The Hidden Mysteries

Before all this, he had gathered plenty of burnable materials from the town—dry sticks, broken furniture, anything that could feed a fire.

"Time to cook "

He had carefully organized them outside the building, creating a neat pile of wood and debris, ready to be set alight when needed.

Now, standing underground in the presence of the floating flame, he grabbed a sturdy wooden stick and cautiously extended it toward the burning sphere. 

The moment the stick touched the flame, the tip ignited instantly, casting flickering shadows across the damp stone walls.

He didn't waste a second, gripping the burning stick tightly, he rushed back up to the ground floor, his other hand occupied with the pieces of meat he had butchered earlier. 

Mid-stride, a thought crossed his mind.

Carrying the meat with him every time was inefficient.

"Hmmmm"

He had been instinctively keeping it close, wary of leaving it unattended in this strange, unknown place, but realistically, who, or what would even take it?

It made more sense to store the meat near the burnable pile, rather than dragging it with him every step of the way. 

Making a mental note to be more practical, he hurried toward the pile of gathered wood and debris, lowering the burning stick to set the mess ablaze.

The flames rose fiercely, their bright tongues eating up the dry fuel with loud crackling sounds.

Waves of heat spread out, making the air shimmer, while shadows leaped across the broken walls of the building—like a wild dance guided by the fire's unending energy.

He worked quickly, sweat shining on his forehead as he searched through the rubble for rocks.

His hands grabbed rough, uneven stones, their surfaces scratched and blackened from old fires.

Crouching down, he placed them in a rough circle around the fire, piling them up with careful focus to make a shaky but steady base.

The stones let out soft hisses as sparks landed on them, but they stayed in place.

Next, he collected twisted branches, thick as his arm and smoothed by weather, and laid them side by side over the raised stones.

The spaces between the branches weren't even, but he shifted them until they were close enough to hold the meat without letting it fall into the flames below. It was a simple grill, made quickly but good enough to cook the meat slowly over the heat.

He felt a flicker of pride as he stepped back to look at his work.

The fire's glow lit up his face, showing the tightness in his jaw as he picked up the chunks of meat.

They felt cold and slippery in his hands, their fatty surfaces catching the light. For a second, he paused, staring at the uneven branches. Better burned than raw, he told himself.

Taking a deep breath, he laid the meat strips on the homemade grill.

The fire roared softly in reply, its heat making the edges of the meat sizzle right away. A smoky, strong smell filled the air, wild and comforting, and for the first time in hours, he let himself smile slightly.

Staying alive, he thought, was a mix of quick thinking and careful planning.

"I wonder what Rain is doing with me being stuck here" said Seven while watching the meat getting smoked.

**

The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky streaked with faint orange and gray. By now, the meat on his makeshift grill was nearly done, or so he hoped.

The fire had shrunk to glowing coals, their weak crackle mixing with the quiet sounds of the night.

He poked the meat with his hand-carved wooden chopsticks. It felt softer than before, though not by much. He'd smoked it over the fire for hours, hoping the heat and smoke would kill any germs, a rough trick he'd half-remembered from something he'd read long ago.

But without salt or proper tools, he knew it was a gamble. Still, better than eating it raw and risking sickness.

Gripping the chopsticks tightly, he lifted a piece to his mouth and bit in.

"mhmm it tastes kinda gross"

The outside was hard, like burnt bark, while the inside was chewy and tough.

The flavor was bland, with a faint iron-like taste of blood that stuck to his tongue.

He hadn't washed the meat, there was no water to waste here, and now the grit of dirt and ash mixed with every bite.

"Aargh! I am f*cking thirsty"

His throat felt like sandpaper, aching with thirst. Every swallow was a struggle.

He chewed slowly, forcing himself to finish the piece.

The smoking had probably killed some bacteria, but it couldn't fix the dryness in his throat or the exhaustion in his bones.

A bitter laugh escaped him.

Even his best efforts felt useless here.

Around him, the world grew darker.

The smoky smell of the meat lingered, a cruel reminder of his hunger and thirst.

He stared at the remaining pieces on the grill, their uneven char glowing in the dim light.

Survival wasn't just about fire or food, it was about enduring one small failure after another.

****

Seven choked down the last rubbery bite, his throat straining as if swallowing gravel, and pushed himself to his feet.

The meat sat like a stone in his gut, but hunger no longer drove him—thirst did.

With no plan beyond moving forward, he trudged away from the crumbling building, deliberately choosing the opposite direction of where he'd hunted the rabbit days earlier.

The memory of that small victory felt hollow now.

The city around him was a graveyard of broken concrete and skeletal structures.

Windows gaped like empty eye sockets, and the streets were littered with debris—twisted metal, shattered glass, and dust that puffed up with every step.

His boots echoed too loudly in the silence, each crunch a reminder of how alone he was.

His body dragged with exhaustion, but the relentless dryness in his throat kept him moving. His tongue felt swollen, his lips cracked.

Every breath scraped like sandpaper.

Fifteen minutes blurred into a numb march. Then, he froze.

A sound. Faint but unmistakable: the rush of flowing water.

His heart hammered against his ribs, sudden hope flooding his veins.

He turned sharply toward the noise, ears straining.

There it was again, a sound of water running, steady and alive.

He didn't think. Didn't second-guess.

He ran, legs pumping despite their ache, dodging rubble and leaping over cracks in the pavement.

The sound grew louder, a sweet, bubbling chorus pulling him forward.

Ahead, sunlight glinted off something wet.

He skidded to a stop at the edge of a narrow river, its clear water sparkling like a mirage.

For a moment, he just stared, relief washing over him. But then his expression froze.

His eyes caught movement on the far bank.

A shadow shifted. Then another and another.

His breath hitched. Across the water, more than 5 figures stood half-hidden in the ruins, their eyes gleaming in the dim light.

'Crap' muttered Seven internally.

It turns out he wasn't the only one who'd been searching for water.