Thirstfall - Memory of a Returnee-Chapter 61: Pocket

I don’t answer my own question.

I learned a long time ago, bleeding out in the darkest corners of the Deep, that some questions aren’t doors.

They are traps.

You step through them, and you never find your way back out.

Whether the Gatekeeper was the only one built like that, or just the only one that failed to hide it—that’s the same trap wearing a different face.

I open my eyes.

Let’s go.

I push myself up, rolling my shoulders until the joints pop in the stale air. The violent tremors in my legs begin to subside, instantly replaced by the familiar, heavy weight of absolute exhaustion.

I wipe the last trace of vomit from my lips with the back of my torn sleeve and walk back to the group.

Oliver is staring at the floor, pretending he didn’t just see me on my hands and knees dry-heaving.

I respect him for that...

Lola is still sitting cross-legged on the cold stone, both hands clamped tightly over her fluffy bear ears, her wide eyes locked onto something only she can see.

Rhayne stands a few feet away from the smoking wreckage, watching me with that peculiar, indecipherable quietness of hers.

The others are whispering near the far wall. The kind of whisper that stops when you get close. I don’t bother getting close.

Nobody says a word to me.

Great.

"The loot window is still open," Oliver says after a heavy pause, nodding toward the glowing pile scattered across the ruins of the mechanical throne. "The timer has about nine minutes left."

"I know," I reply flatly.

I step up to the wreckage and crouch over the drop.

There are mechanical components—still radiating heat from the Gatekeeper’s internal boiler. Useless dead weight. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

[High-Grade Alloys]+(2)

I grab them and keep moving without breaking my rhythm.

A torn tome written in a jagged script I don’t recognize. Into the inventory.

[Torn Tome Skill]+(1)

Three Pure Shards. More than I expected, and infinitely less than I deserve for that nightmare.

[Scales: 415 -> 715]

I process every item with the cold, mechanical efficiency of a man who has looted a thousand corpses.

Inventory... Trash... Trash...

I don’t let myself think about where these parts came from.

Then, the base of my skull tingles. My [Link] passive activates on its own, drawn to something specific.

Buried a little deeper in the rubble, I uncover a pair of black leather combat boots. They are masterfully stitched, featuring a delicate, intricate metal apparatus bolted onto the ankles and the reinforced steel toes.

I brush my fingers against the leather.

[Link Activated]

[Name: Ironwake Reef]

[Rank: C (Reef)]

[Type: Thruster Sabatons]

[Durability: N/A]

[LORE]: "They say momentum is earned. But pressure doesn’t negotiate—it accumulates. In the sealed darkness of a boiler, the heat has nowhere to go but forward. The engine doesn’t choose to move. It simply reaches the point where standing still is no longer an option."

[Hidden Passive: Dead Rail] Description: Pressurized steam chambers embedded in the heel and forefoot discharge in precise, directional micro-explosions—consuming almost nothing, providing almost everything.

[Effect 1: Pressure Step] Upon activation, releases a directional burst of pressurized steam from the heel or forefoot, generating an explosive, short-range dash against any surface. The OXI cost per activation is minimal. Each consecutive activation within a 3-second window exponentially increases output pressure and forward kinetic force but drains more OXI.

[Effect 2: Departure State] Upon reaching the consecutive activation threshold, the boots enter the Departure State—a brief window where propulsion cost drops to near zero and accumulated momentum becomes self-sustaining. Duration scales proportionally with the user’s Agility attribute.

I bite the inside of my cheek to hold back a dark, genuine laugh. My mind is already racing, calculating the lethal geometry of how to abuse these mechanics.

I sit beside the pile and slide my feet into the Sabatons. They lock into place perfectly, the leather shrinking to hug my calves.

Soul-bound, custom fit.

I kick my old, battered ranger boots into the dirt and go back to sifting through the remaining rubble.

After a while, my fingers brush against something small.

I freeze.

I don’t just see it; I feel it...

A unique, terrifyingly familiar hum of energy.

Buried underneath a twisted piece of the chassis, almost completely swallowed by ash and pulverized stone, is a sphere. It isn’t the dull white of old bone or scorched marble. It is a deep, luminous white. The kind of pure, untainted color that has absolutely no business existing in a slaughterhouse like this.

I already know what it is.

I reach down and brush the ashes away slowly, handling it with extreme care, as if the sheer weight of its existence might shatter it.

[Reentry Pearl]

I stay crouched in the dirt, just staring at it.

It rests in the palm of my hand like it weighs absolutely nothing. Like it isn’t the single most desirable object across two entire dimensions. It feels smooth, unnaturally warm, and slightly translucent...

Holding it is like holding a compressed breath...

I know exactly what happens if I try to activate it. I knew it the second I laid eyes on it. My veteran instincts do the brutal math automatically: Activation costs 30% of Maximum OXI, and a minimum threshold of 2,000 OXI is strictly required to survive the dimensional tear.

My current maximum limit is 1,600.

I try to trigger it anyway.

Not out of ignorance.

Not out of hope, either.

I just needed to know exactly how it felt to be rejected by my own ticket home.

[Insufficient OXI Capacity.]

[Required Minimum: 2,000 / Current Maximum: 1,600]

I swipe the prompt away.

I let out a slow, controlled exhale through my nose. It isn’t a sigh, because I refuse to give this world the satisfaction of hearing me sigh.

I close my fingers around the pearl and slide it deep into the front pocket of my torn leather jacket.

Not into my digital inventory. Into my physical pocket.

A personal reminder. A literal weight against my thigh.

I stand up. Behind me, Oliver is talking in hushed tones to Rhayne, gesturing toward the exit tunnel.

Lola has finally taken her hands off her ears and is staring blankly at the miniature toy trains still mindlessly circling the base of the destroyed throne. Her head is tilted at a silent, indecipherable angle.

Of all the things people slaughter each other for in Thirstfall... I think, pressing my palm flat against the outside of my pocket for exactly one second. Of all the items that are hoarded, auctioned, and bled over... this is the only one nobody sells if they can avoid it.

Not because of the market price.

Because of what it means.

I pull my hand away from my pocket.

I reach into my inventory and toss two pure blue Shards through the air toward Oliver. He catches them flawlessly with one hand.

[Scales: 715 -> 515]

"One for your team, one for the cadets," I say flatly.

Oliver gives a slow, respectful nod. Even though salaries in Thirstfall are paid strictly in blood, Scales are still the gears that turn the world.

"Let’s go," I say out loud, my voice cutting through the heavy dust of the monumental hall. "We have a train to catch."

I’m already walking toward the exit tunnel when a small voice stops me dead in my tracks.

"Like the little boy?"

I turn around. Lola is still sitting cross-legged on the floor, her head tilted, her pale blue eyes fixed on the toy trains still circling the base of the destroyed throne.

"What did you say?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

Lola looks up at me, completely unbothered.

"The little boy in the toy," she says simply, pointing a small finger at the wreckage. "He also had a train to catch."