Chapter 22: The Lake That Complained
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Chirp... Chirp... Chirp...
Morning in purgatory did not arrive with kindness. It arrived the way a predator arrived, quietly, confidently, and with the assumption that whatever was still alive had earned the right to remain alive for a few more hours.
Sekhmetβs eyes opened to a pale sky filtered through crooked branches. The tree he had slept in groaned softly as wind pushed through it, and the bark pressed rough patterns into his back. He blinked twice, letting his vision adjust, then inhaled slowly.
Cold air.
Dust.
The faint, lingering memory of blood.
His body did not feel as exhausted as it should have. The night before, he had fought a werewolf and drunk blood for the first time in his life. That sentence still felt wrong in his mind, like his thoughts were rejecting it on principle, but his muscles and lungs did not argue. They felt... steadier. Stronger. Not magically healed, but stabilized, like someone had tightened loose bolts inside him.
He shifted his shoulders, testing the soreness. The claw marks across his back still burned a little. His ribs still ached when he breathed too deep. His shoulder was stiff. But he was functional.
Functional meant alive.
Alive meant the day could start.
A small movement warmed his chest.
"Batbat."
The tiny bat peeked out from his coat pocket, blinking at the morning light with the offended expression of a creature that believed sleep was a legal right. Its eyes were red and glossy. Its little body looked slightly less fragile than before, though it was still ridiculous, still small enough to fit in Sekhmetβs palm like a living coin.
Sekhmet stared at it.
The bat stared back.
Then it opened its mouth as if announcing its opinion about mornings.
"Batbatbatbat."
Sekhmet exhaled through his nose, a sound almost like a laugh.
"You are awake," he murmured. "And somehow you have already found the energy to complain."
The bat blinked slowly, as if acknowledging that yes, that was exactly what it planned to do with its life.
Sekhmet eased himself out of the crook of the trunk and climbed down carefully.
Tap... Scrape... Tap...
Boots found bark, then rock, then dirt. He landed lightly, though the ground still jarred his ribs enough to make him hiss once under his breath.
The moment his boots touched the earth, his senses sharpened.
He listened.
No immediate footsteps.
No rustling that suggested a pack closing in.
No distant howls.
Only the wind and the clicking insects and the faint, faraway scream of something dying that was none of his business.
Sekhmet rolled his shoulders and began walking.
He had one priority this morning that had nothing to do with treasure, gods, or training.
He needed to stop smelling like an entire crime scene.
His clothes were stained. His skin was stained. Even his hair felt like it had absorbed three weeks of misery and decided to become a permanent witness. If he ran into anything that was hunted by smell, he might as well hang a sign around his neck that said: Fresh Meat, Mildly Spicy.
He moved down the slope, scanning for any sign of water. Purgatory did not give gifts often, but it did leave traces. Birds were a good sign. Insects. Green growth. Anything alive tended to gather near moisture.
After a while, he saw it.
A line of trees thicker than the others. Their roots stretched toward a depression in the land. The ground darkened. The air cooled slightly.
Sekhmet followed it.
The bat clung inside his pocket, occasionally poking its head out to blink at the world, then retreating like the world had personally insulted it.
The trees opened.
And there it was.
A lake.
Not a massive one. Not a glorious one. It was a small lake, round and dark, tucked into a hollow like a secret. The water was still, smooth as glass, reflecting the sky. Reeds grew around the edges. A few stones jutted out like broken teeth. Dragonflies skimmed the surface.
For a moment, Sekhmet simply stood there, staring like a starving man looking at food.
His throat tightened.
Not from thirst.
From relief.
Water did not fix his deeper thirst, he knew that now, but water fixed the dirt. Water fixed the smell. Water fixed the feeling of being trapped in his own filth.
Sekhmet breathed out slowly.
"Finally," he muttered.
He walked to the edge and crouched, dipping his fingers into the lake. Cool. Clean enough. No immediate oily sheen. No stench.
He glanced around, checking for movement. Nothing obvious. No footprints. No bones near the shore. That was unusual. Most water sources in the lower domain had at least a few corpses nearby, because water attracted life and life attracted hunger.
This lake looked... peaceful.
That alone should have been suspicious.
Sekhmet straightened and tugged his coat off. He laid it on a rock, then removed his torn shirt and pants, peeling them away from dried blood that clung like glue. He tossed them in a messy pile beside the coat.
He stood naked under purgatory sunlight, and instead of feeling embarrassed he felt furious at the universe for forcing him into a life where modesty was a luxury.
The bat crawled out of his pocket and perched on a rock, blinking at Sekhmet like it had never seen a human body before and was now judging every design choice.
"Batbat."
Sekhmet narrowed his eyes.
"If you say anything," he warned, "I will name you something humiliating."
The bat blinked innocently.
Sekhmet stepped into the water.
Splash...
The cold hit him all at once, wrapping around his legs, then his waist. He lowered himself until the water reached his chest. Goosebumps rose on his arms. His skin tightened. He exhaled slowly, forcing his body to accept the shock.
Then he started washing.
He scrubbed his arms first, rubbing hard until the water around him clouded with dirt and faint red streaks. He dunked his head, fingers dragging through his hair. He washed his face, his neck, and his shoulders. He leaned back and let the water support him for a moment.