Amina woke slowly, unwillingly, as though consciousness itself had become heavy.
Warmth.
That was the first thing she noticed.
Not the artificial, dry warmth of underground heating vents, but something alive. Heat rolled across her skin in soft waves, uneven and crackling. Fire.
Her eyes remained closed for several seconds longer while her mind clawed its way back together.
Pain followed next.
A dull, throbbing ache pulsed through her side where the wound had been. Not sharp anymore. Controlled. Wrapped. Treated.
That realization pulled her fully awake.
Amina's eyes snapped open.
For one panicked second she forgot where she was entirely.
The ceiling above her was low and rough, reinforced with dark timber beams blackened slightly by years of smoke. Thick animal hides covered the stone walls, muting the furious howl of the storm outside into a distant, muffled groan.
Firelight flickered across everything in shades of orange and gold.
Amina sat up too quickly.
Pain immediately stabbed through her abdomen.
"Ah—shit…"
She grabbed her side instinctively and froze.
Bandages.
Clean ones.
Her breathing slowed cautiously.
The wound had been stitched shut with thick black thread, packed with some strange herbal paste that smelled sharp and earthy. Whoever treated her actually knew what they were doing.
The realization unsettled her more than if they hadn't.
The thick fur blanket pooled around her lap as she looked around properly.
The room was far larger than she expected. Not a cave exactly—more like an old underground storage chamber converted into a shelter. The stone walls were reinforced with scavenged metal supports and enormous timber beams carved smooth by hand.
It felt primitive.
But not crude.
Everything had a purpose.
Weapons lined one wall in careful arrangement: bone axes, harpoons, hooked knives carved from yellowed ivory, coils of rope made from cured tendon. Nearby sat neatly stacked bundles of dried herbs, sharpened tools, and strips of preserved meat hanging above a shallow smoking pit.
Nothing was wasted.
Nothing was decorative.
At least… almost nothing.
Her eyes drifted toward a shelf near the fireplace.
Wood carvings.
Dozens of them.
Tiny, intricate figures sat lined beside one another in eerie silence.
A wolf curled protectively around pups.
A woman carrying a child.
A tall man standing beside a smaller boy.
A cluster of tiny buildings half-buried in carved snow.
Some were rough.
Others were unbelievably detailed.
Amina stared at them for a long moment.
Why would someone living like this spend time making art?
A gust of wind rattled the outer structure violently, pulling her attention away.
Only then did she realize she was sitting in an enormous bed built directly into the stone wall itself. Thick pelts and stitched blankets covered it, the materials worn soft with use.
This isn't a guest bed.
Her eyes narrowed.
Wait.
This is HIS bed.
Amina suddenly became hyperaware of the scent surrounding her.
Earth.
Smoke.
Sweat.
Not unpleasant sweat either—clean, physical, human. Mixed with something deeper and mineral-like, like wet stone after rainfall. Petrichor.
A single coil of black springy hair rested against the bedding near her thigh.
Amina picked it up slowly between two fingers.
Why am I holding this like forensic evidence?
Before she could spiral further, the heavy timber door burst open.
A violent gust of freezing wind tore into the room alongside powdered snow.
Amina flinched instantly, yanking the fur blanket tightly around herself.
Then he stepped inside.
Sullei.
The sheer size of him filled the doorway completely for a moment before he ducked beneath the frame and entered. Snow clung to his furs and dreadlocks in white patches. Over one shoulder hung the carcass of some mutated deer-like creature with elongated limbs and an unnaturally thick neck.
Blood dripped steadily onto the stone floor.
Doomsday followed close behind him, snow crunching beneath her massive paws.
The wolf immediately shook herself violently, spraying melted snow everywhere before trotting toward the fire.
Amina nearly jumped out of her skin.
Right.
The demon wolf lives here too.
Sullei dropped the carcass beside the far wall with a wet, heavy thud that echoed through the room.
Without a word, he crouched beside the doorway and began knocking ice from his boots using the handle of a knife. Methodical. Efficient. Like muscle memory older than thought.
Doomsday wandered over to the carcass and began dragging it toward a side chamber.
The amount of strength required for the wolf to casually move something that large made Amina deeply uncomfortable.
"H-hello," she said carefully.
Sullei glanced toward her.
That single glowing red eye locked onto her instantly.
Amina hated how much her heartbeat reacted to that.
"Thanks for…" she gestured awkwardly toward her side. "You know. Not letting me bleed to death."
He stared for another second.
Then nodded once.
That was it.
No smile.
No sound.
No greeting.
Just a single acknowledgment before he reached for the thick outer pelt covering his shoulders.
Amina watched despite herself.
He removed layer after layer of heavy fur clothing stiff with frost and hung them carefully near the fire to dry. Snow melted instantly from the pelts, hissing softly against the heat.
Then he grabbed the edge of his inner shirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion.
Amina forgot how to breathe.
Not because he looked sculpted.
He didn't.
There was nothing polished or aesthetic about him.
Everything about Sullei looked functional.
Necessary.
His body had been built by survival, not vanity. His shoulders were broad almost to the point of absurdity, his arms thick in uneven places from years of hauling weight and splitting ice. A layer of dense fat rested beneath slabs of muscle—not softness, but insulation. Protection against a world cold enough to kill exposed flesh within minutes.
And scars.
God.
Scars covered him everywhere.
Old claw marks.
Jagged bite wounds.
Burns.
Thin knife-like cuts.
One terrible scar wrapped across his throat and disappeared beneath his collarbone like something had once tried to rip his neck open.
Amina swallowed hard.
The room suddenly felt much smaller.
Sullei crossed toward the fire, and with every step the floor gave faint groans beneath his weight. Heat rolled from his body alongside that earthy scent again—smoke, sweat, cold air, wet soil.
How is he sweating in subzero temperatures?
Her brain chose the weirdest possible thing to focus on under stress.
He approached the bed.
Amina instinctively pulled the blanket tighter beneath her chin.
Sullei stopped directly beside her.
Up close, he was overwhelming.
Not just large.
Present.
Like standing too close to a bear that had decided not to eat you.
His remaining eye studied her carefully.
Not hungrily.
Not cruelly.
Just intensely.
Then he leaned forward.
Amina froze completely.
Goosebumps erupted down her spine.
His arm moved past her head—
—and grabbed a carving knife and block of wood resting near the wall.
Oh.
Oh my God.
He wasn't reaching for me.
Heat rushed into her face instantly.
Sullei paused slightly as though noticing her embarrassment. His gaze drifted toward the bandages around her abdomen.
Then he nodded once.
Approval.
You're healing.
Amina opened her mouth to say something smart in response—
—and noticed his eye drift upward briefly.
Her brain short-circuited.
"Hey," she snapped automatically, pointing at her face. "Eyes up here, giant."
The words came out sharper than intended.
Stress response.
Definitely stress response.
Sullei blinked once.
Then, incredibly, he looked mildly confused.
Not offended.
Confused.
Like he genuinely didn't understand why that mattered.
Amina wanted the floor to swallow her whole.
Sullei straightened slowly, rubbing the back of his neck with a deep silent exhale through his nose before walking toward the fireplace.
He sat beside it cross-legged, picked up the woodblock, and began carving.
The silence stretched.
Only the crackling fire and the scratching of the blade against wood filled the room now.
Amina watched him cautiously.
For someone so enormous, his hands moved with shocking precision. Small curls of wood peeled away beneath careful strokes. Not rushed. Not careless.
Patient.
Doomsday eventually limped over and dropped heavily beside him, resting her giant head against his thigh.
Without looking away from his carving, Sullei scratched behind her ears automatically.
The wolf practically melted.
Amina stared.
"That thing tried to eat me," she muttered.
Sullei glanced toward Doomsday.
Then toward Amina.
Then back to his carving.
Traitor, Amina thought bitterly.
Her gaze wandered around the room again.
More carvings sat near the fire.
One caught her attention immediately.
A smaller carving of a young boy standing beside a taller figure with dreadlocks.
The detail was intimate.
Careful.
Loved.
Something tightened quietly inside her chest.
This man has been alone for a very long time.
"Thank you," she said more quietly this time. "Seriously."
Sullei's carving slowed slightly.
Then he gave another small nod.
Amina shifted awkwardly beneath the blanket.
"So…" she began carefully, "you really live up here? On the Surface?"
Nod.
"All alone?"
A pause this time.
Then another nod.
The room somehow felt sadder afterward.
Amina frowned slightly.
"That's… insane."
Sullei continued carving.
Amina stared at his broad back in silence, the chaotic crackle of the fire and the rythmic chipping of the wood carving breaking the silence.
Not one word. He hadn't bothered saying a thing since they met. Was she that overbearing.
"You really don't talk at all, huh?" she asked softly.
Silence.
"You know…" she rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly, "the mysterious silent giant thing is a little unsettling."
Nothing.
Amina sighed dramatically.
"I'm starting to think maybe you're just dumb."
The moment the words left her mouth she regretted them.
Why am I like this?
Sullei released a long, audible breath through his nose.
Then he stood.
Fast.
Amina immediately tensed beneath the blankets.
He walked toward her calmly and reached up toward the hyena-skull hood covering his head.
Then slowly removed it.
His dreadlocks spilled free across his shoulders.
Amina's breath caught.
Without the mask, his face looked younger somehow. Still rugged. Still scarred. But undeniably human.
And devastatingly handsome in a way that felt almost unfair.
One red eye glowed sharply in the firelight while the other remained clouded and ruined beneath the scar cutting through it.
Then he tilted his chin upward slightly.
Amina froze.
His throat.
The scars there were horrific up close.
Deep ridged trenches wrapped around his neck in brutal patterns, the flesh uneven and crushed inward in places. Whatever had attacked him hadn't just injured his throat.
It had destroyed it.
Destroyed his voice.
Destroyed his ability to speak entirely.
Amina felt sick instantly.
"Oh."
Every stupid joke she'd made collapsed inside her chest at once.
"You're…" Her voice faltered. "I'm sorry."
Sullei raised one eyebrow slowly.
Not angry.
Just deeply unimpressed.
The expression very clearly said:
And you were calling me dumb?
Amina covered her face with one hand immediately.
"Oh my God."
For the first time, the corner of Sullei's mouth twitched upward slightly.
Barely visible.
But there.
Then he turned away and returned to the fire.
Amina sat there wrapped in fur blankets, staring at his back while shame, awkwardness, curiosity, and something else entirely tangled together inside her chest.
Outside, the storm howled endlessly against the frozen world.
But inside the shelter, beside the firelight and the quiet scratching of Sullei's carving knife, the silence no longer felt empty.