When the young man realized it, he was talking to himself while looking at the jewel in his hand. The cavern was there, but there were no bodies or bones. The crystals that had been on the ceiling had also vanished. Neither Decrepits nor black sludge. Just Flior and the yellow jewel.
— I-I need to tell them...
His voice sounded anxious and a little desperate.
— I-I have to get out of here... soon...
Something was different now. Before, the young man had been more composed, but suddenly he was almost collapsing. Why? There were no answers to that, at least, not at that moment.
Stumbling, Flior headed out of the cavern. Strangely, like everything else that had happened there, the cavern no longer seemed so vast. After walking just a few meters, Flior could see the reflection of the desert's orange colors on the surface of some rocks ahead.
— It seemed so far when I arrived, now that I'm leaving it's so close...
After Flior spoke, the sandy horizon revealed itself at the exit of that hole. The landscape was a stark contrast to what the young man had witnessed. The sky had a gray, dead color, and its clouds were only a darker shade. Under his feet, only hot, orange sand. There were no mountains with snow on their peaks ahead, only large rocks varying in their orange hue and an immense void. This is Haile, the orange vastness. The sun there burns not only the flesh, but the soul of living beings.
Flior placed his right hand slightly above his eyes, to cast a shadow until he got used to the brightness. Then, touching his hand to his forehead, he noticed something: his mask was not on his face. The young man moved his hand from his forehead to the bridge of his nose and ran his finger over the spot. When he checked, there was blood on his fingers, fresh blood with grains of sand.
Had he hurt himself while hallucinating, or had it all truly happened? And if it had, why was the cavern smaller? Why were there no Decrepits or bodies in the place? The young man then walked, lost in thoughts about what had happened, heading towards a huge sand dune that stood right in front of the cavern.
Even in a moment of severe introspection, he climbed the sand dune, and from there had a better view of the vastness. The dune concealed a village, a cluster of houses made of desaturated yellow rock. Towards it, he walked.
Once in the village, he headed directly towards a larger house, and in front of it, a sign read "Alkinore Drest." Flior knew that "Drest" translated into Najirian language meant bar, tavern, or nightclub. What did the young man want by entering such a place?
Inside the establishment, there were about eight round tables with eight chairs each, but something was wrong; the environment seemed divided. To the left, a woman sat alone, her head bowed and her long black hair concealing her face. She wore a red shirt and a black vest over it, and on her table rested about ten bronze mugs. Even the young man in a completely black suit and with a horizontal cut on the bridge of his nose could not divert the attention of the others present. The other people in the room seemed to isolate themselves to the right; the tables seemed to have been moved away from the woman, leaving her isolated in the left corner. People looked at her intently, some with fear, others anxious, others with anger, and some even cried. Perhaps she was a dangerous mercenary? Whatever, Flior wasn't there for that.
The young man moved to the dark wooden counter at the back of the place, made of the same material as the tables. Behind this counter was a space for attendants, and a little further back, a shelf with various bottles of different shapes. The attendant who was there at the moment saw Flior approaching and, even in that state, showed no concern or anything else.
— I need to speak with Mr. Cicero Almantis — said the young man as he checked the bleeding just above his nose.
— Almantis? Cicero? Are you talking about that old senile man who used to work here?
The attendant was a tall and imposing man, with a vertical scar running from his right eyebrow to the end of his jaw. This man was bald and appeared to be middle-aged. His beard was full and had a gradient between black and white, signs of advanced age.
— Yes, Almantis, the miserable old man who gave me the damn contract to kill a creature in the cavern. Where is that son of a bitch?
Then the attendant looked at Flior with disdain, guffawed, and then spoke in his deep, hoarse voice:
— As far as I know, Almantis has been dead for just over fifteen months. Perhaps whatever hit you has altered your reason, young man — the attendant concluded, pointing to the wound on Flior's head.
— Fifteen months? Impossible, I only picked up the damn contract a few hours ago!
Flior was trembling, recalling everything that had happened; even worse, he was getting even more stressed by the things the attendant was saying.
— Look, you little shit, if I were you, I'd lower that tone. You're lucky I can't do anything; the commander didn't allow me to touch anyone in this place — the attendant said with a slight disappointment on his face — and besides, the one who picked up the contract was "The Fragile." Almantis wrote down the names of everyone who took that contract; this "Fragile" was just another one who failed, and the most humiliating part is that he was one of those shits from Covak. This "Fragile" must have died more than thirty-six months ago.
— Thirty... thirty-six months... — the young man mused for a few seconds, his expression clearly melancholic — "The Fragile," that label is almost like a curse that has haunted me for ages, so please, don't say that again, ever.
— You... do you know the penalty for pretending to be from Covak? I saw that your suit is very similar to those lunatics'. A reaper, are you? You'll probably lose both your hands for dressing up like that, and I'd even say that's not enough... you should be killed just like they were... "The Fragile" was lucky to die in a cavern and not by the empire's hands.
Immediately, Flior landed a direct cross on the attendant's face. The punch connected with full force; the dry sound attracted glances and made the large figure of the man stagger.
— Never call me fragile again, you filthy pig — Flior said, clenching his jaw due to the rage circulating in his body.