Thirstfall - Memory of a Returnee Chapter 64: The Cost of Peace

I tell Lola and Rhayne they can rest.

I make it clear that I’ve got the watch, and I can easily handle the periter on my own.

I expect them to go sleep near the others, but they don’t. Instead, they just slump against the base of the massive rock I’m using as a vantage point.

"I’m going to stay up with you, Uncle," Lola mumbles, her eyes already half-closed.

" too," Rhayne agrees softly, pulling her oversized cloak tighter around her shoulders.

I don’t argue with them. I just nod.

Less than five minutes later, a soft, rhythmic snoring drifts up from the base of the rock. Both of them are completely out cold, sleeping soundly against the hard stone.

A faint, genuine smile touches my lips.

I rember like it was yesterday, when I still had that kind of peace in my first year...

I turn my attention back to the corrupted jungle.

My eyes are burning, watering heavily from the sheer, crushing exhaustion of piloting this battered body through a death match and a dinsion-hopping train ride. But I clench my teeth, forcing my mind to remain one hundred percent alert.

To fight the fatigue, I spend my shift ticulously studying the bizarre environnt from my high ground.

I filter through the unnatural white noise of the forest, dissecting the sounds and learning the rhythms hidden in the dark. I watch the glitching, magenta-stained beasts as they occasionally dart through focal points of pale bioluminescent light, cataloging their movent patterns.

I pull up my HUD.

[Tir: 02:58:14]

Three hours are almost up. My group’s shift is coming to an end.

Seeing the tir, a grim wave of relief washes over . I’m thankful that ti in Thirstfall flows differently than on Earth. The dilation is a strict three-to-one ratio.

For every three days I suffer in this hell, only one day passes back ho...

I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out the deep, luminous white sphere. The Reentry Pearl.

It feels warm against my fingers.

I stare at it in the gloom, doing the brutal math in my head.

If it takes an entire year of grinding in the Trench to secure enough power to survive the return... Mom and Lili will only be without for four months.

It’s a bitter calculation, but it’s a manageable one. It ans I still have a margin to fix this broken tiline.

I tuck the Pearl safely back into my pocket and drop down from the rock. I gently shake the girls awake.

"Shift’s over," I whisper. "Go lie down properly."

Right on cue, Oliver breaches the periter of our watch zone. He’s yawning widely, rubbing heavily bloodshot eyes.

"I was dreaming about my retirent," Oliver grumbles, his voice thick with sleep. "Damn good dream."

Danton, the Pressomancer, trails a few steps behind him. He doesn’t say a single word. He just keeps his head down and his hands in his pockets.

The girls rub their sleepy eyes and begin shuffling toward the massive, twisted tree roots where we established our makeshift camp.

As Oliver passes to take his post, he raises a hand in a gesture of tired camaraderie, offering a lazy high-five.

I stare at it for a fraction of a second before slapping it. I do it purely out of responsibility—a cheap transaction to maintain unit cohesion and avoid unnecessary social friction.

But when Danton walks past, I don’t raise my hand. I don’t offer a greeting. I just turn my head and lock my gaze deeply into his sunken eyes.

The ssage I project is absolute and freezing: I am watching you.

He breaks eye contact first, hurrying up to the rock.

I guide the girls back to the camp.

I settle them near a dense, thorny bush—thick enough to serve as natural cover and obscure their heat signatures.

It isn’t that I’m suddenly playing the role of a noble protector; I simply lack any capacity to relax or trust the environnt around us.

Once they are settled, I lean my back against a fallen, rotting log just a few feet away.

I don’t lie down.

Sitting down is the first step toward not getting up...

I remain seated, my hand resting near my belt, ready to explode into motion if the shadows decide to bite.

I glance back toward the watch rock. Oliver is standing tall, his heavy warhamr gripped tight. He looks imposing, alert, actively trying to show his worth to the squad.

Maybe, I think to myself, I can actually trust Oliver to hold the line for this shift.

But then I look at Danton. The Pressomancer is lying flat on his back near the base of the rock, his arms casually crossed behind his head. Completely relaxed.

I suppress a heavy sigh.

My eyes drift back to Lola.

She is sleeping soundly again, her breathing steady and incredibly peaceful. In the dim bioluminescent light, her small, curled-up form reminds fiercely of Lili, ten years in the future, sleeping beside , afraid of the sandstorms.

I smile.

The mory is a warm blanket. It comforts . It comforts far too much.

The phantom feeling of my family washes away the sharp, cynical edge keeping awake, and despite my absolute refusal to drop my guard, the crushing biological exhaustion of my past days finally pulls under.

I fall asleep against my own will.

My eyes snap open.

Surprise hits like a bucket of ice water. Biology actually beat .

But there is no ti to process the failure. A shadowy figure is leaning directly over , a hand reaching down to touch my shoulder.

Combat reflexes, carved into my nervous system over a decade, fire before my brain even registers a thought.

I thumb the ignition ring on my belt. Eventide hisses to life with a violent, violet-black roar. Before the man can even blink or pull his hand back, the howling shadow-blade is pressed flush against his carotid artery, perfectly positioned for a lethal decapitation.

"Easy, easy, easy!" Oliver screams, throwing both his hands up in the air, his eyes wide with unadulterated terror. "I just ca to wake you! We have a problem!"

I freeze. I don’t kill him, but I don’t lower the blade imdiately.

I study his face in the gloom. He isn’t sweating with the adrenaline of an ambush. His features are twisted into a mask of profound worry and deep, heavy sadness.

He looks like a man delivering a tragedy, not a combat warning.

I deactivate Eventide. The blade vanishes, leaving only the cold hilt in my grip.

"Report," I command.

Oliver lowers his trembling hands. He refuses to et my eyes, staring down at his muddy boots with the ultimate reluctance of a defeated man.

"Danton..." Oliver starts, his voice thick with betrayal. "Danton ran off with the communal supplies we left in the stone stash. He took one of the cadets... and two of my own n."

I don’t gasp. I don’t curse. I don’t show a single ounce of emotion.

Down in the dark, hidden by the tall grass beside my leg, my hand forms a fist. I squeeze the wet earth so hard my knuckles pop, driving my fingernails deep into the dirt.

My face remains a perfect, impenetrable mask of stone.

I got too comfortable. My mistake.

I actually trusted these desperate ghosts for a fraction of a second, and they made pay for it in my sleep.

I slowly release the handful of dirt and push myself up from the log, dusting off my leather jacket.

"Alright," I announce to Oliver, my voice smooth and utterly deadpan. "No problem. We’ll handle it. It was my mistake."

Oliver blinks, looking up at in sheer confusion. He expects rage. He expects a panicked scramble over the lost food and OXI.

I step past him, my eyes locking onto the terrified, remaining cadets and Oliver’s last loyal thug, who are both shivering near the extinguished campfire after seeing .

"But I am going to fix this mistake my way," I finish, a dark, predatory calm settling over my features. "We have so people to interrogate."