A Scum's Redemption

There's no cold in the dream.

No warmth either.

A faint light. Like it's being remembered through glass.

I see them—my mother and my brother.

Smiling.

Moving around the house like the world never touched them. My brother's sitting cross-legged by the fire, stacking little wooden blocks. My mother hums something soft while folding old clothes.

I don't remember what she looked like clearly anymore, but here?

Her face is whole.

Untouched.

Gentle.

I want to reach for her.

Say something.

But I can't.

I'm just a shadow here.

Watching.

Then—

It changes.

No sound. No warning.

The light flickers.

And the room is red.

They're not smiling anymore.

They're lying in the same places, but—

Still.

Wrong.

My brother's blocks are scattered, soaked. His throat open like he never had time to scream.

My mother's hand is stretched toward the door.

She didn't make it.

The blood crawls across the floor like it's alive.

I open my mouth—

"Mom!"

I jolt awake.

The scream catches in my throat, ragged and half-formed.

My eyes snap open.

Darkness. Stone. Cavern.

I'm back.

Still alive.

Still broken.

My body's stiff—numb, burning, bruised. But I'm wrapped. Barely. Sloppy strips of cloth, just tight enough to hold. Kai must've done it. Messy, but careful.

I blink. Shift. Look to my side—

Kai.

Asleep. His small body curled tight against mine, arms wrapped around himself. His cheek pressed to my side like he thought it might keep us both warm.

He's shivering slightly, but breathing steady..

I exhale.

Close my eyes.

Just for a moment.

Just to breathe.

I don't want to move.

My body's a mess of bruises and bandages, half of which are probably Kai's torn-up sleeve.

But hunger isn't subtle.

It gnaws.

Behind my ribs. Beneath my skin.

And I know it's coming for him too.

I drag myself toward the corpse.

It's not far.

Even now, it reeks—brine, blood, and something worse. Not rot. Not exactly. But close. Like whatever animated it wasn't meant to live inside flesh.

Still... it's food.

I crouch beside it, breathing shallow. My hand wraps around the bone knife.

The undercarriage is mostly intact. Segments of the abdomen. Some of the leg joints. I press into the meat—cold, rubbery, slick with green-black ooze. Some spots twitch beneath the shell.

Corruption.

It's in there, threaded through tissue like veins of mold under stone.

I've seen it before—rats, scavenged shellfish from the docks, meat that should've been burned but wasn't. You learn what kills fast, what just makes you pray to.

I hate how normal this feels.

I chip away at the underplate, peeling back layers of cracked shell. Chitin flakes off in sheets, some soft as bark, some hard as bone. I toss the fragments aside—they might burn, if I can get a flame going.

I work around the thorax.

Avoid the head. Always avoid the head.

Some of the muscle underneath still looks… edible. Barely.

I cut deeper. It's dense. Stringy. The fluid inside isn't blood—it's thick, milky, tinged green. But I've swallowed worse.

And I remember the taste.

Not the hunger.

The taste.

That swampy, iron-salt rot that coats the tongue and never leaves. Not after rinsing. Not after puking.

I gag.

Almost drop the blade.

I don't know if it's the smell or the memory.

But I breathe through my teeth. Keep going.

This isn't the slums.

This is worse.

And this time, I'm not alone.

I gather what I can. Lay the meat out on a flat stone near the wall. There's no fire—yet. But the cavern's dry in places. Broken claw. Loose shell. Wet fur from earlier.

I remember a boy in the pits sparking fire with nothing but a rusted hinge and the rim of a pipe.

If I can find the right stone…

If the old hook in my coat pocket hasn't rusted through—

Maybe.

I glance back at Kai.

Still asleep.

I wipe the gunk from my hands and drag the rest of the crawfish corpse toward a dark corner of the cave.

Out of sight.

Because if he wakes up and sees what I'm carving for breakfast—

He won't eat.

And he has to eat.

It takes hours.

The kind that bleed.

But I keep going.

I find a patch of dry moss clinging to the upper wall, just below the shaft of light. A few brittle leaves too—wind-blown from the world above, maybe last season, maybe longer.

Twigs. Thin. Barely more than splinters.

But dry.

I climb the wall one-handed, teeth grit, legs shaking, using grooves in the stone and one desperate, stupid sense of balance. I nearly fall three times. On the fourth, I make it halfway.

Just high enough to taste freedom.

Just far enough to know I'm not ready for it.

But I grab the moss. Rip the leaves free.

And drop back down.

I pull a belt hook from one of the Radiant Order corpses—press it to a jagged rock. Strike.

Sparks flicker. Fade.

Too weak. Not enough.

I keep striking.

The moss starts to smoke.

And finally—Fire.

It's not much.

A flicker. A glow.

But it's real.

I sit there in the dark, half-dead and shaking, watching that tiny flame fight back the cold.

And for the first time since the fall—

I believe we might actually make it.

The meat sizzles over the fire.

Not much of it. Thin, oily cuts laid across a flat rock propped near the flame. It's not elegant. Probably not even safe. But the smell is better than rot, and it's real food.

Grease pops. Edges curl—good. If anything was still squirming in there, it's not anymore.

Whatever's still squirming in there won't survive.

It's nearly done.

Behind me, there's movement.

A yawn, then a voice—small, groggy.

"Good morning."

A pause.

"Um… is this the wake-up time or the go-back-to-sleep time?"

I smile, not turning around. Can't let him see my face yet.

"Close enough."

I glance at the bandages. "Thanks for fixing me up, kid."

He sits up, rubbing his eyes with both fists.

Then he mumbles, "I got scared… but I was happy you weren't gone."

 Then his gaze drifts—past me, to the fire, to the carcass in the corner.

To the blood.

His face tightens.

"What happened?"

I keep my voice light.

"A couple things came in while you were sleeping. Big, ugly, and hungry."

I flip the meat again.

"I took care of it."

He frowns.

"What about… the fire? And the camp? Weren't we with Gil?"

I pause.

"Yeah."

The word tastes bitter.

"We had to run. Things went bad fast. I carried you out. Don't remember much after that."

That part's true. I barely remember the forest, let alone the cave. Just flashes—trees, screams, blood, water.

"Gil?" he asks.

I shrug with my good shoulder.

"If anyone made it out, it's him."

"Are we gonna get out of here?"

I pause.

Just a second.

Just enough to feel it twist in my chest.

The truth?

Probably not.

But I glance over, give him a crooked grin, and lie like I've done my whole life.

"Don't worry Kai. I'm sure Gil's looking for us."

His eyes search mine.

I keep the smile.

"And if not, well... once this arm fixes up, I'll carry us both out of here. Piggyback style. You'll love it."

He laughs.

Small. Brief.

But it's real.

He believes me.

Because he has to.

Because I need him to.

And that's enough for now.

I turn back to the fire, looking at the meat as it sizzles.

We don't have enough of it.

Not even close.

But I hand him the first piece anyway.

Because today?

He eats first.