Chapter 149: Markings
Syras walked in the dark.
The world around him was thick with silence, save for the subtle crunch of grass and dirt beneath his torn boots.
The tall walls of the labyrinth faded somewhere far above, and thick grass brushed against his legs with every slow, pained step.
His fingers clutched a makeshift spear, just a creature’s leg, snapped clean from a dead thing, jagged and sharp like bone-carved metal. It had already saved his life twice.
But now it was just weight.
So was everything else.
Blood soaked his side, his shirt clinging wet and warm to his ribs. The gash along his thigh had gone numb, which he figured was worse than pain.
He could barely breathe, each inhale more of a gasp, each exhale a struggle not to fall apart.
This is it huh...?
His vision blurred for a moment, and he stopped beneath a crooked tree, sinking slowly into the grass until he was sitting with his back to its trunk.
The air was thick and warm, filled with the scent of rot and Neba and soil. In the distance, he could hear insect-like things skittering through the grass, hundreds of legs clicking against stone.