The campfire light was hazy and soft, providing a scattering of light and heat.

The light chatter and mumbles of humans around as they feasted ravenously filled the air...

Nero stared down at the bowl of thick soup in his hands, steam rising from the surface in lazy spirals.

The smell was... odd. Not bad, exactly, but not what he'd expected either.

Emif stood in front of him, arms crossed, wearing a grim expression that suggested he was bracing for criticism. "Well? It's not that terrible, is it?"

Nero shook his head slowly. "No. It's not. But..."

The bowl contained soup made from the Teargail Fungus, mixed with a few other edible herbs and plants they'd managed to forage. The result was a thick, hearty stew that looked far more appetizing than anything Nero had eaten in weeks.

"But what?" Emif asked, raising a brow. His knuckles were white around the wooden ladle he held.

Nero's brows drew together, unsure how to articulate what he was experiencing. "This stuff tastes too much like meat."

And it did. The Teargail Fungus, when cooked, had a texture and flavor remarkably similar to the wild boars that the Church had cultivated back in Gor. Rich and savory, with just a hint of earthiness that reminded him of home.

It was unsettling, in a way. Mushrooms shouldn't taste this good. At least not the ones he had had the ill-fortune of eating.

But more than that, Nero was beginning to realize he'd severely underestimated the effectiveness of what he'd gathered. With the amount of Teargail Fungus currently stored in the Mark of Mephistopheles, he didn't doubt it would be enough to feed at least fifty people for a week straight. Maybe longer if they were careful with portions.

That was... significant.

Nero downed the rest of the soup quickly, savoring the warmth as it spread through his chest. It was the first hot meal— no. It was the first meal he'd had in days besides the flesh of Abominations, and his body responded to it with desperate gratitude.

When he finished, he looked up at Emif, who now wore a rather haughty smile.

"It was good," Nero admitted.

Emif shrugged, though the satisfaction in his expression was obvious. "Of course it was. I'm not so bad of a cook."

Nero chuckled despite himself. There was something about Emif's cocky confidence that was almost endearing. Almost.

He huffed and gestured at the pot of soup. "With this much, I assume we can probably feed everyone for a little longer."

Emif's smile faded. He was quiet for a moment, his gaze distant. When he spoke again, his tone had shifted to something more serious.

"What you've done... It's nothing short of a miracle."

Nero opened his mouth to say something, but Emif continued, cutting him off,

"Everyone knows how dangerous and scary the wilderness is. Most people won't even venture ten feet beyond the safe paths. And yet, you managed to dive into the heart of the very garden of evil. Into death's embrace itself, to find food, and bring it back." He shook his head slowly. "It's incredible."

Nero said nothing for some time. He hadn't thought of it that way. To him, it had just been circumstances. One thing led to the other and he found himself doing it.

He didn't think of himself as some sort of savior.

Rather, he felt it was a shared sense of desperation driving him to take increasingly dangerous risks because the alternative was starvation. And if everyone died of starvation, he would be left all alone.

But to someone like Emif, someone who lacked the strength or abilities to do the same, it probably did look miraculous.

Emif turned his gaze away, staring into the fire. "If you keep this up, you might even have what it takes to start your own mercenary company when we get into Liedenstorm. Or you might get selected to join the Templars."

He paused, and when he spoke again, there was an edge to his voice that Nero couldn't quite identify.

"You have a bright future up ahead, Nero."

Nero frowned. Something about the way Emif said that felt off, like there was an unspoken addendum he wasn't sharing.

"That's not..." Nero started, but Emif cut him off with a grim chuckle.

"What? You think it's not true?" Emif's expression had gone dark, his eyes reflecting the firelight in a way that made them seem hollow. "You are different from us who are destined to die in the darkness. That's just the reality."

He finished with a sigh, turning back to the pot to ladle out more soup for the others waiting in line.

Nero remained silent, unable to formulate a response.

Different.

The word echoed in his mind, taking on layers of meaning he wasn't ready to unpack. Yes, he was different. More different than Emif could possibly know.

He could transform into a hulking Abominable thing, he was marked by the Divine and the Profane, and had recently acquired the burden of carrying the absorbed knowledge of a dead god.

But was that difference something to celebrate? Or was it just another form of damnation?

Nero's heart began to thump wildly in his chest.

A thought had taken root, small and fragile but impossible to ignore.

Could it be that maybe, perhaps... his suffering might be coming to an end?

He'd spent so long just trying to survive, fighting from one moment to the next with no thought for the future. But what if there was a future? What if he could actually make it in Liedenstorm, get inside those massive walls, find some semblance of safety?

What if he didn't have to live like this forever?

The words of the Templar Commander that had spoken to him filled his mind.

If he became a Templar, he would never need to worry about food or shelter ever again. And while he would fight, at least, he would be fighting for purpose.

The thought was intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure.

Because hoping for something better meant acknowledging how terrible things currently were. And acknowledging that meant confronting the possibility that things might never actually improve.

Nero stood up slowly, his body protesting the movement. He handed the empty bowl back to Emif without a word and turned away from the fire.

Around him, other refugees huddled in small groups, eating their portions of soup with the desperate hunger of people who'd been starving for too long.

He could see it in their eyes. Some raised their bowls at him in a show of gratitude. Others said nothing, but the looks in their eyes were more than enough.

His heart and shoulders felt heavy.

He ignored them all and walked toward where Aisha and Lucy had set up their small camp.

His mind was still racing, still turning over Emif's words.

A bright future.

The Templars.

Safety.

Nero wanted to believe it.

But deep down, he knew that the worst was never behind. It was always waiting ahead, wearing a new face and carrying a sharper knife at every turn.

Still, as he settled down next to the small fire Aisha had built, he felt the warmth seep into his aching bones,

Nero allowed himself a moment of weakness.

He let himself hope.

Just a little.

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