↠ ↠ ↠↠ ↠ ↠
Black cornea. Red iris. White pupil.
Across the horizon, as far as one could see, it stretched. Its ominous gaze swept over the vast landscape.
Nestled atop a tree, covered in ragged garbs, a shivering youth sat with a lit torch held out before him.
Strapped across his back was a spear and hanging by his waist were several toxins, ready to coat the blade. He was in anticipation and exhilaration at the thought of the hunt.
He tried to stay still despite the biting cold, silently counting down in his head as the torch flickered and faded.
The cold sharpened without warning and the early grip of hypothermia crept in, his hands growing numb by the minute.
Trying to get his mind off his freezing body he reminded himself of his first hunt, killing a Mutant beast by himself was no easy feat, but it paled in comparison to killing a Mentalist, so much so in fact that it took him three years after to succeed.
His thoughts kept drifting until, without warning, the temperature began to rise. In the distance, he watched the eye that filled the horizon slowly retreat into its socket as another slid into place.
White cornea. Blue iris. Black pupil.
Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, the still shivering youth stood as the heavy coat of snow that had built up on his body fell away.
After stretching and letting his strength settle back into his limbs, he climbed down the tree. He pulled back the hood covering his face, his hair fluttering in the wind.
Scanning the trees and shrubs around him, he found his path and began to walk with a slight spring in his step, for soon he, Myrhhl, was going to kill his first Mage beast, gain the Privilege, become a Pilgrim.
And leave this dastardly realm.