We all nod at each other afterward and accept that the cruise can begin.


    Harald shifts gears with a loud clunk, and the massive car starts to roll.


    Its heavy tires trample the grass and soil, leaving wide tracks. I glance out the back window, paranoid that another Acid Flathead might be chasing us.


    *Bleep, bleep.*


    *Bleep, bleep.*


    I sit in the comfy car seat next to Astrid, feeling a little stiff, completely ignoring the awful noise from the seatbelt alarm.


    "Aargh," Astrid grunts, annoyed.


    Harald ignores the annoying beeping sound completely, focusing on the road, maneuvering to avoid trees and bushes, careful not to damage the car too much or get stuck in the mud or a hole.


    “Mike, would you please?” Astrid rolls her eyes, asking him to stop the noise by finally clicking the seatbelt into place.


    Harald reacts quickly, solving this once and for all, handing Mike his knife.


    Mike gives him a weird look.


    “Cut it off entirely. No one’s going to fine us for not wearing a seatbelt, and we can use it to craft something. Astrid needs a carrier, and Markus might need to compress his arms,” Harald says, already making plans for what we might need the seatbelts for.


    For a moment, I bet Mike thought about stabbing the speakers.


    The old man clears his throat, as his mouth dries out quicker, due to the hole.


    “And as for safety, that was the last furious drive. I promise.”


    Mike smiles a bit, then nods.


    He pants as he fiddles with the seatbelt for a minute, sweat dripping from his forehead as he finally manages to cut through it.


    "Yours too?" He looks at the old man.


    "Sure," Harald replies with a wide smile. I refuse to check his face in the rearview mirror to avoid the unpleasant sight of the hole in his cheek.


    Seriously, what the hell? The old man has his teeth exposed in a super creepy way, the girl here has melted stumps for legs, and Mike has that ugly wrinkled eye.


    Am I the only one who’s not that messed up?


    I wonder, then I look at my left hand, momentarily forgetting that my pinkie is missing and the side of my palm is black and rotten.


    Never mind.


    I should check if these wounds are cauterized or not. It would be pretty lame if we died from some infection and woke up in the middle of the desert, surrounded by more acid-spewing creatures.


    Anyway, I should sleep soon, preferably near one of the well-known safe spots. So far, there''s only one—the "good" place, in the middle of the charred forest.


    <hr>


    After the second cut is done, Mike inserts the free latch from his seatbelt into the buckle with a satisfying click.


    And the annoying beeping sound finally stops.


    Astrid and I both sigh in relief.


    Now, I can focus on the present moment and wander in my thoughts once more.


    Gazing out the car window, I inhale the plastic smell of the heated interior—a brief taste of the modern world.


    But then I stop, realizing how strange it feels to be sitting in a car, which drives through a dense forest along narrow uneven paths and between trees and bushes.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Weird. This feels so unnatural.


    If this car ever went off-road, then this is truly an off-off-road ride.


    Harald seems preoccupied, constantly turning the steering wheel to avoid collisions with the flora, driving in low gear. The engine roars.


    "Harald?" I call to the old man.


    "What is it?" he replies, barely turning his head as he struggles to drive, but I''m glad I don''t have to look at his teeth through the burnt hole in his flesh.


    "About the car. Do you have any protection against flat tires?" I ask.


    He sighs. "Good question, bad timing. But yes, there’s a pump and a spray that works from the car’s outlet."


    "Mmmm." I nod.


    "What about the gasoline? Do you think the acid might work?" I ask, hoping I don''t sound dumb.


    "Err. Tricky question," he muses, managing the steering wheel.


    "We need to test if it''s combustible. It might work, might not. Probably not, but one never knows here," he says, sounding exhausted.


    I simply nod and stay quiet for the rest of the drive. Mike remains silent, which is a pleasant surprise.


    <hr>


    Gazing out the window, I wonder if the crater will have the same effect on me when I see it again—the fear of depths is still strong.


    As we pass through the wolfpack territory and enter the colorful, mushroom-filled forest, I spot the gargantuan black hole on the horizon.


    The sinkhole looms between the trees in the distance.


    "Ugh." A shiver runs down my spine.


    The anxiety is almost the same as before, but I manage to hold myself together.


    Finally, close the to firepit the noisy car engine stops, easing the anxiety that something might be lurking, waiting for us.


    The handbrake is the last sound before the car finally parks.


    The old man exits the car right away. Mike follows, picking up Astrid.


    I stay inside, still afraid of the sinkhole, preparing myself to sort through my thoughts.


    After a few deep breaths, I decide to brighten my mood and strengthen my body with a point from the acid-spewing creatures.


    <table style="border-collapse: collapse; width: 36.6613%; background-color: rgba(52, 73, 94, 1)" border="1">


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 33.466%">Markus Hale</td>


    <td style="width: 33.466%">foreigner</td>


    <td style="width: 33.1645%">level 64</td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 33.466%">Strength</td>


    <td style="width: 33.466%">60</td>


    <td style="width: 33.1645%">Focus [Bonus Skill]</td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 33.466%">Agility</td>


    <td style="width: 33.466%">3</td>


    <td style="width: 33.1645%">no skill</td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 33.466%">Willpower</td>


    <td style="width: 33.466%">4</td>


    <td style="width: 33.1645%">no skill</td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 33.466%">Endurance</td>


    <td style="width: 33.466%">10</td>


    <td style="width: 33.1645%">no skill</td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    Magical ten. My body stiffens for a second, and I focus on one of the stretch marks.


    "Yes! I saw it!" I say to myself, sure that I’ve seen the wound closing slightly. I’ll avoid using my Focus power today at all costs; my body needs to start healing.


    So I start counting on my fingers.


    <ul>


    <li>Visit the cave from the map, near the desert.</li>


    <li>Interrogate the cat. I sigh.</li>


    <li>Search for the green berries near the snails.</li>


    <li>Visit the godling again and ask for help fusing my hammer handle better.</li>


    </ul>


    I wonder if it’s rude to ask for another favor, but this hammer handle doesn’t feel as reliable as it used to. A few more heavy swings against something hard, and the hammerhead might fly off—maybe even hit someone, like Mike, for example.


    I chuckle.


    *Knock, knock*


    "This firewood ain’t gonna gather itself, young man," Harald says, knocking on the window and assigning me the task.


    <hr>


    After gathering the firewood, we finally sit around the fireplace while Harald quickly kindles more wood on top of the old charcoal from two days ago.


    Astrid supports herself on her elbows, looking uncomfortable, so I stand up.


    *Whoosh.*


    *Thud.*


    I place my rustic armchair in front of the firepit again and offer the seat to Astrid.


    Mike stands up immediately and helps her into it. Her legs no longer dangle from the tall throne.


    She has that look, and we all know what''s on her mind—Pocco.


    "Now," she says, nodding, her hand poised to snap her fingers.


    I shrug. What else can I do?


    *Snap.*


    *Poof.*


    The not-so-cute-anymore fluffy ball appears out of thin air, scurrying around again.


    "Pocco!" The girl says out loud.


    "Meow."


    "Talk to me, Pocco. You know how!" she orders.


    "Could you always talk? Are you a godling too? Why Markus? Why didn''t you speak to me before?" She bombards the poor animal with a list of unexpected questions.


    "Always."


    "No."


    "Jerk owner too."


    "Pfffft," Mike covers his mouth, only his good eye visible.


    Yo, what the heck! Did he just call me a jerk again?


    You little piece of shit! If I were your owner, the first thing we’d do is go to the vet, and you''d end up lighter by two things.


    I clench my teeth and ball my fists.


    "How is he the owner? I don’t get it!" She shakes her head.


    "Box. Gift," Pocco replies, struggling.


    With my eyebrows raised, I think back. I inhale deeply.


    "Err, if he’s talking about the box, I remember something, but it’s a foggy memory.


    It was so long ago—I was a small kid receiving a gift from our neighbor, the old gray man in a wheelchair. A little kitten in a box. But my mom was very strict, and we couldn’t afford to feed a pet.


    So yeah, I was only the owner for a few hours. But it can’t be... right?"


    "Meow."


    *Poof*


    He disappears in a white dust cloud.


    "Call him back, immediately!" Astrid demands, issuing orders from her throne.


    "Okay, okay. Jeez." I respond, snapping my fingers again.