9 — What Melo Says in His Sleep
They
were approaching Level 8 when things began to shift. Not all at once,
and not at the same speed. But as a block, slowly, like a rising
tide—imperceptible second by second, yet impossible to ignore once
you found yourself knee-deep in it.
Vincent
noticed his combat techniques first. [Devastating Bite] would trigger
without him even thinking about it. [Savage Rush] launched at the
optimal millisecond without a single conscious calculation. It was
efficient, undeniably so, but there was something haunting about this
new automaticity.
Muscle
memory, he told himself. Like in any fighting game. The more
you practice, the more natural it becomes. I’m just becoming a pro.
[Way
of the Wolf: Progress 5/10]
[New Techniques Available]
[Psyché:
79%]
They
were hunting a cluster of Ocular Creepers—three Level 7 creatures
that moved as a pack. Individually dangerous, but as a group, they
were potentially lethal. But with Melo in support, the math changed.
Melo played a complex melody on his harp, an improvisation that wove
several buffs together simultaneously.
[Canticle
of Courage: Active]
[Hymn of Protection: Active]
[Vital Resonance:
Active]
[All buffs: +25% efficiency (Harp of Forgotten Mists)]
Vincent
felt invincible. Fast. Precise. Deadly. He pounced on the first
Creeper, his claws finding the throat with surgical precision, his
teeth tearing out the heart in one fluid, continuous motion.
Flow
state. This is what pros feel when they’re in The Zone.
The
second Creeper attacked from the flank. Vincent pivoted—[Savage
Rush] activating instinctively—and slammed into the creature with a
force that sent it flying against a skin-tree. The impact made a
sickening thud, like raw meat hitting wet leather.
[Targeted
Fracture: Critical Success]
[Enemy Stunned]
He
wasted no time. His jaws—the gaping hole in his mask that had
widened without him even noticing—clamped down on the Creeper’s
neck. The bone snapped. The blood sprayed. And it was good. Not just
satisfying for the Hunger. Not just functional for the kill. It was
. Pleasant in a visceral, primal way that had nothing to
do with survival or optimization.
[Hunger:
Dormant → Awakened]
Vincent
froze. Just for a second. Just long enough for the third Creeper to
seize the opening and lash out, its jagged claws raking across his
flank.
[-23%
Integrity]
[Deep Wound]
The
pain snapped him back to himself. He activated [Regenerative
Stimulation], feeling his HP Stock drain to repair the damage, and
finished the fight with brutal efficiency.
[Combat
Finished]
[+276 Shared XP]
[Level Up! — EchoZero: Level 8]
Melo
approached, a smile on his face, but his eyes were slightly troubled.
— Hey, you okay? You hesitated there, for a second. That’s not
like you.
Vincent
nodded, perhaps a bit too quickly. — Yeah, yeah. I just... I was
thinking about something. I’m fine.
[Psyché:
79% → 78%]
What
was that? Why did I... why did I enjoy it like that? It’s just
combat. Adrenaline. Every gamer feels that in the flow. But he
knew it was different. He knew, and it terrified him.
The
second night was when everything began to click into place. They
established a temporary camp in a clearing Melo had nicknamed "The
Almost Livable Corner"—a space slightly less oppressive than
the rest of the forest, where the trees only oozed minimally and the
ground was only moderately spongy.
Melo
was preparing dinner, a complex dish he had been simmering for an
hour, humming distractedly as he added spices, tasted, adjusted, and
perfected. Vincent sat in his Watchdog Man pose a few meters away,
scanning the perimeter with his enhanced senses.
But
his attention was drifting. His thoughts were... fragmented.
Slippery. What was her name again? My mother. What was her name? I
should remember. She’s my mother. The name wouldn't come. Only
a blurred silhouette, a faint memory of broccoli gratin and
disappointment, but no face. No name.
[Psyché:
78% → 77%]
— Vincent?
Are you listening?
He
started slightly. Melo was looking at him with that worried
expression he was wearing more and more often. — Sorry, I was...
somewhere else. What were you saying?
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
— I
was asking if you wanted to buy the [Wolf Form] technique next time
we see the Agent. It’s 500 credits, but from what I’ve read, it
allows a partial transformation that seriously buffs your physical
stats. It could be useful for boss fights.
[Wolf
Form]
[Temporary Partial Transformation]
[+50% Strength, +40%
Speed, +30% Resistance]
[Duration: 5 minutes]
[Psyché Cost: 10% per
minute of use]
[Way of the Wolf required: 5/10]
Vincent
considered the option. It was powerful. Extremely powerful.
— I...
I don't know. The Psyché cost is a huge risk. And my Psyché... it’s
going down. Slowly, but it’s going down. When you sleep. When the
buffs wear off.
Melo
nodded understandingly.
— That’s true. But you’ve got me. My
buffs more than compensate. Look.
He
pulled out his harp, plucked a few notes, and a new buff appeared.
[Melody
of Resilience: Active]
[+10% Resistance to psychic degradation]
[Duration: 1 hour]
[Psyché: 77% → 78%]
Vincent
felt the effect immediately. Like a weight had been lifted from his
shoulders.
— You see? — Melo said. — Together, we can handle
it. That’s the point of a team. We balance each other out.
He’s
right. With him, I can take risks I couldn't take alone. It’s
dependency. The thought came from nowhere, brutal and unwanted.
Vincent pushed it away immediately.
They
ate in silence—or rather, Melo talked, but Vincent barely listened.
The meal was delicious as always, and he felt his Psyché stabilize,
even rise slightly.
[Item
Consumed: Fortifying Glider Stew]
[+25% Psyché regeneration (4
hours)]
[+20 HP Stock]
[Psyché: 78% → 80%]
After
the meal, Melo played his harp while Vincent stood guard. The music
was soothing, almost hypnotic, weaving a cocoon of normalcy in that
nightmare environment. And then night fell—for real this time, at
least in their heads—and Melo prepared to sleep.
The
same ritual. The same efficiency. The same flicker of something on
his face—imperceptible, stifled, gone—before his eyes closed and
his body relaxed all at once.
[Melodream:
Mandatory Sleep — Active]
[Duration: 7:00]
[Wake-up scheduled:
07:00]
[Active Absorption: In progress]
Vincent
stayed in place. In his guard pose. Eyes—well, the three
holes—open. What does "in
progress" mean? Since when? How? He looked at his own bar.
[Psyché:
80%]
He
waited. One hour passed. Then two. And then, around the third hour of
Melo’s sleep, Melo spoke.
It
wasn't like the first night. No inarticulate sounds or twitches. This
time, the words were clear. Not loud—whispered, almost hissed—but
clear.
— ...it
wasn't... it wasn't my fault...
Vincent
didn't move.
— ...he
said to... he said to stay... to stay home...
A
pause. A small whimper, brief, that strangled in his throat.
— ...Bastien...
The
word came out differently than the others. Not whispered. Breathless.
As if Melo was trying to keep it inside and couldn't.
— ...sorry...
sorry Bastien... I should have... I should have...
He
stopped. Silence returned. Vincent’s three black holes stared at
Melo in the darkness for a long, long second. The
name stayed in his head—calm, sharp, etched. Bastien. A child’s
name. A name that didn't have "Uncle" or "Doctor"
in front of it. Just... Bastien. And Melo is sorry. Truly
sorry. For a long time.
Vincent
didn't move closer. He asked no questions. He sat still, guarding the
silence with an intensity that had never been more total. And he
noted—in the mental drawer, next to "Active Absorption"
and "a point of Psyché that drops before rising"—a third
element. Bastien. Melo is sorry for Bastien. And that isn't a game
thing.
[Psyché:
80% → 79%]
The
point dropped. Slowly, steadily. Like a ticking clock. In
progress. Vincent looked at the bar. Then at the sleeping Melo.
Then at the bar again. And he stayed there.
At
07:00, exactly, Melo opened his eyes.
[Melodream:
Mandatory Sleep — Finished]
[Psyché: 100%]
[Status: Optimal]
[Absorption: Complete]
One
hundred percent. Again. — Good morning, — he said, with that
habitual smile, that familiar light, that normalcy built brick by
brick. — How did the night go?
Vincent
looked at him. — Quiet, — he said.
And
it was true. Completely true. The night had been quiet. It was just
that "quiet" now meant two things at once. And Vincent
carried them both, silently, without saying a word.
I
know. And I’m saying nothing. And we keep going.
Melo
stood up, took out his pots, and began cooking breakfast. And the
forest breathed around them, indifferent to everything that remained
unsaid.