This Beast-Tamer is a Little Strange

Malzahir drifted in and out of consciousness, he had a vague sensation of movement, he heard a vague groan of pain and struggle, but before he could truly process anything else, his mind faded to black again.

Not knowing how much time had passed, he eventually awoke to the crackling sound of fire.

His body felt heavy, but whereas before the heaviness in his limbs was due to internal factors like his injuries, his depression, and his body shutting down from the cold. Now the weight on his body felt a lot more…tangible.

He blinked, his vision blurry as he tried to make sense of his surroundings and process what was on him.

His eyes flickered open. Based on the dim glow of firelight illuminating the surroundings, he concluded that he was in what appeared to be a shallow cave or a snowdrift hollowed out as shelter.

Moreover the weight on his body, as he expected, was due to an object. Someone had draped several layers of thick, fur-lined clothing over his shoulders, their weight unfamiliar since he'd been raised wearing only light and comfortable materials suitable for the desert heat.

The sound of labored breathing drew his gaze to the other side of the fire and he saw his 'saviour'. Considering he didn't really want to be 'saved' from death, he was still conflicted on whether the other person deserved that title.

The man lay there, propped weakly against the frozen wall, his body covered by deep wounds and frostbite. Blood stained the front of his thin clothes, sluggishly seeping from injuries that no longer seemed to pain him—his body was past the point of feeling. His face was pallid, his breaths slow and shallow. He did not have long.

'Did he take off most of his clothing to give to me? Why?' To Malzahir such self-sacrificing behaviour for a stranger was idiotic, but unbeknownst to him a small portion of his heart, one he thought was long dead, began to beat again.

Malzahir's first instinct was to close his eyes and let the darkness take him again. He had no desire to be saved, no will to continue. But although Malzahir said nothing. The man's dull, fatigued eyes seemed to still be aware that he'd woken up.

"You're awake," the man rasped. His voice was hoarse, the effort of speaking clearly costing him. "Good… I wasn't sure if you'd wake at all. Or if I could even—cough."

The man's speech was suddenly cut off by a violent coughing fit.

Malzahir sat up slowly, his joints stiff and aching, but majority of his most severe internal and external injuries had been healed. Obviously some kind of expensive elixir or powerful skill had been used to heal him from his formerly battered state.

'Sigh…what a waste…I'm sure many people would be thankful for such care, but I'm not one of them'

His first instinct was to ask why the man had saved him, but the answer was obvious. There was no way this was just an act of kindness. The man must need something from him.

Looking around he also noticed previously overlooked details, his eyes landing on the man's contracts. They were scattered around the fire, their forms broken and lifeless.

One, a large wolf-like creature, lay motionless beside the man, its fur matted with blood. Another, a bird with shimmering feathers, was curled up in a corner, its wings bent at unnatural angles.

There were also other vague shapes hidden in the darkness that weren't moving and showed no signs of life.

The sight stirred something in Malzahir—a flicker of empathy, perhaps, or just the memory of his own loss.

Malzahir's eyes then flicked to the man's side, where the dark stain—which he originally thought was just blood but upon closer inspection was tinged with black and violet tendrils of energy as well—was growing larger.

"You're dying," he said, his voice hoarse. "All of you."

The man chuckled weakly, a sound that quickly turned into another cough. "Yeah. I know. I've been trying to heal myself, but… nothing's working. My contracts are all gone, they fought bravely but the opponent was too powerful. My elixirs are even useless on the injuries it caused me, so I just used the last couple on you. Although there's no future left for me, I took on this mission, and I must ensure its success…and right now you appear to be my only hope."

Struggling to lift a trembling hand the man presented a storage ring. "Take this," he said, pressing it into Malzahir's palm. His fingers were icy to the touch, like a walking and talking corpse. "It contains everything I've gathered. My allies… they need it. They're out there somewhere, and they're counting on me. But I… I won't make it. So please, I beg you…"

Malzahir stared at the ring. He did not move to wrap his fingers around and it—keeping it loosely suspended in his palm, not truly accepting the task.

He had no interest in playing errand boy for a dying man. He had no interest in anything at all. If he had his way, he would have stayed lying in the snow until the cold took him just as the desert sands had tried to do.

But then the man's gaze met his, and Malzahir froze.

Desperation. Not for his own survival, but for those who were still alive—his teammates. Something about his pleading expression touched a nerve.

Malzahir scowled. He did not want this responsibility. He did not want to be dragged back into the concerns of the living. And yet…

A sigh left his lips, and with it, his resistance. He took the ring.

'I guess I can just delay my death for a little while longer…at least until I deliver this ring.'

The relief in the man's face was immediate. His body, which had been clinging to life to be able to pass this important task on, finally began to surrender. His head lolled slightly, his chest rising and falling in slower, uneven intervals.

Just as his eyes were about to drift shut for the last time, Malzahir spoke.

"What's your name?"

A faint ghost of a smile tugged at the man's lips. "Idrias," he murmured. "Idrias Tailwind."

Then, his breath stilled. His body slumped. And Malzahir was left alone with the flickering fire and the weight of a promise he had never intended to make but would make sure he saw through.

After that… well, he could always find another way to die.