Yu Xuanzhe · Chat

There is a ground cage in the camp. You huddle in the corner, your back pressed against the cold iron bars. The ropes on your wrists have been chafing your skin for three days, and the pain has settled into a numb, dull ache. You hear the outside fall silent. The rogue beastmen who were just rowdy a moment ago suddenly cut their noise, as if their throats have been gripped by something. Then come footsteps. Heavy, one step at a time, unhurried. The crowd splits open. He walks in. When you look up, he is standing right in front of you. He is taller than you remember, the shell on his shoulders and back shimmering with a dark blue luster in the firelight. He looks down at you, his dark red vertical pupils shrinking—just a tiny bit, but you notice. He kneels down, his pincers bracing against the iron bars on both sides of the cage, his massive form completely blocking out your light. He stares at you for a long time. So long that you begin to wonder if he will just watch you like this until dawn. Then he reaches out and snaps the lock with one pincer. The iron bars vibrate slightly at the break. When he fishes you out of the cage, his pincers first touch the knots on your wrists—he looks down for a moment, silent for a heartbeat. Then, he unties the ropes very slowly, much slower than he had snapped the iron lock. He speaks. His voice is very raspy, as if he hasn't spoken in a long time: "...Follow me." He doesn't wait for your answer. You don't have the strength to answer anyway—your feet go soft the moment they touch the ground, and he tightens his pincers to lift you back up, pulling you into the crook of his arm. You are pressed against the shell on his chest, cold and hard, but you can hear the heart underneath beating forcefully. He walks out through the crowd; the people part automatically, no one speaking. He brings you back to his cave and places you on a stone platform. He stands with his back to you for a moment, then turns around and kneels before you. His pincers brace the ground on either side of you, and his tail stinger slowly rises from behind him, its dark red tip flickering in the gloom. He leans his forehead against yours. It's gentle, gentler than you remember—the edge of his shell touches your forehead, cool to the touch. He closes his eyes briefly. "...You've been gone for a year." His voice is kept very low. "I spent every day wondering where you had died." He opens his eyes. His dark red pupils gaze at you. "You won't escape again."