The figure on the boulder looked nothing like a rescuer.
He didn't carry weapons. He wasn't armored. He wasn't even young enough to look threatening. Just an old man in sand-stained robes, sitting with his legs folded under him like someone waiting for the sun to move.
The moment they turned toward him, he glanced back over his shoulder—just one look—and then began to walk away, stepping down from the boulder as if the oasis and the screaming reflection were just… background noise.
Luke wasn't having it.
"What do you mean?" he shouted, his voice cracking with panic. "Wait!"
The old man didn't stop.
Luke pushed to his feet, shaking with exhaustion and adrenaline. His legs almost buckled.
"Help me," he ordered, pointing at Elias. "We're following him."
Reina stared at him like he'd gone mad. "You don't know who that is. He could be—"
"Do you have a better idea?" Luke snapped, harsher than he intended.
Reina pressed her lips together. Anger flared in her eyes, but she didn't argue. She bent down and lifted Elias by the shoulders. Silo grabbed him under the knees. Luke positioned himself at the middle, holding Elias's torso steady.
Elias twitched once, a faint tremor, then fell silent again.
They carried him through the sand, trailing behind the old man's retreating silhouette.
No one spoke.
There was only the crunch of their steps, the rasp of Elias breathing unevenly, and the low wind sweeping the dunes.
The sun was slipping toward the horizon. The sky turned amber, then bruised purple, and the air cooled around their sweat-stained clothes. With every minute, they could feel how exposed they were—nothing but dead land and the far-off blur of the oasis behind them.
Eventually the stranger slowed.
He stepped into the mouth of a cave—small, carved into the base of a stony hill. There was no door. Just darkness beyond the opening.
Luke hesitated.
Silo shifted uneasily. Reina stood rigidly, eyes moving from the cave to the horizon.
"What if it's a trap?" she whispered.
Luke looked at Elias—the way his hands kept flexing and curling, like he was pushing away something only he could see.
Trap or not, they were out of options.
The old man's voice drifted out from the shadows.
"Well?" he said. "You should probably come inside before anything big notices you lingering."
"Big?" Silo asked, voice thin.
"Omegas," the stranger replied casually. "They're attracted to fear. And you four smell like a banquet."
That was all it took.
They ducked into the cave.
The air inside was cooler, stale with dust and old ash. The ceiling was low, jagged. Someone had lived there, or at least stayed there—bundles of cloth, a crate of dried roots, a rough sleeping mat. In the center was a fire pit, cold, surrounded by stone.
"Put him there," the old man said, pointing near the pit.
They lowered Elias carefully. His head lolled to the side. His mouth moved like he was mumbling underwater.
The old man crouched beside him, not with the panic of someone trying to save a life—more like someone fixing a tool.
He pulled a small clay jar from a satchel. Inside was a wet cloth, sour-smelling. He pressed it to Elias's forehead.
Then he reached into a pouch and produced a small bundle of crushed herbs, bitter-green. He opened Elias's jaw with surprising gentleness and tucked the leaves beneath his tongue.
Luke hovered, watching every motion like a hawk. His foot tapped against the ground uncontrollably—fast, sharp, like he was trying to kick away his fear through repetition.
Reina sat down against the wall, rubbing her temples with both hands. Her breathing was slow, controlled—barely. The kind of calm people cling to when they're one nudge away from panic.
Silo circled the cave once, rubbing his forearms as if he expected to find handholds.
After a long silence, he finally asked:
"What is an old man doing beyond the wall in the wasteland? All alone?"
The stranger froze mid-motion.
He didn't look offended or startled—just thoughtful.
He lifted his head a little, staring past the cave entrance into the evening sky.
Then, very calmly, as if he were asking about the weather, he said:
"…What year is it?"