Kelvin exhaled, allowing the tension in his shoulders to ease.
The shield in his hand pulsed with an eerie presence, almost as if it were alive. He studied it for a moment before making a decision. With a mere thought, the shield dissolved into a wisp of shadowy mist, sinking into his very being. He felt its presence settle within him, tucked away in the depths of his soul.
His grip shifted on his sword, and he slung it over his back with practiced ease. The battle was over. Now, it was time to leave.
Kelvin stepped over the broken remains of the fiend, his boots crunching against the debris as he walked toward the shattered exit of the ruined structure. The air was thick with dust, the scent of blood and stone lingering.
Then he saw him.
Lying against the cracked pavement, his body half-covered in rubble, was the scavenger. Blood pooled beneath his side, staining the already filthy rags he wore. His breaths were shallow, his chest rising and falling in a labored rhythm.
Kelvin paused, studying him.
A survivor.
He had no name for the boy—just a vague impression of someone wiry, built for escape rather than combat. And yet, he was still here.
Kelvin took another step closer.
At that moment, the boy's eyes fluttered open.
A dull, unfocused gaze met Kelvin's own. For a moment, there was only silence between them, the tension of the recent battle still lingering in the air.
Then Kelvin spoke.
"I thought I told you to run."
The scavenger's lips parted, as if he meant to respond. But instead of words, a violent cough wracked his body. His frame convulsed as he choked, dark blood splattering against the dusty ground.
Kelvin watched, his expression unreadable.
This kid was barely hanging on.
Would he survive?