Dusekkar’s wings beat weakly against the stagnant, murky air of the forsaken zone, trailing smoke and blood with every strained flap. His cloak was shredded, his body trembling as crimson streaks marred his blue pumpkin skin. His vision blurred, the edges darkening—death was clawing at him, whispering in his ear.

The killer’s footsteps grew louder behind him, splashing through the watery ruins, relentless and cruel. Dusekkar’s heart pounded like a war drum, refusing to stop. Not yet. Not yet... I don't want to die here.

The killer raised its weapon, inches from ending Dusekkar's fading flight— BAM!

A blinding explosion shook the ground, sending debris and shrapnel into the air. A blast of purple-tinted smoke enveloped the area, knocking the killer off-balance and sending it stumbling backward with a guttural growl.

From the haze, a figure emerged— Tall, cloaked in a long black robe trimmed in brilliant yellow, the edges etched with ancient runes and diamond-like markings. A wide yellow belt wrapped his waist, a pouch marked with a stark black “A” bouncing at his hip. His hood, unmistakable, cast a heavy shadow over his face, hiding all but faint glimmers of eyes when poison briefly swept the air.

Taph.

The demolitionist-turned-trapper. A specter of the forsaken world. His presence was like a ghost materialized—silent, deadly, impossible to ignore.

Taph didn’t waste time. With swift hands, he caught the nearly unconscious Dusekkar before he collapsed fully into the murky water. Despite his stoic demeanor, his hold was careful—protective. He dragged Dusekkar out of the open and into a narrow, dimly lit corner hidden by collapsed beams and rotting stone.

Away from the killers. Away from death. Safe... for now.

He kneeled beside Dusekkar, pulling a medkit from the inside of his robe. With surprising gentleness, he placed it in Dusekkar’s shaking hands.