You should have ripped the backpack off his shoulders… along with his arms.

  The voice echoed in his mind, relentless, seething.

  He wasn’t just mocking him—it was berating him.

  Nigel clenched his jaw, his fing ers curling into fists. He had let his guard down. He had made the mistake of trusting strangers, of believing—for just a moment—that things could be different. That he could be different.

  And the result?

  Betrayal.

  A fresh wave of pain surged through his body as he tried to move. He winced sharply and exhaled through his teeth. Reaching into his inventory, he materialized a small flashlight and flicked it on.

  The dim glow illuminated his surroundings—and the wound.

  “Shit.”

  His left leg had taken the worst of the fall. A jagged rock had impaled it, piercing clean through the muscle. The sight of it sent another spike of pain through him, but he forced himself to stay calm.

  Grinding his teeth, he focused his energy, forcing the bleeding to slow. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to stop him from passing out.

  The problem was… the rock was still lodged in his leg. Moving it without making things worse was going to be tricky.

  If only he had better control over his abilities—if he was more precise, more skilled—he could manipulate the blood flow, maybe even begin to regenerate the damage.

  But he wasn’t there yet.

  A sharp frustration coiled in his chest, burning just beneath the surface. How could I be so stupid? Why didn’t I act sooner? Why did I trust him?

  He swallowed down the anger. He had spent years pushing his emotions into a deep, unreachable place. This was no different.

  Nigel took a slow, measured breath. Then he heard footsteps. Someone was approaching.

  He tensed, fingers instinctively twitching to summon the Reaper—until a familiar voice broke the silence.

  “Hey.”

  Nigel recognized it instantly.

  “…Edda?”

  “Yeah,” she confirmed, stepping closer. The glow from his flashlight flickered against her face. “And it looks like you’re in a pretty bad spot.” Her gaze dropped to his leg, her expression unreadable.

  “No kidding,” he muttered.

  Edda crouched beside him, her eyes scanning the injury with an unsettling level of calm.

  “You got a plan to get out of this?” she asked.

  “Not really,” Nigel admitted. “Unless you’ve got a bright idea.”

  Edda hesitated. “I… could try to heal you. But it’s not exactly something I have complete control over.”

  Nigel’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Can you do it?”

  “I think so,” she said, though there was the slightest tremor in her voice. “But there’s a chance it won’t be perfect. You might end up with a scar… or some loss of mobility.”

  Nigel exhaled, tilting his head back against the cave wall.

  Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have put his trust in someone so uncertain.

  But what choice did he have?

  Muttering a curse under his breath, he gave a short nod. “Fine. Just… do it quickly.”

  Edda positioned herself next to him, her hands hovering over the wound. Slowly, carefully, she gripped his leg and began lifting it off the rock.

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  White-hot pain exploded through Nigel’s body. His vision blurred at the edges, his entire being screaming in agony.

  But he didn’t make a sound. He had endured far worse.

  The moment the rock was free, Edda pressed her palm over the torn muscle. A faint glow flickered above her wrist as the bracelet she wore activated, displaying a small message:

  Nigel watched in silent awe as the torn flesh of his leg began to mend.

  Where there had once been a gaping wound, thin strands of veins and cartilage emerged, stretching and weaving together like intricate threads. Bone followed, reforming in delicate layers before being reinforced by dense muscle fibers. The process was almost hypnotic—his calf rebuilding itself, piece by piece, until it was whole again.

  It was over in less than a minute.

  Edda let out a slow breath, but her expression was filled with regret. “I… I’m sorry,” she muttered, her gaze fixed on his leg. “It looks like it left a scar.”

  Nigel lowered his flashlight, examining the so-called scar.

  A small patch of skin—barely darker than the rest—was the only sign that there had ever been an injury at all.

  “This…” His voice trailed off.

  He flexed his leg, testing it. No pain. No weakness. No permanent damage.

  “This is incredible,” he finally said.

  Edda blinked. “Really?”

  “Yes. If I had known someone with an ability like this before…” His voice tightened for a second, but he shook his head. “Never mind. Thank you—for healing me.”

  Edda’s concern melted into joy. “No problem at all!” she beamed.

  For a moment, she looked genuinely happy, as if she had just proven something to herself. She practically twirled on the spot, her excitement bubbling over—

  Then she froze.

  Her entire body stiffened. Her wide grin vanished, replaced by pure, unfiltered terror.

  Nigel immediately took notice. “Hey… you alright?” He placed a hand on her shoulder.

  Edda let out a shriek.

  She collapsed to her knees, her breath turning ragged, her eyes darting wildly in every direction as if she were being hunted. Her fingers dug into the ground, her entire body trembling.

  Nigel had no idea what to do. All he could do was stay close, ready in case she spiraled further.

  Minutes passed—long, suffocating minutes—until Edda suddenly gasped, sucking in air like someone who had just surfaced from drowning.

  Her hands trembled as she wiped at her face, her fingers coming away damp.

  “I… I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It was another attack. I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over before she could stop them.

  Nigel hesitated for a second. He wasn’t used to situations like this—wasn’t good with this kind of pain. But he couldn’t just ignore it, either.

  “You have an illness, don’t you?” The words left his mouth before he could fully think them through. The moment they did, he realized how blunt it sounded.

  Edda gave a small, shaky laugh. “So Layla told you, huh?” She wiped her face again before sitting on the ground, pulling her knees up slightly.

  “I have a condition that makes me see illusions,” she admitted. “Horrible things. Monsters that hunt me. Tear at me. Kill me.” Her voice wavered. “It doesn’t matter how many times it happens—I know it’s not real, but my body reacts like it is. I can’t stop it. Every time, I lose control.”

  Nigel listened in silence.

  He had heard of similar cases before, back when he trained with the Wardens. Soldiers who had seen too much. Who had broken under the weight of things their minds refused to let go.

  But this? This wasn’t just trauma. It was something else entirely.

  And for the first time, Nigel found himself wondering—

  How much of Edda’s suffering was in her mind?

  And how much of it was real?

  Nigel exhaled slowly. “It sounds like schizophrenia… I read about it a long time ago.” He hesitated before adding, “I’m not an expert, but I’ve heard of people who went through something similar.”

  A flicker of hope ignited in Edda’s eyes.

  “You—do you know if there’s a cure?” she asked, her voice almost desperate.

  Nigel hesitated. “No. Not that I know of.”

  Edda’s shoulders sank, the light in her expression snuffed out in an instant.

  For some reason, the sight of her like this—dejected, hopeless—felt… familiar.

  Like looking at himself.

  He opened his mouth to say something, but before the words could form, the voice in his mind snapped at him.

  What are you doing? Why are you saying this?

  Nigel gritted his teeth. Ignore it.

  “I think…” He started carefully, but the voice inside his head roared.

  Shut up! No one deserves your help!

  He inhaled deeply, centering himself. He wouldn’t let it control him. Not now.

  “…I remember reading that some people with symptoms like yours were treated with medication,” he continued. “And they improved a lot. Maybe if we make it to the next Delta Zone, we can find something that helps.”

  Edda stared at him, stunned.

  “Would you—would you really do that?” she asked, her voice filled with cautious hope. Even the smallest chance of relief, no matter how uncertain, was enough to send a spark of life back into her.

  Nigel nodded. “First, we need to survive.”

  The voice inside his head growled in protest.

  You’ll regret this.

  Edda hugged her arms, her breathing unsteady. “You don’t understand… I’ve lived with this my whole life. And lately, the time between episodes keeps getting shorter.” Her fingers trembled against her skin. “Every time it happens, it gets worse.”

  She swallowed hard, then looked at Nigel with growing terror.

  “…I think I’m having another one.”

  Nigel followed her gaze—

  And froze.

  A cold, primal dread slithered down his spine.

  His pulse thundered in his ears as his body instinctively tensed.

  Because whatever Edda was seeing—whatever horror had haunted her for years—

  He was seeing it too.