Hope exhaled heavily, rubbing his temple as he processed everything. The weight of their situation pressed down on him like an unseen force. He had already accepted that survival wasn't a choice—it was a habit, something ingrained into his very being. But now, for the first time, he was starting to realize that even habits could break.
"Survival is a habit, not a choice," he murmured under his breath. His voice was quiet, yet firm, like a personal mantra. Then, with a bitter chuckle, he added, "One I might forget someday."
Kelvin gave him a strange look but didn't respond.
Hope met his gaze, his expression unreadable. "Have you seen this Sacred Beast before?"
Kelvin's face darkened slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, he didn't answer, but then he gave a slow, reluctant nod. "Yes," he said, his voice lower than before.
Hope tensed.
"The beast is a centaur."
Hope blinked.
He wasn't well-educated—he had never set foot in a proper school—but even he had heard about mythological creatures. Tales of beasts that were half-man, half-horse, wielding weapons with the skill of a seasoned warrior and the speed of a charging beast. A cold sense of dread settled in his stomach.
"We're dealing with an intelligent Veil creature here."
His words were barely above a whisper, as if speaking them too loudly would make the nightmare more real.
Before he could dwell on it, Walker let out a dry chuckle. Hope turned to see him lazily spinning his rusted dagger between his fingers, his lips curled in amusement.
"Hopeless, you're so funny," Walker said, shaking his head. "All Veil creatures have their own level of intelligence."
Hope frowned but said nothing.
Walker turned his attention to Kelvin, his expression sharpening into something colder, more determined. "If killing it is our ticket to the waking world, then…"
The dagger in his hand twirled once more before he caught it, gripping it tightly.
"It's going to die."
His voice carried no arrogance, no bravado—just a simple, chilling certainty.