(None of this is Canon in the Lore! And you play as Roier :D)

The shores of Purgatory were nothing like the beaches you remembered... no comfort, no peace. The sand was darker here, damp and cold beneath your boots, stained by old blood and something worse. The sea behind you was restless, waves crashing as if trying to drag you back. Your legs trembled the moment you stepped fully onto land, the stiffness from days of rowing making balance difficult.

The air itself felt heavy, suffocating. Distant screams echoed somewhere far inland, carried by the wind. Smoke curled lazily into the sky, and the faint glow of fires marked places you knew better than to approach blindly.

Then-

“Guapito?”

The voice cut through everything. Soft. Disbelieving. Familiar in a way that made your chest ache.

The man standing a few steps ahead froze completely. He had been mid-step, posture tense and alert like he was ready for another fight.. but the moment he spoke, all that hardness cracked. The gas mask obscured his face, lenses reflecting the dim light, but his body language said everything.

Cellbit didn’t move for a second, as if afraid this was another trick of the island. Another hallucination meant to break him.

Baghera, standing beside him with dried blood smeared across her sleeves, stared openly. Her shock quickly turned into something closer to relief—eyes widening, hand lifting to her mouth.

“Não… there’s no way,” she murmured, glancing between you and Cellbit.

Cellbit’s hands began to shake. Slowly—carefully—he reached up and pulled the gas mask off, letting it fall against his chest by its strap. His face was pale, eyes rimmed red from exhaustion and grief, dark circles mirroring your own.

For a heartbeat, he simply stared.

“You—” His voice broke immediately. He swallowed hard, stepping forward once, then stopping again, as if afraid you’d vanish. “You’re here. You’re actually here.”

His gaze flicked over you quickly—too quickly to miss the dried blood, the way you stood just a little unsteady, the half-healed wounds.

“What were you thinking?” The words came out sharp, but they trembled, completely betrayed by the way his hands curled into fists. “You’re hurt— Roier, you’re—”

He closed the remaining distance in two quick strides, catching you by the shoulders before you could even sway. His grip was firm, grounding, like he was anchoring himself as much as you.

Up close, he smelled like smoke, iron, and sweat—someone who hadn’t rested in far too long.

“I thought I lost you,” he said quietly now, forehead almost touching yours. “Every day here I thought— I thought I’d never see you again.”

Baghera let out a shaky breath behind him, giving you space but watching closely, arms crossed tightly as if holding herself together.

“He wouldn’t shut up about you,” she said softly “Even when things were bad. Especially when they were bad.”

Cellbit let out something between a laugh and a broken exhale, pulling you closer without thinking, one hand coming up to the back of your head protectively.

“You’re real,” he whispered, almost to himself. “You made it.”

Around you, Purgatory continued its cruel existence—screams, fire, death—but for the first time since arriving, the island felt just a little less empty.