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The air in the dungeon of castle Anthropos is cool and heavy with humidity.
Kalamári has always disliked the feeling of it. The air down here stuck to your skin and seeped through every pore, like little needles that jam filth underneath one's skin and make it stick there, a bit like the ink on tattoo needles. Just that this tattoo didn’t appear on one’s skin in artful patterns for everyone to view, but as the invisible sensation of unease underneath it, only present for the one who has to bare it.
Kalamári always longed for baths every time she had been down here, so that she could get rid of the desire to rub the skin off her arms until she bled.
The feeling had become worse after she had been appointed to make sure that Orca didn’t perish from the torture inflicted upon him by her brother-in-law.
She had never liked dungeons the same way she had never liked the strong smell of wine or the sound of guns firing in the past, however, now these were all things which she had grown to utterly hate during her 26 years of life. The remaining appeal of wine had disappeared after its strong smell had no longer been the one of barrel’s, but the smell of her brother-in-law’s breath. Gun shots had gone from simply being annoyingly loud, to a warning from impending death. Dungeons had gone from being something she had been scared of as a child for being too quiet, to a place she avoids to enter as an adult because that very silence is missing from it now.
Perhaps the desire the scrub the remains of filthy air out of her pores after her shifts has more to do with the desire to get rid of the evidence that she is technically participating in the torture of ex-commander Orca than actually getting rid of the sticky feeling the air brought.
A strange development. Roughly three months ago she couldn’t have cared less about what might become of Orca.
He had always been interesting, of course, it's hard not to find a man like him interesting -especially since he seemed to catch Salinkári’s interest so easily- however, this feeling of neutrality regarding the man’s state of health had gradually begun to fade after the months she had spent taking care of his wounds.
Sárka could be both: a blessing and a curse. It allows her to feel the basic emotions she needs to not loose her desires —something, which she cannot fully part with as an imperial officer— but it also made her form a strange sort of attachment to Orca of all people.
Though, Salinkári being his torturer probably contributed a great deal to that.
Kalamári knows from personal experience that it hurts rather badly to get hit by one of Salinkári’s punches. She had been subjected to it a few times when he had been especially angry and beating her poor sister just hadn’t been enough for him that day.
However, the rare times she had to tolerate a punch or two from him doesn’t compare to what her sister had to go through, and it definitely doesn’t compare to the literal torture which Orca had to endure.
Of course she hadn’t been the one to actively hurt him, but, just like with her sister, she had failed to do something about it.
There had been an especially gruesome time, sometime around last month, which Kalamári would probably never be able to forget.
She had been called to clean up after another one of Salinkári’s sessions, as per standard procedure.
Orca had lain prone on the ground when she had entered the room to do her work.
Salinkári had sat somewhere in the corner of the room and had watched the whole thing go down with dark, deranged eyes. As if he were a wolf watching the rabbit he had mauled, and he couldn’t decide what to do with it next: devour it, or play around with it’s limp body a little bit more.
Surprisingly, Orca had still been conscious when she had leaned over him to check his pulse, though, Kalamári would probably have preferred him not to be. She would never forget the somehow anguished look in his usually empty eyes, and how they had focused on her with great effort. Had she not been that close to him in that very moment, she would not have heard him whisper his sister’s name.
Orca had lifted his bloodied hand to her face, probably to brush away some stray hairs or to caress her cheek gently.
Kalamári had pulled away as quickly has she could have without pulling a muscle, and had barely resisted the disturbing urge to vomit after exiting the torture chamber.
Kalamári looks nothing like Lykos. She had known that back then, and she had gotten the confirmation earlier when she had picked the girl up from the room, which had served as her prison cell. The fact that Orca had mistaken her sharp and matured features for his beloved sister’s soft and girlish ones, spoke volumes for how bad his state had been then.
The dungeon becomes darker the further they walk, and Kalamári takes a grounding breath. They would arrive at the heavy wooden door, one that had become familiar at this point, shortly.
Lykos and General Atsalí are close behind her. The latter had not been part of her original plan, but seeing as the man isn’t stopping them from going through with their plan to rescue Orca, she doesn’t mind his presence much. Though, she could have done without getting slapped in the process.
Her steps halt automatically when the entrance to the torture chamber finally comes into view.
With a confident hand movement she points at the door.
“Orca and his torturer are through here,” she states simply. Mostly to Lykos.
The young girl takes a step forward, looking surprisingly determined for someone who had tried to convince herself earlier that she didn’t care for her brother as much as she clearly still did.
“We’ll have to kill the torturer.”
Kalamári exhales sharply. “I’ll do that, you rescue Orca,” she says, this time with a greater effort to make it known that she is speaking to Atsalí just as much as she is with Lykos.
She doubts that Lykos would be able to drag an unconscious Orca out of the room by herself.
The girl looks so small, especially next to Atsalí, and once again Kalamári can almost not believe that someone her age had been trained to be a soldier.
Of course she is aware that there were children much younger than her which had faced the same fait —Kalamári had seen those tiny corpses— but seeing her like this made her realise the bitter reality of it all over again.
Lykos’s mahogany eyes look at Kalamári analytically.
“How do you know so much?”
Kalamári bites at her bottom lip. “My job in this castle was to look after Orca, so that he didn’t die,” she confesses.
Lykos falls quiet at that and just nods. General Atsalí had begun to eye Kalamári. His gaze travels from her still outstretched hand to the gun she carries attached to her belt.
She ignores his look and approaches the large sliding lock keeping the door closed.
After a quick nod towards the other two she leans her entire body weight against the copper handle and the door opens with a loud creek.
Immediately, Kalamári is hit with that horribly familiar smell: blood, vomit and urine. Even after many months she still hadn't gotten used to it completely. She takes the lead and steps into the room, but then halts in her stride.
Kalamári had expected to be met with the sad sight of Orca’s crumbled body, or —in the worst case scenario— Salinkári actively carrying out one of his torture sessions.
She sees none of that, however, for the room which was supposed to hold the infamous ’God of Death’ is empty.
“…He’s not here,” Kalamári breathes out. “Why?”
Instead of her question being answered, a loud thud rings through the room. Kalamári whips around at the sound and sees one of the wooden weapon-holder-dolls laying on the ground.
Right next to it stands her brother-in-law. Hair in disarray, pick-axe in hand, and a crazy look in his eyes which would have been haunting to those who have never seen Salinkári before.
There is no time for Kalamári to do or say something before Salinkári is lunging at Lykos.
The poor girl had clearly been caught off-guard as well, though Kalamári does not think that Lykos would have had any chance of overpowering her brother-in-law in the first place.
“What did you do to him?” Salinkári yells, his words slurring. “Where is my God?!”
Lykos struggles underneath him, Kalamári can see the fear and surprise but also disgust in her eyes.
The sight of this grown man pinning down a girl of only 15 years with his entire body weight makes Kalamári shiver. Briefly she wonders if her sister had ever been in a similar position.
Would she have been scared?
Something in her screams to rip Salinkári away from Lykos.
Lykos, who is still so young. Lykos, who looks so much like Orca, the man who her brother-in-law is unhealthily obsessed with.
Within seconds she is across the room. Just in time to stop Salinkári from bringing down the sharp pick-axe on Lykos’ head.
Kalamári hadn’t known that she could move this fast. She had always been strong, not agile. Maybe it is thanks to the same thing which had screamed in her chest to keep Salinkári away from Lykos. Some sort of previously doormat maternal instinct, which Kalamári didn't know herself to be capable of possessing.
Kalamári yanks at Salinkári’s arm with as much strength as she can muster.
“Stop it!”
Kalamári is strong, but Salinkári is stronger. It doesn’t take long for him to shake her off, throwing her across the room in the process. Kalamári crashes into weapon filled boxes and her back hits the wall. Hard.
For a few seconds she thinks she is choking. The force with which she had hit the wall knocks the air out of her momentarily.
Distantly, she believes to hear Lykos calling out her name.
She coughs a few times, but finally catches her breath enough to speak.
“Salinkári is the torturer,“ she manages to get out between gasping breaths. Kalamári tries to heave herself off of the ground, but her ribs protest, and she only manages to get herself into a sitting position.
Lykos is still struggling against Salinkári. Kalamári is both surprised and relieved that she had managed to put up a fight for this long, but she needs to get out of there, not fight him.
“My brother-in-law has lost most of his memory. All he has left is his obsession with Orca. He’s a ghost.”
Salinkári raises his pick-axe once again, a murderous glint in his eyes. Kalamári’s heart jumps up to her throat, and she braces herself to see crimson blood sprayed across grey marble tiles.
It doesn’t come. Instead, she sees someone’s foot colliding with Salinkári’s head. A satisfying crack sounds through the room as her brother-in-law is knocked off of Lykos by General Atsalí.
Through her panic, she had completely forgotten that he is here too.
The man immediately lunges for Salinkári to keep him from getting up, which gives Kalamári enough time to get to her feet, acing ribs be damned.
By the time she reaches Lykos’s side, the girl has already regained her bearings and gotten off the ground as well.
She seems a little shaken but other wise unharmed.
A pained grunt from Atsalí is what makes Kalamári look back over to the two fighting men.
Salinkári had managed to wrestle himself out from under Atsalí and the two were now fighting each other on their feet.
Her brother-in-law is swinging his pick-axe around like a maniac, while Atsalí is dodging his attacks with practiced elegance.
“General, what are you waiting for? Draw your handgun!” She yells across the room, hoping Atsalí could hear her through his fighting.
Kalamári sees the General grimace at her comment. He doges another blow from Salinkári.
“His Majesty forbade me from carrying a weapon,” he grunts. “He made me, the Governor-General,” Atsalí manages to land a perfect hit to Salinkári’s jaw, “fight bare-handed!”
The satisfaction of that blow doesn’t last too long, because Salinkári manages to find an open spot on General Atsalí’s shoulder, and the both of them go down again.
Kalamári curses under her breath and draws her own gun from her belt.
However, she quickly realises that it’s of no use in this situation. General Atsalí and Salinkári are too close in proximity to each other. Kalamári is not a good enough shot to only shoot her brother-in-law, and she can’t risk hitting Atsalí.
“Give me back my Orca!” Salinkári screeches, and delivers another kick to Atsalí’s stomach.
Kalamári’s eyes widen. “He doesn’t know where he is either?”
She glances towards Lykos to look for some kind of reaction, but the girl is looking across the room, not at her.
Lykos points at one of the boxes. “My brother’s jacket,” she gasps, “and prosthetic leg,” she adds more quietly.
Lykos gathers both of those things in her arms with the upmost care, then she looks back at Kalamári with an urging expression.
Kalamári understands, both of them start running towards the door.
“Atsalí, Sir!” She yells over her shoulder.
It seems the fight had turned in Salinkári’s favour, while the two young women had been distracted by other things. Her brother-in-law is kneeling over the General, essentially trapping Atsalí underneath him with his legs on either side of his hips.
“Sir!” Kalamári yells once again. She can feel a drop of sweat sliding down her neck.
Atsalí lets out something between a yell and a grunt. He raises his leg and lands a well-placed kick into Salinkári’s stomach. The man is sent flying across the room, and crashes into the nearest wall.
General Atsalí rolls onto his side and appears to be wiping blood from his split lip.
Atsalí, Sir,“ Kalamári reminds him. “Hurry!”
The man turns swiftly and sprints across the room. The second he passes the threshold, Kalamári slams the door shut and slides the lock in place. Salinkári is now locked in.
It doesn’t even take three seconds until she hears a loud banging against the door, and Salinkári’s deranged screaming to let him out and to let him see Orca.
They all stop and listen to his cries. The door shakes, as he is probably throwing himself against it repeatedly. However, Kalamári is not worried about the door budging anytime soon. Even Salinkári, fuelled by crazed determination, is not capable of that.
“A ghost…” Kalamári hears Lykos whisper. She clutches her brother’s coat tightly to her chest.
“Orca should have been in there,” Kalamári comments, still a little out of breath. She isn’t the only one, Atsalí seems to be struggling to draw his breath correctly too. His voice sounds even raspier than usually when he says: “We’re just going around in circles.”
Kalamári clenches her fists. General Atsalí is right, they are stuck. Before she gets to agonise over their current situation a little bit more, her attention is caught by a sniffle. She turns to her left and is met with Lykos’s teary eyes. The girl is already wiping the moisture away with her right arm, while she is still clutching her brother’s coat in the left one. Her narrow shoulders shake under the weight of her quiet sobs.
“Hey!” Kalamári tries to make a soothing gesture with her hands. It looks more awkward than reassuring. “I thought you were done with your brother…” she says more quietly.
Kalamári isn’t used to people crying around her. She hadn’t had to deal with that a lot as an imperial officer. One doesn’t see crying children often when mostly dealing with emotionless soldiers. Something about watching Lykos cry, however, makes her want to make it better. She looks even more like her brother with an anguished face like this.
There is movement behind her, and suddenly, Sir Atsalí is crouching in front of Lykos.
“Orca’s sister,” he start and rests a hand on her shoulder. The gesture looks so gentle. Gentler, than what Kalamári had ever expected to see from General Atsalí. “Everything that is happening on this ship is by his Majesty’s design. I’m sure both the boy and your brother are with his Majesty.”
Lykos looks at this man, who is basically a stranger to her, with watery eyes. Kalamári can see her irises flit around a bit as she takes in General’s words.
After a few moments, Lykos nods.
Atsalí hums. “Wipe your tears, and let’s get going.”
Lykos’ back straightens with determination. Her throat bobs, as she swallows down the rest of her tears. She gives the two older figures a firm nod and takes the lead.
Kalamári doesn’t follow her immediately, instead she eyes General Atsalí.
The man, ever so observant, notices of course. He raises an eyebrow, as if to challenge her to something. To what, Kalamári isn’t sure. What she is sure of, however, is that Atsalí is not known to be gentle like this. He wasn't named after one of the strongest metals for nothing. This is a slip of character. How interesting for the man's character to suddenly be to tin-like.
She averts her gaze. While curious, she does not have the time to dwell on Atsalí right now. They had to get to the throne room, and Lykos probably doesn't know where exactly to head. Good thing the girl is traveling with two people who know this palace better than most people in the Empire ever did.
-
Their little group’s hurried footsteps ring through the corridor.
The castle becomes much brighter the further up one travels. The lamps lighting up the rooms and corridors become more numerous, the windows larger, and the ornaments on the walls more intricate, as if the castle becomes more beautiful, the closer one gets to the Emperor.
“It was a lie that they were holding off on executing Orca, in order to know where Fálina was,” Kalamári explains while guiding the other two up numerous flights of stairs. “In reality, Orca never gave the location up. His Majesty knew where Fálina was all along.”
“That makes sense, his Majesty can read peoples hearts, to a certain degree,” Atsalí comments. He had ended up taking the rearguard while they made their way trough the castle, so Kalamári has to look over her shoulder to be able to catch a proper sight of him.
“Orca possesses very powerful Thymia. His emotional energy is unnaturally strong,” the man continues. He halts to wipe some sweat from his brow. Kalamári had noticed that the man seemed to be rather out of breath, which was especially noticeable right now while he is speaking. She assumes it has to be because of his earlier fight with her brother-in-law, but she would have thought him to have recovered his stamina by this point. She herself is not feeling too winded by climbing these stairs at least.
What Atsalí has said is true, however. Kalamári clears her throat. “The reason his Majesty chose my brother-in-law to be Orca’s torturer, was because he wanted to cause him emotional pain, so that his strong Thymia could be used to power Anthropos,” she admits.
One glance at Lykos’ teary eyes tells her that she maybe should have kept the confirmation up to imagination, but another part of her feels like it had to be said. That Lykos deserves to know. If Kalamári was her, she would want to know…
“Hard to call that humane,” Atsalí says through clenched teeth.
Suddenly, Lykos halts in her stride and directs her gaze at the steps. Kalamári is just about to ask what the matter is, when she hears Lykos whisper: “You’re bleeding.” at the same time she hears Sir Atsalí stumble behind her.
She turns around in an instant. To her relief, the General had not decided to collapse on them. They really would not have been able to attend to that situation. However, the man still doesn't look too good. The heavy breathing she had noticed earlier has turned into pants, and now that she is looking at him more closely, she can clearly see his waxy complexion and the sweat soaking the collar of his uniform.
“Atsalí, Sir?” Kalamári asks the older man and steps closer to him, her left hand hovering close to his shoulder. As she takes a step down, she almost slips on something. Kalamári looks down to find a red liquid smeared on the steps, and now also the sole of her shoe. Blood, she realises with a shiver.
A few fresh drops join the ones already smeared on the marble steps.
She looks up at the man, and sure enough, red is slowly seeping through the tick fabric of Sir Atsalí’s uniform. Kalamári curses herself for not realising the meaning behind his strange stance and his struggle to keep up with Lykos and herself earlier.
“He got you…” she says.
Kalamári bites at her bottom lip in frustration. With the dizziness Sir Atsalí is currently displaying, Kalamári worries about how quickly the man would loose enough blood for it to render him immobile.
If Sir Atsalí is unable to fight, they will have a problem. She had been counting on his strength to get past the Emperor’s new body guard. Kalamári had not seen much of the man, but years of serving in a war, made her quite good at being able to tell when someone’s Thymia is strong.
When it comes to the strange blond man, not only is his Thymia strong, but something about the way it twists and glows disturbs Kalamári. There is something off about it.
“I’m fine,” Atsalí grinds out. Kalamári has her doubts. Judging by the amount of blood dotted over the stairs and the glassy look in Sir Atsalí’s eyes, he seems to be fading quickly.
“I haven’t done any work lately,” Atsalí continues as he straightens up, “I must be out of shape.”
Kalamári and Lykos exchange looks. She notices the furrow between Lykos’ brow. If her wits are anything like her brother’s, then she knows what kind of setback they are dealing with because of Atsalí’s injury.
Neither of them get to dwell on their new problem though, because, suddenly, the entire palace starts shaking.
There is a cracking sound, and Kalamári quickly realises that it stemmed from the tiles underneath their feet and the walls besides them fracturing. Cold fear starts gripping her heart. The same kind of fear she had felt when the red nous had taken over the ship Gerakí.
She looks up at her companions with wide eyes.
“We have to—“ she starts, but doesn’t get to finish, because the floor underneath them breaks away, and, suddenly, all that Kalamári feels is air rushing past her at a concerning speed.
They are falling.
For the second time this day, Kalamári feels like she is choking.
There are many things, which one can defend themselves against.
Gravity is not one of them.
It is highly improbable to save oneself from falling. Even with Thymia, one had to be exceptionally lucky to find something the aura could hang onto.
Kalamári tries regardless, activating her aura in hopes of hanging onto a piece of debris with it. Of course, with how cruel the universe can be, she doesn't manage.
With great momentum, the tree figures crash through the outer wall of Anthropos and begin sliding down the slope of its back.
Faintly, Kalamári believes to hear Lykos call out her brother’s name, but she might be imagining things.
She wonders if this is how she would die. Bones shattered and organs flattened out by the force of the impact approaching by the second. Despite all of her time spent with the army or around dangerous people, Kalamári had always hoped for a death that wasn't brutal.
While cautious of it, Kalamári had never been overly afraid of death, more so of dying painfully.
They keep falling, and eventually even the rough surface of Anthropos’ back drops away from underneath them completely.
Kalamári’s eyes widen upon the sea of paper birds being revealed underneath them. She is familiar with this nasty plague. They would swallow up pretty much anything. Despite their warm glow and gentle form, a natural killer hides behind the papery skin of these creatures.
…She would not meet her end by shattering on the floor, at least.
As the air rushes past her, it starts to sound like whistling.
Kalamári starts to feel strangely calm as she listens to the cold melody of the wind, as if mother death is singing a lullaby to sooth her into falling into her arms.
Out of all the believes which she had been told about the nature of death and the existence after it, feeling a sense of calm overcome one in their last moments had not been the one which she had believed would turn out to be true.
How very curios.
The whistling of the wind abruptly gets cut off by the sharp, yet familiar, sound of Thymia cutting through the air.
Kalamári’s eyes widen, and in an instant the tranquility from her heart is gone.
To their left, a piece of debris is barreling towards them, seemingly propelled by a raven-haired young man.
She doesn't get the chance to activate her own aura before the piece of debris crashes into them.
The impact is forceful, and her body crashes against General Atsalí’s. She feels her right leg almost slipping off the platform again, the momentum too great to allow her a save landing. Kalamári grasps for some sort of ridge in the platform to stop her from slipping, but her fingers glide right off the slippery stone.
Luckily, before the panic hits her again, she feels a calloused hand grabbing her by her forearm, and yanking her back to safety.
This action, however, makes her bump her forehead right into Atsalí’s stomach. She hears the man hiss above her.
Kalamári makes haste to regain her bearings quickly, but it proves to be incredibly difficult as she keeps loosing her balance because of the speed they are moving at.
She struggles for a few moments before the same calloused hand from before assists her by steadying her by the shoulders.
The hand belongs to a very pretty looking young man, Kalamári realises once she manages to look up and actually process what and who she is surrounded by.
The young man looks at her with something acing to concern, but confusion is the the more prominent emotion painted on his features.
His face looks pale and gentle. It reminds her of the porcelain figurines of goddesses, which Salinkári used to make when he had been younger. Back when the art he had created had still been something Kalamári had liked to look at. Despite her distaste of the man, something which she had already nursed back then, his paintings had always spoken to her in a strange way. No matter how many times she had tried to dislike the art because of its creator, her heart had always yearned to see more of its beauty.
Kalamári shivers and shakes her head. No time to think about this now. Salinkári doesn't deserve to have even more thought wasted on him.
She looks around to asses the situation better.
General Atsalí is right next to her, standing on all fours and breathing heavily.
At the very front sits the raven haired young man, who he she had noticed before. The one propelling the piece of debris with his Thymia. It is incredible how little he seems to struggle with controlling an object this heavy and this large. To most Thymia users, this would seem impossible. The only other person who she could imagine to be able to pull this off would be…Orca.
Her heart does a strange jump when she spots Lykos not far from the raven-haired young man.
As far as Kalamári can tell, the girl seems to be unharmed. Maybe a little shaken up, for which she could not blame her for. However, Kalamári is not really able to tell if she actually is, since the girl’s face is hidden from view.
Lykos is cradling something close to her chest. Kalamári is confused at first, but then it hits her. Even when matted with blood and dirt, she could recognise Orca’s silvery-white hair anywhere.
Kalamári hears herself gasping quietly. Turns out she had not been imagining Lykos calling out for her brother earlier.
Orca’s form is limp. Lykos holding him is the only thing keeping him upright. Kalamári assumes that he still must be passed out, as he had been for the past few days.
While still not quite understanding how, in the end, she had managed to have Lykos see her brother again. Judging by the way Lykos is clinging to him, her face hidden in his neck, it had been the right decision.
The ground is getting closer and closer, and Kalamári braces herself for the impact. Luckily, their landing on the green field is a lot smoother then her landing on the platform had been.
The pale skinned young man finally lets go of her shoulder and jumps off the platform without wasting a single second to walk towards a group of teenagers which is approaching them.
The commotion seems to snap Lykos out of her daze too, and she lifts her face from Orca’s shoulder.
Kalamári sees the young girl’s eye light up upon noticing the group. They must be friends of hers, Kalamári concludes.
Then, suddenly, someone screams. Kalamári’s hand instinctually goes to the gun attached to her belt, and her shoulders rise up in alert. A loud crash follows the scream, as a some sort of contraption slams into the field from above.
The shape sizzles and creaks as it melts further into the ground. Kalamári feels sick.
Whatever had just fallen from the sky was clearly nous in nature. Some part of Anthropos, she assumes. The little twisting tendrils attached to the figure’s skin are uncomfortable to look at, Kalamári averts her eyes.
She does not seem to be the only one unsettled by the strange shape, because, as Kalamári turns her head, she catches a glimpse of Sir Atsalí’s expression.
A cold shiver runs along her back. The man’s eyes are filled with cold, brutal fear. Never in her life would she have imagined to see an expression like this on General Atsalí’s face.
The man moves faster than she would have anticipated for someone with an actively bleeding stomach wound, but before she knows it, Atsalí is across the platform, crouching next to the siblings.
She sees him saying something to Lykos, who, after seemingly considering something, nods in agreement.
Carefully, she transfers Orca over to Atsalí, mindful of not accidentally injuring her brother further, then she stands up. Kalamári sees the slight shine of tears in her eyes as she looks down at her brother once more before turning and jumping off the platform to run towards her friends and the two young men who had saved them.
The group of teenagers gather around the fallen object. They all seem to be contemplating something.
Atsalí grunts. Because of his injury, the General seems to struggle with laying Orca down onto the ground.
Kalamári does not know why, but her body moves without thinking and she is quickly at Sir Atsalí’s side to assist him with the task. Atsalí mutters a ’thank you’ into her general direction.
Orca looks even worse than how she remembered him. Laying on the ground like this, his matted hair splayed out underneath him and his clothes torn makes him look so small. It makes him look like a beaten boy, instead of a grown man.
Both Kalamári and Atsalí stare at Orca’s beaten body for a few moments without saying a word.
Kalamári bites her lip and exhales loudly. Slowly, she reaches forward and places her index and middle finger against the side of his neck. It takes her a little while to find the correct spot and with every second that passes without her answering, she can see Atsalí growing tenser and tenser out of the corner of her eye.
After a bit of searching, she finally finds it. The pulse is weak but there. Kalamári releases the breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding and pulls her hand back.
Atsalí looks at her expectantly and some emotion in his eyes which Kalamári cannot quite place.
“He has a pulse, Sir, ” she confirms.
Atsalí hums in acknowledgement, she can see his shoulders relaxing slightly.
“Alright,” Atsalí pauses to wipe some blood away from his still bleeding lip, “help me move him.”