THE MUD WEAVER - PART 1
AWAKENING

The pond kraken’s roar shattered the eerie silence of the mud lands, its massive tentacles lashing out with terrifying speed. Goran, his mutated form a stark contrast to his human companion, dove to the side, narrowly avoiding being crushed. 

"Vera! Watch out!" he bellowed, his voice a guttural growl that belied the concern in his eyes.

Vera, her lithe form partially covered in tattered leather armour and some scavenged metal plates, rolled beneath a sweeping tentacle. Her blade flashed in the dim light, biting deep into the creature's flesh. Ichor sprayed, hissing as it hit the muddy ground.

"I've got this!" she shouted back, a fierce grin on her face. "Just keep it distracted!"

Goran nodded, his massive fists clenching as he charged forward. He slammed into the creature's bulk, feeling its slimy hide give slightly under the impact. The monster's attention shifted, its eyestalks swivelling to focus on this new threat.

Seizing the opportunity, Vera darted in, her blade a silver blur as she hacked at the creature's vulnerable underside. But she had overextended herself. A tentacle whipped around, catching her squarely in the chest. The sickening crack of breaking ribs echoed across the battlefield.

"No!" Goran roared, watching helplessly as Vera was flung through the air like a rag doll. She hit the ground hard, skidding through the muck before coming to a stop, motionless.

The creature turned its full attention to Goran now, its maw gaping wide to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth. Tentacles lashed out from all directions, seeking to ensnare and crush. Goran fought with the fury of a cornered beast, his mutated muscles straining as he tore free from each grasp, leaving strips of his own flesh behind.

But it wasn't enough. For every tentacle he broke free from, another took its place. Goran felt himself being dragged inexorably towards that waiting maw, death's embrace drawing ever closer.

In that moment of desperation, without conscious thought, Goran thrust his hands towards the ground, a primal scream tearing from his throat. The mud beneath the creature suddenly liquefied, becoming a swirling black vortex that pulled the monster down into its depths.

The creature thrashed wildly, its roars turning to gurgles as it sank deeper and deeper, engulfed in a black miasma. Within moments, the surface of the mud was still once more, with no sign of the monster that had been there mere moments ago.

Goran stood there, panting heavily, his mind reeling from what had just happened. But the sound of a weak cough snapped him back to reality.

"Vera!" he gasped, rushing to her side.

She lay broken in the mud, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Goran gently cradled her head in his massive hands, his touch surprisingly tender for one of his monstrous appearance.

"Goran," Vera whispered, her voice barely audible. "I... I need to tell you..."

"Shh," Goran soothed, stroking her hair. "Save your strength. We'll get you back to camp, and the shaman will-"

Vera's hand weakly grasped his. "No time," she gasped. "I... I..." Her last breath escaped in a soft sigh, her eyes growing dim.

Goran held her close, his body shaking with silent sobs. For a long moment, he remained there, mourning the loss of his companion. Finally, with great care, he lifted her body and began the long trek back to their clan's camp.

***

The scavenger camp was a haphazard collection of tents clustered around the rusted hulk of an old land train. As Goran approached, carrying Vera's lifeless form, a hush fell over the bustling activity. Meera, the clan’s warchief, stepped forward, her face a mask of barely controlled emotion.

"What happened out there, Goran?" she demanded, her voice sharp.

Goran gently laid Vera's body down, his hands shaking slightly. "We were attacked," he began, his voice hoarse. "A massive creature... I've ever seen one this size before. Vera fought bravely, but it was too strong."

Meera's eyes narrowed. "And yet you stand here without a scratch. How did you survive when our best scout fell?"

Goran hesitated, struggling to find the words. "Something... something happened. I can't explain it. The creature had me cornered, and suddenly, I felt this power surge through me. The ground... it just… Swallowed the creature whole."

A murmur ran through the gathered clan members. Meera's expression hardened. "You expect us to believe that? That you suddenly developed some… sort of power?"

"I know how it sounds," Goran said, desperation creeping into his voice. "But it's the truth. I don't understand it myself. It was like... like I was controlling the mud itself."

A laugh rang out from the crowd. "Looks like Goran thinks he's a shaman now!" someone called out mockingly.

Meera held up a hand for silence. "Goran, I've known you for years. You're a strong fighter, but you've never shown any signs of being a shaman. This sounds like the desperate lie of a coward who left his companion to die."

Goran's massive frame shook with a mixture of grief and frustration. "You’re right Meera, you’ve known me for years, so you know I’m not lying. I would never have left Vera to die. She was my best friend… I…" He cut himself off, realising he'd said too much.

Meera's eyebrows raised slightly at this admission, but she pressed on. "If you have this power, then prove it. Show us right now."

Goran looked around helplessly. "I... I can't. I don't know how I did it. It just happened in the moment."

More murmuring rippled through the crowd. Goran's shoulders slumped, the weight of their disbelief crushing down on him.

In the back of the crowd, a young and ambitious warrior called Zilla watched the scene unfold with great interest, her brow furrowed in thought. Unlike the others, she didn't join in the mockery. Instead, she listened intently, her mind racing with the implications of Goran's story.

Meera shook her head, disappointment clear in her eyes. "Enough of this nonsense. We've lost a valuable member of our clan today. We'll hold a remembrance for Vera at dawn. As for you, Goran... we'll discuss your future with the clan later."

As the crowd dispersed, Goran remained by Vera's side, isolated in his grief and the knowledge of a power he couldn't understand or control.

That night, as Goran sat alone in his tent, lost in a maelstrom of emotions, a soft voice called from outside.

"Goran? May I enter?"

He recognized the voice of Jasna, the clan's shaman. "Come in," he replied wearily.

Jasna ducked into the tent, her wizened face creased with concern. She sat across from Goran, studying him intently.

"I believe you," she said simply.

Goran looked up, surprise evident on his face. "What?"

"About what happened with the creature," Jasna explained. "I believe you because I've experienced something similar myself."

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Goran, I think you might be a shaman like me. The power you described... It's rare, but not unheard of. I didn't recognize my own abilities when they first manifested either."

Goran's mind raced with the implications of what Jasna was saying. "But... how? I’m not a clone - it’s usually clones, right? Why me?"

Jasna shook her head. "I don't have all the answers. I’m not sure that anyone does..."

***

As night fell over the scavenger camp, a lone figure slipped away from the cluster of tents. Zilla, her face set in grim determination, made her way towards a nearby settlement. Her steps were quick and furtive, eyes constantly scanning for any sign of danger in the misty darkness.

The settlement, a couple of hours foot march away, was a ramshackle affair, a collection of rusted metal shacks and repurposed ruins. Zilla headed for a particular building, its windows glowing with an eerie violet light. She hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door.

It opened to reveal a group of black-robed figures with pale faces and shaved heads.

"I have information for sale," Zilla said, her voice barely above a whisper. "About those you seek. Someone with... strange abilities. Someone you might be interested in."

The cultists ushered her inside. As the door closed behind her, Zilla began to speak. After she finished relaying her information about Goran, the lead cultist nodded slowly. "You've done well to bring this to our attention," she said. "Our mistress will be pleased."

Zilla felt a surge of relief. "So, about the payment you promised for any information…"

Her words were cut short as a blade flashed in the dim light. Zilla's eyes widened in shock and pain as the knife plunged into her throat. She stumbled backward, her hand reaching out in a futile gesture.

"Our master allows no traitors in our midst,” the cultist hissed at her. “And certainly not one that would take coin for betraying her own clan."

Zilla's body fell to the floor, her blood seeping into the cracks of the worn floorboards as she slowly died. The cultists paid her no mind, already turning their attention to planning their next step.

***

As dawn broke, mist rising from the sodden ground, Goran awoke to the sounds of chaos. Screams and the clash of weapons shattered the early morning quiet. He burst from his tent to find the camp under attack.

Black-robed figures swarmed through the camp, their pale skin glistening eerily in the early dawn’s light. They moved with deadly precision, cutting down his fellow scavengers before they could even fully awaken.

Goran's blood boiled at the sight. With a roar that shook the very air, he charged into the fray. His massive fists became instruments of destruction, each blow crushing a cultist. He grabbed one attacker by the neck, crushed her throat and threw her dead body into a group of more attackers.

"Fight back!" he bellowed to his clan members. "Don't let them take you without a fight!"

But it was a losing battle. For every cultist Goran struck down, two more seemed to take her place. He watched in helpless rage as his friends died one by one.

Soon, he found himself cornered, the last survivor of his clan facing down a handful of remaining cultists.

In that moment of desperation, something inside Goran snapped. He let out a primal roar, throwing his arms wide. A black miasma erupted from his body, engulfing the cultists in its dark embrace.

Their screams were unlike anything Goran had ever heard. They writhed in agony, their bodies twisting and contorting in ways that defied natural law. When the miasma finally dissipated, all that remained were lifeless husks, their faces frozen in expressions of indescribable pain and horror.

Goran stared at his hands in shock and fear. What was he capable of? What was happening to him?

As he stumbled through the carnage of the camp, checking for any survivors, he came across Jasna. The shaman lay in a pool of her own blood, her breathing laboured.

"Goran," she wheezed as he knelt beside her. "They serve Nyx… You must... get away from them. As far as you can. Trust no one." With those final words, Jasna's eyes closed for the last time.

Feeling numb, Goran gathered what supplies he could and fled into the depths of the mud lands. He was a skilled hunter and scavenger; he could survive alone. But as he ran, the weight of what had happened pressed down on him. He had lost everything – his clan, his friends, and he himself was changing in ways he couldn’t comprehend.

***

Miles away, a slender figure with pale skin stood atop a hilly outcrop, surveying the misty landscape. The Siren of Nyx, her face hidden behind a breathing mask that glowed with an eerie violet light, tilted her head as if listening to something only she could hear.

Behind her, a group of cultists and a seeker waited silently. The seeker nervously approached.

"Mistress," the seeker said, bowing low. "We've found the scavenger camp. But..."

The Siren turned, her mask's glow intensifying. "But what?" Her voice cut like a blade of steel.

"Everyone is dead. Our sisters and the scavengers alike. And some of our own... they died in a way I've never seen before. Their bodies, their faces..." The seeker shuddered at the memory. “I’m sure they were killed by the one you seek.”

The Siren was silent for a brief moment. Then, with a gesture that was almost tender, she reached out and cupped the seeker's chin, lifting her face to meet her gaze.

"Show me," she commanded.

The cultist's eyes went wide as the Siren's power flooded her mind. Images flashed between them – the devastated camp, the bodies strewn about, and the cultists killed with their faces frozen in eternal terror.

The Siren released the seeker, who crumpled to the ground drooling, her mind irreparably shredded from the merger. Without a word, the Siren turned back to face the misty expanse of the mud lands. She raised her arm, pointing into the distance.

A shrill, inhuman cry escaped her mask – a sound that sent chills down the spines of even her most hardened followers. Then, with purposeful strides, she and the remaining cultists descended down the hillside.

The hunt was on.

Goran crouched in the shadow of a twisted metal structure, his eyes scanning the misty landscape for any sign of movement. His muscles ached from days of constant vigilance, but he dared not let his guard down. Not with the Nyx cultists still out there, hunting him.

He had managed to scavenge some food – a few hardy roots and a small, mutated rodent that had been too slow to escape his grasp. It wasn't much, but it would keep him going. As night fell, Goran retreated into the ruins of what must have once been a massive factory.

Finding a relatively secure corner, he gathered some dry wood and started a small fire. The warmth was a comfort, even if the flickering light made him feel exposed. As he roasted his meagre meal, Goran's mind wandered back to the events that had led him here.

The memories came unbidden – Vera’s death, the attack on the camp, the horrific deaths of the cultists at his own hands, Jasna's final warning. Goran shook his head, trying to clear the images from his mind. But they persisted, along with the gnawing fear of what he might be capable of.

Despite his best efforts to stay alert, exhaustion eventually overtook him. Goran's eyes grew heavy, and he slipped into a fitful sleep.

He awoke with a start, the cold barrel of a rifle pressed against his temple. Goran's eyes snapped open, his body tensing for action. But what he saw gave him pause.

A young woman stood over him, her hands shaking as she held the rifle. She wore ill-fitting black armour that Goran initially mistook for that of a Prime Trooper. But as he studied her more closely, he noticed the fear in her eyes, the awkward way she held the weapon.

In a flash, Goran moved. His hand shot out, gripping the rifle's barrel and pushing it aside as he surged to his feet. The woman yelped in surprise, stumbling backward. Goran easily wrested the weapon from her grasp, turning it on her.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice a low growl.

The woman raised her hands, her eyes wide with terror. "Please," she begged, "don't kill me. My name is Zasha. I... I escaped from an agridome a few days ago. I haven't eaten since then, and I smelled your food..."

Goran studied her closely. Despite her scavenged armour, there was an innocence in her eyes that stirred something within him. A memory of another time, another life.

With a sigh, Goran lowered the rifle. "You're no warrior," he said, his tone softer now. "Where did you get this armour?"

Zasha's shoulders sagged with relief. "I took it off a dead guard," she admitted. "I thought... I thought it might protect me out here."

Goran nodded, understanding all too well the desperation that drove people in this harsh world. After a moment's hesitation, he gestured to what remained of his meal.

"Here," he said gruffly. "Eat. You look like you need it more than I do."

Zasha's eyes lit up with gratitude. She fell upon the food ravenously, devouring it in moments. As she ate, Goran watched her, a mixture of curiosity and sadness in his eyes.

When she had finished, Zasha looked up at Goran, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Thank you," she said softly. "I... I don't know what I would have done if..."

Her voice trailed off as she truly took in Goran's appearance for the first time. To her credit, she didn't recoil in fear, but Goran could see the questions in her eyes.

"You're wondering what I am," he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

Zasha nodded hesitantly. "I've never seen anyone like you before."

Goran sighed heavily. "I'm what some call a Reborn. A mutant who kept his sanity." He paused, fixing Zasha with an intense gaze. "I was told to trust no one. So tell me, why should I trust you?"

Zasha was quiet for a long moment, her eyes downcast. When she looked up again, there were tears in her eyes.

"Because I have no one else," she said simply. "And because I think you might be the same."

Her words struck a chord in Goran. He found himself nodding slowly.

"Tell me your story," he said.

And so Zasha did. She told him of her life in an agridome, of the backbreaking work and the constant fear. She spoke of an infection that had swept through the facility, turning workers into mindless, violent husks. Her voice broke as she recounted the death of her best friend, Iona, at her very own hands, and her subsequent desperate escape.

As she finished her tale, Zasha looked at Goran with a mixture of hope and trepidation. "What about you?" she asked softly. "What's your story?"

Goran was silent for a moment, lost in memories. Then, with a deep breath, he began to speak.

"I wasn't always like this," he said, gesturing to his mutated form. "Once, I was just a man..."

***

The clanging of machinery filled the air, mixing with the shouts of overseers and the laboured breathing of workers. Goran moved with practised efficiency, his muscles straining as he operated the massive press that shaped metal components.

Goran's eyes kept drifting to the woman working beside him. Mila's dark hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat, her movements precise despite the gruelling pace. As if sensing his gaze, she looked up, meeting his eyes with a smile that made his heart skip a beat.

"Keep your eyes on your work, Goran," she teased, her voice barely audible over the din of the factory. "Unless you want the overseer to catch you daydreaming again."

Goran chuckled, turning his attention back to the press. "Can't help it if the view is distracting," he replied with a wink.

As their shift ended, Goran and Mila made their way out of the factory, their bodies aching but spirits lifted by each other's company. They walked close together through the narrow, winding streets of Praga, the towering buildings casting long shadows in the fading light.

"So," Mila said, nudging Goran with her elbow, "are you going to finally ask me out for a drink, or do I have to do everything myself?"

Goran felt his face flush, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in his chest. "I, uh... yeah, I'd love to. There's a place just around the corner that…"

His words were cut short as a searing pain suddenly tore through his body. Goran stumbled, falling against the wall of a nearby building. His vision blurred, and he could hear Mila's voice, distant and panicked, calling his name.

"Goran!"

He tried to respond, but another wave of agony washed over him. Goran felt his body changing, twisting in ways that shouldn't be possible. His muscles bulged and warped, his skin stretching and hardening. Through the haze of pain, he heard Mila's scream of terror.

When Goran's vision finally cleared, he found himself on his hands and knees in the alley. But his hands were no longer his own. They were massive, gnarled things, more like claws than human appendages. He looked up to see Mila backed against the opposite wall, her eyes wide with fear.

"Mila," Goran croaked, his voice now a deep, rumbling growl. "It's still me. I'm still-"

"Mutant!" A new voice rang out, sharp and authoritative. 

Goran turned to see two figures at the entrance to the alley - a member of the Praga City Watch and her young Aspirant. They both had their weapons trained on Goran, the young Aspirant trembling with fear.

"Step away from the civilian," the Watch member ordered. "You don’t want her to get hurt, do you?"

Goran's mind raced. He knew what happened to mutants in Praga - they were killed on sight, no questions asked. But he wasn't like the mindless beasts that sometimes rampaged through the city. Somehow his mind had stayed intact, he was still himself, still Goran.

"Please," he said, trying to keep his voice calm despite its new, monstrous timbre. "I'm not a threat. I'm still human, I just-"

The Watch member didn't let him finish. She fired, the shot punching into Goran's chest, but didn’t penetrate his mutated hide. The pain triggered pure instinct to take over. With a roar that shook the alley walls, Goran charged.

What followed was a blur of violence. Goran's newly mutated body moved with a speed and strength he'd never possessed before. Almost in a trance, he felt a sickening crunch as he drove his fist into the City Watch warrior, followed by a gush of warm blood. He heard the young Aspirant's scream cut short as he slammed her into a wall so hard that it smashed her skull.

When it was over, both lay still on the ground, blood seeping into the muddy street. Goran stood over them, panting heavily, his hands sticky with blood. He turned to Mila, reaching out to her.

"Mila, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to... I'm still me. Please, you have to believe me."

But Mila's eyes were filled with nothing but terror. Without a word she turned and ran, disappearing into the maze of Praga's streets.

Goran stood there, alone in the blood-spattered alley, the full weight of what had happened crashing down on him. He was a murderer now, a fugitive. And worst of all, he'd lost Mila - lost everything that had made his life in Praga worthwhile.

With a heavy heart and a mind reeling from the rapid changes, Goran fled into the night, leaving behind the only life he'd ever known. He headed for the city gates, towards the vast, unknown expanse of the mud lands beyond.

***

Goran finished his tale, his eyes distant with the weight of memory. Zasha sat in stunned silence, trying to process everything she'd heard.

"So that's how I ended up out here," Goran said softly. "Found a clan of scavengers willing to take me in. Thought I'd finally found a place I belonged, learned to control my rage, found someone I cared about again. And now… Now I’ve lost that too." His voice trailed off, the recent loss of Vera and his clan still a raw wound.

Zasha reached out hesitantly, placing her hand on Goran's massive arm. "I'm so sorry," she said. "For everything you've been through. For everything you've lost."

Goran looked at her, surprised by the gesture of comfort. In Zasha's dark brown eyes, he saw not fear or disgust, but genuine empathy. It stirred something in him, a feeling he thought he'd lost forever.

"Thank you," he said gruffly, uncomfortable with the emotion welling up inside him. "We should get some rest. Tomorrow, we need to figure out our next move."

As dawn broke, a chill mist crept through the ruined factory. Goran stirred, his enhanced senses immediately alert. Something was wrong. The air vibrated with an unnatural tension, setting his nerves on edge.

"Zasha," he whispered urgently, shaking her awake. "We need to move. Now."

Zasha blinked groggily, but the urgency in Goran's voice cut through her fatigue. She scrambled to her feet, grabbing her scavenged rifle.

Just then, a blood-curdling shriek pierced the air, sending shivers down their spines. It was followed by the sound of multiple footsteps, drawing closer with alarming speed.

"The cultists," Goran growled, his muscles tensing for battle. "They've found us."

Zasha's eyes widened in fear. "What do we do?"

Goran quickly scanned their surroundings, his mind racing. "We need to get to higher ground. Give us a better vantage point. Follow me, and stay close."

They darted through the maze of rusted machinery and crumbling walls, the sounds of pursuit growing ever closer. Goran led them up a rickety staircase, the metal groaning under their weight.

As they reached the second floor, a group of black-robed figures burst into view below. Their pale skin glinting wet in the dim morning light, their dark eyes looking straight at them.

"There!" one of them shouted, pointing upwards.

Zasha raised her rifle, her hands shaking but her eyes determined. She squeezed the trigger, the gun's report deafeningly loud in the enclosed space. The shot went wide, but it was enough to make the cultists scatter for cover.

"Grip it tighter next time!" Goran shouted. “We can't stay here. We need to keep moving."

They continued their ascent, the factory becoming a vertical battlefield. Goran used his massive strength to overturn heavy machinery, creating obstacles for their pursuers. Zasha, growing more confident with each passing moment, laid down suppressing fire, her aim improving with each shot.

But the cultists were relentless. They swarmed up different routes, threatening to flank Goran and Zasha from multiple directions.

As they reached a large open area that might have once been an assembly floor, Goran realised they were running out of options. The cultists had them surrounded, closing in from all sides.

"Zasha," he said, his voice low and urgent. "When I give the signal, I want you to run. Don't look back, just get out of here."

Zasha looked at him in shock. "What? No! I'm not leaving you!"

Goran turned to her, his mutated features softening for a moment. "You have to. I can't let them take you too. You deserve a chance at a better life."

Before Zasha could protest further, the cultists attacked. Goran roared, charging into the fray with terrifying force. His massive fists sent cultists flying, the lucky ones dying instantly as their bodies smashed into concrete walls with bone crushing force, the unlucky ones dying in agony as their bodies were snapped and broken in unnatural ways against machinery and metal girders. Goran lifted up one of the cultists and impaled her on a sharp metal pole projecting from the tangled mess of industrial debris. Her dying screams a stark warning to the other cultists

Zasha, despite Goran's order, stood her ground. She fired her rifle with increasing accuracy, more and more shots finding their mark, cutting down one cultist after another. Together, they formed a formidable duo, Goran's raw power complemented by Zasha's improving marksmanship.

But even as they fought, Goran could feel something building inside him. The same power that had liquefied the ground and created the black miasma was surging, threatening to burst free.

"Zasha!" he shouted over the chaos of battle. "Get back! I can't control it!"

Zasha's eyes widened in understanding. She quickly retreated, putting distance between herself and the melee.

Just as the cultists seemed about to overwhelm him, Goran let out a primal roar. He thrust his arms outward, and a wave of pure force erupted from his body. The black miasma, shot through with crackling energy, engulfed the nearest cultists.

Their screams were horrific, filled with agony beyond imagining. Zasha watched in shock as the cultists writhed and contorted, their bodies twisting in ways that defied natural law, their bones snapping like twigs. When the black miasma cleared, Goran stood panting in the centre of the carnage. Bodies of cultists lay strewn about, their forms contorted in unnatural ways. But one figure remained standing - the Siren of Nyx, her mask’s lenses cracked but still glowing with that eerie violet light.

Before Goran could react, the Siren raised her hand. A wave of energy slammed into him, driving him to his knees. His head felt like it was about to split open, his vision blurring.

The Siren approached, her movements graceful despite the destruction around her. "At last," she said, her voice a chilling mixture of triumph and awe. "A true Weaver. My master will be most pleased."

Goran struggled to stand, to fight back, but the psychic assault had left him dazed and weakened. The Siren reached out, her hand inches from his face.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack. The Siren's head snapped sideways, her mask shattering completely. She collapsed to the ground, a rapidly expanding puddle of blood forming under her head.

Goran looked up to see Zasha standing there, her blood-covered rifle raised like a club. She was breathing heavily, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and determination.

"I... I ran out of ammunition," Zasha said, her voice shaky.

Despite everything, Goran felt a smile tugging at his lips. "Nice work," he managed to say as he struggled to his feet.

Zasha rushed to his side, supporting him. "We need to go," she said urgently. "There might be more coming."

Goran nodded, still reeling from the Siren's attack and his own use of power. "You're right. Let's get out of here."

***

They cautiously stepped out of the factory, keeping to the building’s shadow while checking if there were any more cultists lurking outside. Once they were sure there were none left, Zasha looked up at Goran.

"So," she said, a hint of playfulness in her voice despite their dire situation, "think you could use some help from someone who knows how to tend plants?"

Goran couldn't help but laugh, a deep rumbling sound that seemed to surprise even him. "After what I've seen today, I'd say you're capable of a lot more than just tending plants. You may be out of your element, but you're a brave fighter, Zasha. You gave it your all back there. And more importantly, you saved me!"

Zasha's smile faded, her eyes growing distant. "I watched half my friends get killed by an infection," she said softly. "The other half were murdered by those who were supposed to protect us. I even had to..." Her voice caught for a moment. "I had to kill my best friend myself."

She looked back up at Goran, determination blazing in her eyes. "I won't stand by and watch another friend die. You're my only friend now, Goran, whether you like it or not. I'm not leaving you to face whatever this is alone."

Goran was silent for a moment, touched by her words and the fierce loyalty behind them. Finally, he spoke, his voice gruff with emotion. "I'd be honoured to call you my friend, Zasha."

Without another word, Goran reached out and took Zasha's hand. The gesture was gentle, almost tentative, but filled with a newfound trust and companionship. Together, they moved out of the shadow of the ruined factory and into the surrounding mist, disappearing into the hazy expanse of the mud lands.