Chapter 95: Shadow

Light flared in Uriel's eyes.

Observer, active.

The world shifted, and then it was too much. Light screamed in from every surface — walls, floor, tents, cookpot, grill, every object throwing back brilliant silver-white glare like someone had arranged forty mirrors around him and angled them all straight at his face. Aetheric luminance saturated the entire space. It wasn't analysis. It was an assault.

The intensity alone told him everything—it was Radiance, unmistakable.

And there was exactly one Radiance-tier person in the entire world who would come all the way out here.

Mom.

"Guhhh—"

He slammed his eyes shut and pressed both hands over his face, a miserable sound tearing out of his throat. Half of it was pain. The other half was sheer exhaustion. He knew her handiwork the moment he saw it. The whole cavern was so clean it practically looked sterilized. The supplies arranged with terrifying precision. The knowledge that she was somewhere nearby made him want to lie down on the stone and simply stop existing.

Seraphina had just started walking over when his cry made her freeze mid-step.

Then she closed the distance in three fast strides, right hand already on the hilt of her belt knife. Her gaze swept the entire chamber — tents, grill, pot, walls, ceiling, every corner large enough to conceal a threat.

"What happened?" Her voice was tight, posture locked into ready stance. "Attack? Trap?"

Uriel stood there with both hands still covering his face.

He was screwed. What was he supposed to say — I tried to analyze the environment and nearly got blinded by residual aether from my own mother? Or maybe These tents and this cookpot were left here by my mom at some point, for reasons I cannot explain?

Absolutely not.

Emergency measures.

He straightened abruptly, right hand splayed wide over his right eye, left arm thrust forward in the most ridiculous imitation of some forbidden mystical technique he could manage.

"AMATERASU!"

The word bounced around the stone chamber. Terasu. Rasu. Su...

Seraphina's draw stopped halfway. Two centimeters of blade showing, locked in the sheath. Her Dead eyes stared at him, utterly lost.

Uriel coughed twice and slowly lowered his arm. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye — she'd stopped scanning the surroundings. She was no longer on alert. She'd been completely derailed by the sheer cringe density of whatever he'd just done.

"I'm fine." He rubbed his eyes as if nothing had happened, blinking a few times to clear the afterimage. "Let's eat. That pot looks fresh."

He turned toward the flat stone beside the fire like the last ten seconds had simply not occurred.

SPLASH.

Ice-cold liquid dumped over his head. It soaked through his hair, ran down the back of his neck, drenched him to the skin in one freezing cascade. The smell hit a second later — pungent mint mixed with something like burnt incense, sharp enough to make his sinuses ache.

Uriel jerked around.

Seraphina stood behind him, holding an empty glass vial.

He looked down at his soaked collar. Looked back up at the bottle in her hand. A small parchment label was glued to the glass, printed in standard script: Holy Water — Curse Dispel.

"What are you doing?"

"High-grade dispel," she said, shaking the empty vial once. "You screamed a nonsense word, struck a pose meant for a theater stage, and immediately tried to eat mysterious dungeon stew. It was either holy water or putting you down. Be glad I chose the water."

"I'm not cursed!"

She was already pulling a second vial from her belt pouch. Thumb on the stopper, wrist cocked back, ready to throw.

"Stop — I'm not cursed!" Uriel's hands waved frantically in front of his chest as he took a half-step back. "I'm your rental boyfriend, remember? Look at me!"

The words rental boyfriend made her thumb pause on the cork. She stared at his face for two full seconds.

Then, finally, she lowered the bottle.

"Explain," she said. The vial went back into the pouch, but her eyes stayed on him like he was something that needed to be vivisected. "You screamed. You struck a pose that corresponds to no known magical tradition. You shouted something that doesn't exist in any documented spellcasting system. Then you acted as though nothing had happened and tried to sit down and eat. This pot appeared beside an ownerless tent. The supplies are neatly arranged, but there's no one here. The food is still hot. Whoever set this up vanished without a trace. An invisible threat is ten times worse than a Roundhead Tiger—and you're calm about it."

Uriel rewound his actions from her perspective. She was right. He had looked absolutely unhinged.

"That's why I'm taste-testing it," he said, doubling down. He walked over to the flat stone and sat. Pulled his utensils from his pack. "I eat first. If it's poisoned, I go down first. If it's not, you eat after. See? Selfless sacrifice."

He scooped up a piece of potato and ate it.

The flavor detonated across his tongue immediately. Familiar. Overbearing. Unmistakable.

One hundred percent Mom's cooking.

"Not poisoned," he said. "Actually pretty good. Want some?"

He held the spoon out toward her.

Seraphina didn't move. She backed up until she reached one of the stone pillars, then positioned herself against it with her back to the rock. She pulled a block of compressed field ration from her pack and bit off a small, joyless piece, eyes fixed on the surrounding dark.

Uriel chewed his pork rib and watched her standing there like a sentry. His brow furrowed.

This wasn't going to work. She wasn't eating. She definitely wasn't going to use the tents. Knowing her, she'd stand against that pillar all night rather than sleep in what she'd classified as an unknown trap. And tomorrow, when the search team found them, she'd be running on zero rest and probably say something deeply incriminating with those dead eyes of hers, and he'd be socially executed on the spot.

He needed to sell this. And it had to sound professional.

"Actually," Uriel said around a mouthful of rib, "I've read a lot of adventurer memoirs. There's an unwritten mutual-aid tradition. When you find a tent or supplies left behind in the wilderness, you're not supposed to avoid it. You're supposed to use it."

Seraphina stopped chewing. Her gaze shifted toward him.

"It's basically a failsafe for people who get lost or injured. Leaving supplies at key spots is more useful than waiting days for a search party. Someone comes through, leaves food, a tent, maybe some water. The next person uses it, then leaves something behind for whoever comes after them. That's how the whole thing keeps going."

He scooped up a spoonful of broth, blew on it twice, and slurped it down.

Seraphina looked at the pot.

"For example?"

Uriel leaned into it. "You drink someone's water, you leave an antidote vial. You eat their food, you leave some flint or water. You're helping the next person who comes through. It's a sacred form of mutual aid."

His earnest voice echoed softly through the underground hall.

Seraphina listened in silence.

"...Makes sense."

Uriel pressed the advantage, patting the stone beside him. "So stop standing over there. Sit down and eat something. If you don't keep your strength up, you won't be able to walk tomorrow, and the search team will have to carry you out. That's embarrassing."

She hesitated.

Then, slowly, she left the pillar and walked over to the fire. She sat on the flat stone.

"It is unusually safe here," she said, glancing at the undisturbed dust on the ground. "No predator tracks. No droppings or burrow marks from small animals either. It's quiet in a way that doesn't fit the environment."

Uriel stuffed another large piece of pork into his mouth.

Of course it is.

With a Radiance aura blanketing this place, this cavern is probably the safest location in the entire rainforest. Safer than the Academy dorms.