The pit stank of rust and damp stone, the same suffocating void Enjin had scoured countless times before. Even through his mask, he could smell it. Or maybe it was just his imagination. He wasn’t sure anymore.

This time, when his torchlight cut through the murk, he nearly missed it— a body slumped against the wall, caked in grime and blood, impossibly still, dried blood coating the front of their tunic.

A deep frown pulled at Enjin’s lips as he turned to leave, because there was no way this person was alive. But then he saw it, the shallow, sharp pull of diseased air that didn’t quite look right.

Young. Not much older than Rudo had been when they dragged him out of this place.

Enjin crouched, fingers brushing the cracked emblem at the persons chest. Ice cold skin, but still alive. Barely.

With a grunt, Enjin lifted them over his shoulder, hauling them out of the pit, until the familiar gates of their base swallowed them both.