Benjera had opened his eyes and saw emerald.

  Large, beautiful emerald eyes filled his vision. The world snapped back into place around their concerned expression. He had died. He was certain of it. And she had put air back into his lungs.

  His first breath had burned cold and sweet at once. Dragging through his chest like it had to scrape life back into him inch by inch. The grass against his palms was dense and textured, every blade individually present in a way he had not felt before without skills. Above them, the mana sun washed the clearing in sharpened color, every edge brighter, every shadow deeper.

  His lungs stuttered.

  The weight of his equipment suddenly felt unbearable. Too much. Confining. He fumbled at his belt, fingers clumsy as he unfastened it and tossed it aside. Even the fabric of his shirt felt wrong against his skin, tight and suffocating, and he dragged it over his head and let it fall where it landed. He was alive.

  The reason he breathed was lying on the grass nearby, trembling, fat tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. Her arms were covered in severe mana burns. The damage was far worse than he had first understood. The scars were long, languid silver lines like nothing he had ever seen before, threading through reddened skin from fingers to elbow as if the pain itself had written its way outward.

  Benjera already felt like he was failing her. There was nothing he could do about her pain.

  Her hair was dark brown and soaked through, clinging in damp strands to her throat and temples. Her clothes marked her as Lost instantly, thin and impractical, stitched for a world that had never learned how to starve. The green of her blouse was muted, almost dusty beside her eyes, like fabric that had tried and failed to match their color. Against that green, the emerald of her gaze was violent in its intensity.

  His attention kept catching on the shape of her without his permission. Despite Jasreal’s teasing, Benjera never thought he had a type. Now he did and he studied it for the first time.

  There was real softness in her build. Hips with honest curve to them, thighs that told a story of steady meals. In the Maze, that kind of shape didn’t exist. It meant safety had existed somewhere, once. The sight of it hit him with an ache he did not have a clean place for.

  Her shirt had ridden up slightly in the chaos, exposing the pale slope of her belly. The fabric shaped her chest rather than hiding it. There was substance to her that made his throat go dry with nerves and his eyes roam. But her hands were clasped there, drawn tight and protective, as if she could shield her own heart from the pain with pressure alone.

  And that snapped everything into alignment. She was hurting. She was suffering badly enough that the shaking would not stop. The time to admire could come later, her suffering was unacceptable. And he shifted closer to her, his bitten leg reminding him he was injured but he knew mana burns.

  Guilt settled heavy in his chest.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  He regretted asking her how much she had spent on him.

  He did not need to check his interface, not truly, but habit pulled it up anyway. The blue circle bloomed into view, divided in fourths, lined with eighths. The holy numbers turned slowly, reminding him what he already knew.

  Mana 213/213

  She had spent four times his entire mana pool to save his life.

  “It will heal,” he told her, and her face was still etched with pain.

  “I’ll just burn again,” she whimpered.

  She was new to the Maze.

  Their eyes met again, he was caught by the green with the same force they had when he first woke. He had to swallow down the rush it gave him.

  “I’m Benjera.”

  He could not help her pain. Mana regeneration was the only thing that would. Tolerance had to be built slowly. The truth sat bitter in his mouth. Not even quest points would help her. That settled in his body like a weight. Benjera would use quest points on her if he could. That didn’t bode well for him.

  “Noa,” she replied. She sniffed, then turned her head to look at him more fully. Her gaze moved over his body, his abandoned pack and belt lying nearby. “Do you live around here?”

  His fuzzy head thought it sounded like a pick up line. He straightened his mind out.

  “You’re brand new,” Benjera summarized, and the cough that followed tore out of him before he could stop it.

  “Yes,” she said slowly, eyes narrowing.

  “Have you seen the city?”

  Noa shook her head.

  “You’re fresh from the halls, then. You’re a Lost. This happens,” he explained with a rasp.

  She blinked rapidly and looked up toward the canopy again, toward the impossible ceiling beyond it. “Happens? Multiple Lost… And going home?”

  This was why Benjera stopped talking to them, when they weren't trying to kill him. He could never fault the question. Home was always the first thing they reached for. And he never had anything good to give.

  “This is home now. No one leaves.”

  “That was my guess,” she replied, her voice emptied of reaction, or maybe flattened by pain. “Where is the city? I don’t know how money works here, but there has to be an inn, right?”

  Noa had to want to go home or she wouldn’t ask. He admired her focus but sighed heavily. The sound carried more weight than he intended. She looked back at him immediately.

  “Lost aren’t allowed, and you can’t pretend to be Lostborn,” he said, pointing at the back of his own hand.

  She followed the gesture to her own arms, to the red skin threaded with silver mana burns, then back to him, brow furrowed.

  “Then where do the Lost go?” she asked.

  “Upstairs,” Benjera said, nodding toward the nearest stairway. Noa sat upright in alarm, eyes wide.

  “Stairs? There are floors to this hell?” she demanded.

  “I don’t know what a hell is,” he said.

  Noa looked disturbed. “That brings another point. How do I know what you’re saying? It’s statistically impossible that we speak the same language.”

  “Psychic field maintained by the lesser gods,” he replied.

  She searched his eyes for something, skepticism or proof or madness. He’d been met with similar accusations before. Whatever she found there made her look away again. There was no objection. No yelling.

  “I see, the stairs,” was all she said, her gaze dropping back to her wounded hands.

  Benjera scraped for the right words. She saved his life. Noa was defenseless until she recovered and in theory he could stick around on his quest to help her out. But help her do what? live in the wilderness until another monster or member of the Watch got a hold of her? That wasn't what he wanted. Not when Scorch was near and then she'd be left to wander around through the stairs or the biomes directionless after Break. He coughed again with lungs that wouldn't have air at all without Noa. He needed to know he would see her again. The chances of them ever meeting again dwindled rapidly the moment Benjera went back to Hassa.

  Unless....

  Benjera had a stupid idea.

  “The stairs are a death trap,” Benjera said, catching her disbelief immediately, and raised his hand to stop her before she could speak. “You could enter the city if you were a citizen. For the Lost there’s only one way to do that, but you saved my life. So I’m offering.”

  Her expression cracked for just a moment. Naked fear and hope surfaced before she forced them back down again, eyes closing briefly as another wave of pain moved through her.

  “What is it?” she asked, opening her eyes again.

  “Marriage.”

  His heart started pounding all over again. He could already feel the consequences stacking ahead of him. Jasreal would punch him. Rasha would kill him. He imagined the look Mensi would give him. The shifts he would have to work. Benjera didn’t think anyone would understand.

  He kept going anyway. She had to say yes first.

  “I’m available, and you saved my life.”

  “I know. I was there,” she said through grit teeth. It was harsh. And sexy.

  Benjera scowled at her, waiting for a real answer.

  “I need you to explain, exactly, what you mean by marriage.”