A Zombie's Path to Power

She could feel the weight of her own coldness pressing in on her, like a stone sinking in her chest. Colwyn wasn't someone she particularly liked, but she had never wished him dead. With a sharp exhale, she focused on his injuries, trying to ignore the guilt that crept into her thoughts. After all, if only she had been more focused, more prepared during the fall she could of broken his impact too.

"Focus, Rio," she muttered to herself.

Her fingers tingled with the power of her magic. She could heal him, but not easily—not in this state. With his mana mostly expended and his body battered, it would take far more energy than usual. She could feel his life force flickering, weak and fragile beneath her hands.

The blood stopped pouring, but she knew that wouldn't be enough. So then she let the magic knit his bones back together, it was a clumsy fix, and she had no doubt Colwyn was never again going to have his famous good looks from the way he looked now...

"There." Said Rio as she wiped the sweat from her forehead, "You won't die anytime soon,"

Groaning in confirmation, Colwyn tried standing only to fall back into Rios embrace. "Don't bother," She said, "I'll make a stretcher."

Rio steadied Colwyn as he collapsed against her, his weight almost dragging them both down. His breath was shallow, each inhale rattling as if it might be his last. She could feel the heat of his blood seeping through her hands, even though the worst of the wounds had been sealed.

"Don't… need a stretcher," Colwyn rasped, his voice weak but defiant.

Rio shot him a sharp glare, her own exhaustion evident in the set of her jaw. "You can't even stand. You're not going to impress anyone by dying upright." She pushed him back gently, settling him against a nearby rock. "Stay still, for your own sake."

He gave a faint chuckle that turned into a cough, flecks of blood staining his lips. "...Didn't realise you cared so much,"

Rio ignored him, already weaving the necessary shape stretcher. Thin strands of light wove together in the air, forming a sturdy construct that hovered just off the ground. It wasn't elegant, but it would hold.

With a grunt, she hoisted Colwyn onto the magical stretcher, her movements quick and efficient. He groaned in protest but didn't fight her—likely because he didn't have the strength to.

The silence stretched between them as they began their slow journey back to safety, Rio dragged the stretcher with careful precision. She could feel his gaze on her, heavy and unrelenting, but she didn't look back.

"You didn't have to save me," Colwyn said suddenly, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. "...I wouldn't have saved you."

"I know," she replied flatly, her voice devoid of emotion.

For a moment, there was silence, save for the faint hum of magic and the shuffle of her boots on the dirt. Rio kept walking, but her mind churned. Colwyn's blunt honesty wasn't surprising—she knew the kind of man he was. Selfish and arrogant, he would've left her and justified it by saying "If I waste energy trying to help you we'll both die."

"You don't even like me." Said Colwyn curtly, "Why bother helping?"

"Does it matter?" she replied, her tone sharp enough to cut. "You're alive. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

Colwyn chuckled softly, though the sound was more painful than amused. "You didn't answer the question."

She stopped walking, her back to him, the tension in her frame unmistakable. "I didn't do it for you. I did it because if I left you I would regret it for the rest of my life."

He raised a brow, wincing as the movement tugged at his battered face. "Guilt? Didn't think you were the type."

"I'm a weak person." She started walking again, her pace faster now, as if she could outrun the conversation. "Leaving you there would've been... messy. Complicated. You'd haunt me in ways I don't have time for."

Colwyn smirked faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "A selfish kind of mercy. How very you."

Rio didn't respond. She didn't have to. They both knew the truth of it—whatever flicker of humanity she'd acted on, it wasn't for his sake. Not entirely, at least.

Silence filled the cave for a moment before Colwyn asked, "Where are we going?"

"I feel a draft of wind coming from this direction, It should lead to the surface if we're lucky."

The narrow tunnel stretched ahead of them, the faint draft of air Rio mentioned carrying with it a subtle chill. The walls were rough and damp, their jagged surfaces catching the dim glow of her magic. She kept her focus on the stretcher, ensuring it moved steadily over the uneven ground.

Behind her, Colwyn shifted, a grimace flickering across his battered face. " 'lucky', huh? remind me to avoid your gambling advice."

Not bothering to make a retort, Rio tried peering into the darkness. The crystals that had illuminated the cavern were growing sparser as they continued, now she was relying on the magic lantern tied around her waist that provided them with light.

Rio peered harder because something felt off. The draft would be there for a moment and then disappear, before reappearing just a short moment later.

As she leant closer, Rio flinched as something landed on her cheek. Spittle.

Rio jerked her head back, instinctively wiping the dampness from her cheek. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized it wasn't the chill of the cave's draft that had brushed against her skin—it was something else, something... wrong. Her fingers twitched, magic pooling at her fingertips as she summoned a ball of light to hover just above her hand. The glow brightened, casting sharp shadows against the jagged walls, and revealing what had been hidden in the darkness.

A figure stood just ahead of her, barely visible in the dimness. It was humanoid in shape, but its skin was pale, almost translucent, with a sickly sheen. Its eyes were wide, black pits, and its face was gaunt, sharp features stretched taut over its skull. 

The thing—if it could even be called that—was breathing, but not like any creature Rio had known. Its mouth was wide and split in a grotesque grin, too wide to be natural, and from its throat came a low, rasping sound that sounded like wind—hollow, faint, and luring. It was the draft. The very air she'd thought had been guiding them was nothing but its deceitful trick to pull her deeper into the cave.

It blew again, the sound almost imperceptible, but the sensation of it tickling her skin was enough to make her stomach turn.

The creature moved then, slow and deliberate, its limbs unnaturally long, folding like a spider's as it advanced. Its mouth opened further, a rasping whisper filling the air as it spoke, though the words were twisted, foreign—some language of the deep that Rio could not comprehend. But she understood the intent. It wanted her close. It wanted her to fall for the illusion of safety, to wander further into its lair.