Hard pants. Heavy, rushed and difficult. It kept pushing out of his lungs, forcing him to breathe through his mouth as well in order to keep up with his own heartbeat.
Quinlan felt pain. True, immeasurable pain burning all over his chest, leaving movement unimaginably difficult, especially because his entire body felt heavier than usual.
Through the stony ground he dragged himself, still breathing hard, the stink of rot and sweat plunging into his nostrils with every ragged inhale.
He ignored the glances of others as he made his way through the widespread passages in between ramshackle shelters, searching desperately for his and sister's like he didn't already know where it was.
Thankfully, he caught sight of the thatched hut and quickened his heavy steps, hobbling towards the building.
Just as he was a few feet apart from the house, the pain suddenly subsided.
Quinlan stopped walking, realizing that the flare in his chest had disappeared, his veins had stopped expanding, his heartbeat had reduced and his body weight was back to normal.
'It just... stopped,' he thought, staring at his palm and then lifting his gaze to the hut.
Fwomp!
Quinlan pushed the torn sheet of fabric serving as a door and stepped inside.
The interior of the hut was big enough to contain a single room, cramped and cold, dark for the most part except the rays of light that tore their way in through cracks and holes on the makeshift door.
Piles of threadbare blankets were stacked in the corner, and laying on top of it was Metra, Quinlan's sister, her body thin, frail, and trembling-- although she tried to pretend like it wasn't.
Quinlan noticed right away and grabbed the wooden bucket, filling it with little water before tearing a piece of garment for a rag.
Metra stirred as he knelt before her, slowly opening her fever-bright eyes.
"You're leaking," Quinlan said to her.
She smiled weakly.
Metra was twelve years old, but Veinrot had stolen her strength.
It was three months now since she caught the disease. Now, her skin was ashen, black veins were all over her arms like poisoned roots, and sometimes— like right now —her skin popped and leaked out the black liquid infecting her bloodstream.
Like any other brother, Quinlan hated seeing his sister like this, but he did not allow himself to be engulfed by the sadness of it.
After their mother died, Quinlan was all Metra had, and taking care of her became a priority to him.
He also knew that pity wasn't what she needed. And over the days, he had made sure to talk to her like normal people would. Make jokes, scold, chat. Anything that wasn't sulking at their misfortune.
"You're back," Metra whispered, her voice barely audible.
Quinlan started to clean the leaking black liquid with the rag and water. "Of course I am. What? You thought you're finally getting rid of me?"
Metra's smile was brighter this time. "Maybe," she said. "You stayed all night at the mines."
"Yeah, well the captain said he needed a little help with the stones transportation. Couldn't say no."
Metra pursed her lips. "I can always tell when you're lying."
Quinlan scoffed, rinsing the rag in the bucket one more time before putting it away. "Too bad. I thought I was getting better at it."
"You're sweating," she pointed out. "And your knuckles are red."
Quinlan took a quick look at his knuckles and hid them after. "Alright, detective. You caught me. I got into it with some people. Forsakens actually. A townfolk paid them to beat me up."
Metra's eyes widened. "You messed with a townfolk?"
"No." Quinlan shrugged. "The man just had it out for me and waited in the pathkeeper until we arrived at the Dregland waypoint. Did my best to defend myself."
Metra looked confused. "Defend yourself? You are barely even harmed, Quin. Unless you're trying to say you took them all by yourself?"
He didn't say anything, rather, he took off his ragged shirt, exposing his bare upper body.
It wasn't thin, bristle or frail as one would expect. No. Quinlan had broad shoulders, defined arms and a tight, sculpted chest.
Below his chest were ladders of abs, embedded on a flat, hardened stomach, with old and faded scars running along the sides of ribs.
His biceps were solid and firm, and his back was tapered, armored with muscles that stretched all the way down to his lower back where striations were visible.
He straightened his posture, cracked his neck and stretched his back, then—
Thud!
Quinlan dropped to the floor and began his usual push ups. Slow and controlled, breathing carefully as he exercised.
"Yeah, about that," he said between reps. "I think I'm going to be a Hunter."
Staring at him, Metra blinked. "What are you talking about, Quin? Bring strong is not the only thing that makes one a Hunter, you know that right?"
"Yeah," he grunted, passing the 30th mark. "I do."
"So how are you going to be a Hunter then?" Metra asked.
Quinlan stopped after his fortieth pushup, sat back on his hips, and wiped sweat from his brow. "I found a Beast Node."
Still lying on the bed of old garments, Metra gave her a brother a puzzled look. "What's that?"
He frowned, remembering that she too had no knowledge of the affairs going on inside the main towns of Eryndal. Quinlan wondered if he should tell her everything.
About the Dragon Node, the old learned man, and about their father.
Something told him not to, to keep her safe. But safe from what, really? The Node was made by her father too so she deserved to know.
Darren narrowed his eyes and said, "I'll explain everything to you."
And so he did.
He told her about his plan to forcefully get the audience of Primarch Voss, his encounter with the mysterious old man, the Dragon Node and their father.
Metra had always been a good listener, and she took in the story meticulously until he was finished. And after, she didn't even know where to start to form a response.
She stared at the thatched ceiling above, while her thoughts wandered off to what their father might have looked like.
"So… what are you going to do now?" she asked softly. "Be a Hunter?"
"Yes. That way I can make enough money to get you into an infirmary in one of the towns. Maybe if I make enough marks we could finally move away from this place. Finally."
Metra looked at Quinlan, then back at the ceiling.
"Quin... I know you're really angry at our father, but… I think he didn't mean to leave us like this. It wasn't his fault that happened, and we don't know the full story too."
Quinlan didn't say anything to that. His earlier expression of excitement turned to nothing as he stared at his ill sister.
"Stop thinking about things like that, Metra. It'll only make you miserable."
He dug into his bag and pulled out the crumpled cloth that held his last piece of bread. Unwrapped it, and handed it to her.
She took it slowly. "You should eat too."
He shook his head. "I already did."
He helped her sit up, then covered her with one of the garments. Metra took a small bite, chewed slowly, and leaned against the wall, eyes half-closed.
As she ate, Quinlan sat opposite her, arms resting on his knees, watching her thoughtfully.
'Maybe I shouldn't have told her everything. Somethings are a bit difficult to comprehend.'
He lowered his eyes.
'Like this strange glowing image in front of me.'
He had ignored it for a while, but the image refused to leave.
It was red and transparent, designed like a scroll and suspended in the air before him.
At both ends were scroll rods designed like fire torches, the transperent surface itself was embossed with shifting patterns that looked like dragon scales.
At the top, a title burned into view, wreathed in smoky light.
「PLEXUS OF DRACONIC EVOLUTION」
Quinlan stared at it.
'…What even is this thing?'