Wonderful.

Samuel's complaining thoughts only grew louder, echoing within the cage of his mind as his clunky boots thumped on the arid soil of Eonith. Samuel's joints groaned as he adjusted the tattered pack on his back, scanning the horizon for anything worth salvaging.

Food was scarce; difficult to find, and naturally, the role of the "scavenger" was an exceptionally detested one. But if Samuel had to choose between starving to death and searching duty, he would opt for the latter.

Since The Sundering—the day the sky had bled, cracking open till the magnificent stars became blazing threats, Samuel and anyone else who survived had taken to living underground. Caves weren't the most sufficient as a home nor the most comfortable, but the world above could not sustain such delicate lives of the typical mortal. At least, not safely.

He chose to blame one form of existence: The Gods.

When the world fell apart, they did nothing. While mortals perished, they remained in their unreachable sanctuaries. Samuel despised them. If they had the power, why could they not have protected them? Or even better, fix Eonith?

His eyes remained unblinking, expecting nothing but the usual: crumbling ruins, withered trees, silence.

But then—there.

A figure simply sitting amidst the desolation. The air around them seemed... off as if the world itself refused to touch them. Their hair whipped—no, floated, though no wind was present, a whisper of something Samuel had long since cursed.

An immortal.

His grip tightened on his weapon, its rusty muzzle aiming straight for their head. He knew a mere gun wouldn't destroy a god, but it was purely survival instinct. Samuel watched as their hands formed a protective shell around something unknown, but a little sapling emerged once they lifted one hand.

Now, Samuel wasn't fond of eating vegetables, but in moments like this, a tiny ass leaf seemed quite appealing.

His feet trudged forward, nearing the immortal as if the sight of possible food held him in a daze.