Separation

The cramped apartment feels warmer tonight, though it's not because of the flickering glow of the old lantern in the corner or the broken heater that groans occasionally. It's the smell—the rich, savory aroma of roasted chicken wafting through the space. For the first time in what feels like forever, we're eating real meat. Not the dried, salty jerky we sometimes scrape together enough to buy, not the meager scraps we can barely chew through. Real, fresh chicken.

I glance around the room. The elf twins are sitting on the frayed rug, their faces alight with rare smiles as they show off their new clothes. They're simple—nothing extravagant—but they fit well, and for once, they don't look like they've just walked out of a battlefield. Kirelle leans back against the wall, her blonde hair messily tied back, a small, satisfied grin tugging at her lips. Korin, looks that way too but then again he always is relaxed or happy, it might be a facade he puts up but today I bet my dagger it's a real expression. Tristan's quietly dividing portions, his meticulous hands ensuring everyone gets their fair share.

I pick up my plate, staring at the golden-brown piece of chicken resting in the center. I can't even remember the last time I had something like this—months? No, probably years. The mere thought makes me swallow hard, anticipation building. I lift the chicken to my lips, bite into it, and let the flavor wash over me.

The juices practically melt on my tongue, the seasoning a perfect blend of salt and spice. I close my eyes and savor the moment, letting it linger. It's such a simple thing, but it feels monumental, like this one meal is proof that we're alive, that we've managed to claw out something good from the hell we endure every day.

I exhale a long, slow sigh, feeling the exhaustion from the day settle deep in my bones. Every muscle in my body aches from the dungeon run, but there's a strange satisfaction in it now, knowing it got us here—to this meal, to this fleeting comfort. I glance down at my plate, my appetite gnawing away at the lingering fatigue. I can feel the faint hum of power in my body from leveling up, a reminder of the progress I made today.

Still, I know I could've done better. I could've leveled up faster if I'd used my bloodline ability. But just thinking about it makes my stomach churn. I shove the thought away, burying it deep where it can't reach me. I don't want to go there. Not now. Not ever, if I can help it.

I eat a little more, each bite grounding me, filling a void I didn't realize had been growing. The room around me blurs slightly as the day's events finally catch up to me. The weight of everything—the dungeon, the fights, the constant struggle—feels heavier than usual, but tonight, there's relief to temper it.

Leaning back against the cold, cracked wall, I let out a breath and close my eyes, my plate slipping to the floor beside me. The voices of my companions fade into the background, a low, comforting hum as my body gives in to the exhaustion. 

***

The faint creak of the door and the shuffle of footsteps pull me from the fragile remnants of sleep. I open my eyes to see Tristan, his meager bag slung over his shoulder, slipping quietly toward the door. My instincts kick in, and I'm suddenly wide awake.

"Tristan," I call out, my voice cutting through the stillness.

He freezes mid-step, glancing back at me with an expression that almost looks guilty. The elf twins stir at the sound, their sharp senses catching on to the tension. Korin's green eyes snap open, and Kirelle rubs at her face groggily before sitting up.

"Tristan, what's up?" Korin asks, his voice laced with curiosity and a hint of concern.

Tristan hesitates, his grip tightening on his bag. Then he takes a deep breath and turns to face us, his usual calm demeanor giving way to something more vulnerable.

"Well… I'm leaving," he says, the words dropping like a stone into the silence of the cramped room.

"What?!" Kirelle and Korin exclaim in unison, sitting up straighter.

The teenager scratches the back of his head sheepishly, the first time I've seen him look anything other than composed.

"Where to?" Korin demands, his tone sharp with disbelief.

Tristan sighs, bracing himself. "I'm leaving. Like, leaving Sector Z," he says, his voice steady but filled with finality.

The room falls into a heavy silence. We've always known our bond was fragile, formed out of necessity more than permanence. Still, hearing it said aloud makes it real in a way I wasn't prepared for.

"That was your wish?" Kirelle asks suddenly, her voice trembling just enough to betray her emotions.

I remember Viper's offer before we headed into the dungeon. Bring Daelan back alive and I'll grant you a wish. I hadn't thought much of it at the time, but now it all clicks into place.

"Yeah," Tristan confirms, his voice quiet but resolute.

Kirelle sits forward, her brow furrowed in worry. "How can you be so sure? What if it's a scam? What if you get killed? Tristan, think about this!"

He lets out a long sigh, his usual detachment cracking under the weight of her concern.

"Daelan," he begins, looking at me, "thank you. For pulling me off the streets. Even though you only did it because of my ability as a healer, it still saved me. If it weren't for you, I might've ended up in a slave contract—or worse. This opportunity? It's thanks to you. And I've enjoyed the time we've spent together. I really have. But… this is Sector Z."

He gestures around the room, his voice growing heavier with each word. "Look at where we are. We sleep on the floor, three large adults and a teenager crammed into one room. The bathroom barely works, and half the time we don't have food. Just walking down the street is a gamble with your life. This place is hell."

He takes a shaky breath before continuing, his voice breaking just slightly. "I finally have a chance to leave. A real chance. And even if it's a scam, even if it's dangerous, it doesn't matter. This life we're living here? It's not a life. It's survival, and I can't do it anymore."

The room goes deathly quiet, his words echoing in the small space. He's right, of course. Every single word of it is true. None of us can argue.

"I'll walk you out," I say finally, standing up and grabbing my boots.

Korin rises too, his expression conflicted. He pats Tristan on the back, a gesture of camaraderie that says more than words ever could. Kirelle crosses the room and pulls Tristan into a tight hug, her voice soft and pleading as she tells him to stay safe.

Tristan doesn't say anything else. He shoulders his bag, his resolve set, and together we step out into the cold, dim morning hallway.