Once back at the base, the whole group made sure to surround Kael from every position, they didn’t seem hostile, but they definitely weren’t friendly. It was the kind of "escort" that didn’t need ropes to feel like one.
Bodies shifted to keep him centered no matter which way he glanced, and every ti he tried to slow down or drift toward an edge, one of them just happened to step into the exact space he might have used.
No weapons were raised, no one spat at him, but the air carried that guarded, prickly tension of people deciding whether you were a guest or a problem.
The base itself looked sturdier than the ruins outside, but only by comparison. It was a cluster of buildings welded together by desperation and patchwork repairs, boards nailed across gaps, ropes tied around fractured beams, crude barricades made from furniture and sheet tal. He’s been here before, even helped them fix so of it, yet for so reason, it looked worse than when he left it a day ago.
The sll inside was a mix of old dust and sweat that never had the chance to dry properly, and the light was dim enough that everyone’s eyes looked a little sharper, a little more suspicious.
"It’s getting dark quick," The boss said. His voice carried easily, cutting through the low murmurs around them. Then he turned to Ludwig, "What are you planning on doing for the night?" He asked him.
"Rest up, though I need to hurry to the rchant before it’s nightti." Kael’s answer ca out steady, but his body didn’t fully cooperate with the calm. His arm still felt tight and hot under the scorched sleeve, and every shift of his back reminded him how close he’d been to becoming a sar of ash in that arena.
He didn’t like saying he was leaving. It painted motion on him. It drew attention. But staying here drew a different kind of attention, the sort that ended with knives.
"You don’t have much ti. Why do you want to go?" the boss asked. He didn’t sound curious. He sounded like a man weighing whether your reason was worth the risk to him.
"I’m injured, I need a couple of potions to heal up, the burns are getting more and more uncomfortable." Kael kept it simple, kept it practical.
He didn’t ntion the map. He didn’t ntion the rune in his pocket. He didn’t ntion the global notification that had put the whole floor on a tir. He just let the visible state of his clothes do so of the talking. Half-burnt fabric wasn’t exactly subtle.
The boss looked at the gate of the building complex they were inside and said, "You did a good job repairing the gate. We had a scare last night when you weren’t here, but the gate held..." His eyes lingered on Kael the way you looked at a tool you weren’t sure you could still trust. "Hurry up, you have one hour, do you need anyone to accompany you?" the boss asked, and the question landed like a test more than an offer.
Everyone around Kael seed unwilling to join him; they turned their heads away. So did it too quickly, like the thought of walking beside him in the dark made their skin crawl.
Others avoided his eyes as if looking at him for too long might make them share his bad luck. Kael noted it all in the corner of his mind: fear, discomfort, and a thin, ugly edge of resentnt that didn’t need proof to exist.
"No need, I’ll go myself," Kael replied as he noticed that the majority of the sun clan didn’t feel comfortable with him. After all, he did kill one of their mbers. Or so they believe.
The lie he’d fed them was already rooting itself into their behavior. That was the dangerous thing about lies: once people accepted them, you couldn’t just stop maintaining them without getting torn apart by the sudden change.
"If you return while the gate is closed, I’d advise you to find shelter sowhere else. We’re not opening it after nightfall. We never know who’s real and who isn’t." The boss’s tone was almost casual, but Kael heard the hard edge under it. The warning wasn’t for Kael’s comfort. It was a boundary carved in fear.
The boss was probably hinting at the fact that a doppelganger was with them day one. Kael’s stomach tightened at that mory, the way faces weren’t always faces in this tower, the way "soone you knew" could be a knife wearing skin.
The boss wasn’t wrong to be paranoid. He was wrong only in thinking paranoia made him righteous.
"Don’t worry, I have a good nose, if things take too long, I’ll co back in the morning. I can hide well." Kael gave them exactly what they wanted to hear, smoothing the statent with confidence he didn’t fully feel. He put a little shrug into it, like hiding was easy for him, like survival was a skill he could casually promise. His "nose" had beco a myth they liked, and myths were safer than truth.
"Good," the boss said, "Need anything before you go?" he asked him, and Kael noticed how the question was frad. Not "Are you okay?" Not "Do you need help?" Just need anything. Like supplies. Like a checklist. Like Kael was a runner being sent out with a task.
"Water would be good..." Kael replied. He knew it was a gamble even as he said it. The words were half habit, half bait, see how they react, see what they say, see who offers. Sotis the small requests showed you who was willing to give and who was willing to watch you beg.
"Good joke, no one thirsts or hungers in the reverse tower, water is rely to quench a thirst that isn’t there, rember we’re all dead. Food and water are simply things you fill yourself with; it’s useless." The boss spoke like he was correcting a child, and that last line, we’re all dead, sat on Kael’s spine like a cold finger.
It was the kind of certainty the dead clung to, because believing you were dead made everything else easier to swallow. If only they realized that Kael was pretty much alive and kicking. Then things would definitely be different.
"I know, was just kidding," Kael replied in an awkward manner, and it ca out a bit too fast, too neat. He turned his face toward the door and began walking out before anyone could examine the slip any deeper. His body wanted distance the way burned skin wanted air.
"Here," Peter’s voice sounded from next to him. Kael turned to find him throwing him a bottle of water that he grabbed in mid-air. The bottle was cheap plastic, half-crushed like it had been carried around for a while, and it sloshed faintly when Kael caught it. Peter didn’t look like he wanted thanks.
He looked like he wanted the interaction over quickly, like throwing the bottle was a way to satisfy so leftover guilt without getting close.
"Thanks," Kael said as he placed it inside his bag and walked out. He didn’t drink it. He didn’t even loosen the cap. Sothing about the casualness of it made his instincts itch, and his instincts had already saved him from turning into charcoal once today.
"He doesn’t even have Inventory unlocked," one of the Sun Clan mbers shook his head. The comnt wasn’t loud, but it was ant to be heard.
"He said he was a first-floor guy; it looks like he didn’t lie about that," another replied, and the way they said it made Kael’s skin tighten.
Not disbelief, confirmation. They were cataloging him. Weaknesses. Limitations. Where he stood in the food chain. And for them, they think he is at the bottom.
Being at the bottom makes you prey, but that is only if you’re not a wolf wearing sheep skin. And Kael’s fangs were pretty much well-sharpened right now.
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