ROBIN LET THE tension relax from his body, wincing at the pain in his shoulder that grew steadily worse by the minute. Despite how he’d made it sound, Robin didn’t have any intention of giving up and dying—he was just in the unfortunate position of knowing he was fighting against the odds. Hell, maybe it’d be good for him—overconfidence hadn’t been working out so well for him lately.

He snickered, causing his shoulder to flare in pain, and scowled down at his wounded right arm; his dominant arm.

“Son of a bitch knew I wasn’t a lefty…”

Shaking his head, he tried once again to get out of the bed, doing his best to ignore the agony accompanying every movement. By the time he’d made it to his feet, he was breathing heavily and sweating bullets.

He was so fucked.

At that moment, the door burst open, sending him starting backwards onto the bed and almost giving him a heart attack.

Medea stood in the doorway.

She looked pissed.

She marched in and kicked the door closed behind her; in her hands was a wooden tray with food and water on it, which she set on the bed in front of him before taking a seat in the nearby chair.

“Medea,” Robin began, trying to catch his breath. “…I see you’ve chosen to die like a chump.”

As the storm raged on her face, Robin couldn’t help but wonder why he always felt the need to make things worse.

“I don’t know what a chump is, Robin.” She managed to inject a truly impressive amount of venom into his name. “And I would prefer to live.” Medea’s finger whipped out, pointing at the food on the tray. “Eat.”

Well, it was hard to argue with that. He began the slow and arduous task of consuming a meal with only his left hand. It was painful and annoying, made only worse by the way the room kept spinning, and he managed to spill the water only twice before Medea sighed and sat down on the bed, pouring it for him. Without asking, she proceeded to tear the cold bread into manageable chunks, waiting for him to chew before feeding him another.

Perhaps he should’ve felt emasculated by her attention, but he was in pain and dizzy and exhausted and he just didn’t care.

Some distant part of him admitted it was even kinda nice. Medea was gorgeous so that was a plus, but the aforementioned problems were really detracting from the experience on that front… no, it was probably because she was the only person Robin had ever known who would go so far for him. Once upon a time his mother might’ve done the same thing… but those days were nothing more than a distant memory now.

It was… strange, the way he regarded Medea. It would be so simple to write her behavior off as self-serving—she needed him, of course she seemed kind—and if it were anyone else, he would’ve done exactly that. And yet her kindness seemed to batter right through his walls, lodging itself deep in his chest.

What was it about her? Did the fact that she needed him just stroke some part of his ego he didn’t know existed? Or was it nothing more than the naive hope she would be different? Either way… he tried not to think about how all this was probably going to bite him in the ass.

Robin leaned back when he was done eating, feeling much better with a belly full of food. Medea shifted in place, resting up against the bed frame next to him, face still stuck in a perpetual scowl.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” Robin said, watching Medea closely enough to notice her eyes widen slightly before she clamped down on her emotions, the scowl coming back with a vengeance.

He chuckled, despite himself. This clear lack of concern for his own safety would certainly be the death of him someday. Well, assuming the zombies didn’t get him first.

“Go ahead and say what you need to say.”

She sprung up, using her hands to shift on the bed to face him. “I cannot believe you,” she began. “Was it not only yesterday we resolved to face this together? Do you remember, Robin? In the stream? We were naked? I placed myself at your mercy, and you were only too quick to promise your aid. Perhaps that meant nothing to you, but know it meant everything to me. I vowed to be of use to you, and did so again when you spoke your words of wisdom at the dinner table. You stated none would look out for me, and I disagreed, choosing to believe your words.”

She was biting back tears, caught halfway between anger and regret. “When you were hurt, I knew I’d failed. If by the grace of aether you survived, you would surely be done with me for good. And you were.” Despite the wet pouring from her eyes, she managed to send him a perfectly serviceable glare. “Only… not in the way I expected. Not because you thought I would hinder you, but because you would hinder me. I do not believe you would have left me here to die, Robin Sinclair. You may be a fool, but you are not a liar.”

Robin sat quietly, enduring Medea’s tirade. It was about what he’d expected, and his just deserts for playing with her feelings. Truthfully, his promise to lend aid wasn’t quite as serious as Medea had chosen to take it, but that was mostly because he’d expected her to show her true colors at some point and stab him in the back. Was she right in believing he wouldn’t abandon her? Maybe he would've before... but now? He wasn’t so sure.

When she’d all but kicked down the door, he’d felt relief. When she’d proceeded to yell at him, he’d felt good. Robin was accustomed to apathy… and Medea was probably the least apathetic person he’d ever met. The thing was, people didn’t get angry if they didn’t care. Not only had she stayed, she’d addressed his bullshit immediately. If she’d returned and ignored her obvious issues, never addressed the way he’d treated her, there was no surer sign she was using him for her own gain. And now he found himself once again inexplicably drawn like a moth to her flame, all too aware that story never ended well for the moth.

Medea noticed his grin and must have misunderstood, because she huffed and tried to leave. Robin reached out with his good arm, tugging her back down to the bed, expending more effort than he’d expected.

“Hey,” he said, tugging on her hand to get her to face him until, finally, she reluctantly met his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

His apology was met with a skeptic’s glare… but she did stop trying to pull away.

“It seemed like the right call,” he admitted. “But you’re right, I tried to make you feel bad and that was a dick move.”

Surprisingly, his words didn’t seem to mollify her. If anything… they seemed to make things worse. Which he probably should’ve expected, actually. Making things worse was his special move.

“That is not the only—”

“And for pushing you away.”

Medea glared at him for a moment, clearly expecting more.

At his confused look, she sighed, apparently deciding not to press the issue. “Fine… but you will not take it upon yourself to decide for me again. As of now, I have chosen to trust in our survival. Both of us. You will treat me as an equal and not as a child that must be protected, and I will treat you as an equal and not as a moron.” She narrowed her eyes. “Is that agreeable?”

Robin’s eyes danced with mirth. “You got it, partner.”

“Good. Now… what’s next?”

Robin ran his hand through his hair, dreading what was to come. “Now…? Now we go spelunking.”

After Robin had relayed Gedd’s quick and dirty tale of the so called ruins, he realized just how… vague it all was. These ruins were somewhere south of town—which Medea helpfully informed him they could go by putting the morning sun to their left, same as on Earth—but nobody knew what said ruins were, where they’d come from, or how to get in. Oh, and apparently they were guarded by a fierce beast, which Robin was absolutely going to assume was a sphinx or cerberus or something until there was proof otherwise.

Getting there at all was proving to be quite the challenge. Robin hadn’t thought a wound on his upper body would hinder his ability to walk, but he’d since learned past-Robin’s uneducated guesses were not to be trusted. Not only was the pain growing more agonizing by the second as the numbing plant wore off, but his body was clearly working overtime to keep him alive because he’d almost blacked out from exhaustion multiple times already.

Medea watched him like a hawk while they trudged through the forest. Robin wanted to wave her off, to say he was fine and not to worry, but the truth was she’d already caught him halfway to tipping over several times. All in all, it was painful and frustrating and tedious, and Robin was more than happy it was over by the time they’d finally arrived at the ruins some thirty odd years later.

And by ruins, Gedd had clearly meant castle—or at least the tip of one, jutting out of the ground like some kind of monument to fallen fortresses. There was no telling how large it was, but it was clear they’d barely scratched the surface of the structure judging by the size of the ramparts, assuming any of it remained intact underground. Robin wouldn’t dare make such an assumption were it not for Gedd’s claim of men disappearing within for various lengths of time. As it was, however, there was really only the one entrance, and it was clear why nobody could get inside—the damned gate was closed.

“Ideas?” Robin asked, blowing a tuft of Medea’s wayward hair out of his face. She’d squirreled herself under his arm some time back, like some sort of sexy purple… squirrel… ninja.

Whatever. He was tired.

Medea groaned with effort as she hoisted him up, helping him sit down on the mossy stone near the large wrought-iron gate leading underground. Only darkness was visible through the holes in the gate, making it seem more like a portal straight to hell than any kind of structure someone might actually want to venture inside of. Normally, Robin would’ve noped right out of there, but times were tough and they weren’t exactly flush with options. It was this or hoof it through the wilderness and pray they didn’t walk straight into hordes of undead atrocities.

His partner and equal took a sip from the sole waterskin Gedd’s family had left them, before passing it to him. He sipped gingerly, well aware they’d have to stretch what little they had for an indeterminate amount of time, while stealing glances at Medea. Sweat beaded on her brow, glistening in the afternoon sun, and she’d tied her voluminous hair back in a high ponytail using a leather strap pilfered from Gedd’s, though even then it was long enough to reach her mid back. He’d tried to mimic her, but had run into difficulties tying the knot… which she’d eventually noticed and helped him with.

They’d both also changed out of their torn and burnt clothing, with Medea now sporting a shirt and pants like him as opposed to the dress Gedd had supplied her with. It seemed young Talia’s proportions were a bit smaller than Medea’s on average, which left her clothing fitting rather snug. Most of the buttons on her shirt were undone out of necessity, offering a tantalizing view of the pale flesh beneath. The image was only enhanced by the way the thin cloth clung to her skin with sweat, and Robin found himself curious what passed for a brassiere on Gaia. A question that demanded an answer if he’d ever heard one, though perhaps one that could wait.

At some point, it occurred to Robin she’d been talking to him… and he’d been ogling her. Probably drooling like a vegetable. In his defense, he really needed a nap or five.

“Huh?” he asked, very obviously dragging his gaze up to hers. “I was distracted by your breasts.”

The look she gave him was… deserved. “What manner of primitive savage spawned you? Surely someone taught you the concept of respect?”

Robin gave a weak laugh, happy to see she’d regained some of her fire in their interactions—it was more fun this way. “Of course they did. Fortunately, I have since discarded the lessons of my youth—they hold no sway over me now.”

Medea rolled her eyes. It was weird how body language was apparently universal across time and space and whatever the fuck else he’d traveled to get here. “Yes, well… on to the matter of the gate, perhaps? Unless you’d prefer I distract you until the monsters show up and eat us.”

There were worse ways to die… though sleep deprivation must’ve been making him smarter somehow, because he chose not to repeat the thought out loud. “The gate,” he agreed. “It strikes me as a problem.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?” Medea asked, feigning curiosity. Truly, Robin had only himself to blame for her feisty attitude.

“Well, if you examine it closely…” he began, motioning toward the gate. “You’ll find it is remarkably in the way. In fact, I don’t think we’re getting through here at all until we’ve done something about it.”

“Truly a profound observation, Master Robin…” Medea said, smiling despite herself. “I’m sure it will someday be venerated among other such insightful statements of its kind. Perhaps in your written memoirs? Why, I can see them now…”

She adopted a solemn expression, stroking a non-existent beard on her chin, before rattling off some pseudo-intellectual sounding nonsense, such as to reach one’s destination, one must first have a destination to reach, or in pursuit of the truth, falsehoods should be avoided.

By the time Medea had finished reciting in her faux-elderly tone, she was laughing, her face flush with mirth. It was contagious, and Robin found himself laughing alongside her, even managing to pretend it wasn’t causing him crippling pain.

She was comfortable, and in no time at all had somehow become the closest thing he had to a friend. Of course, the niggling feeling he was being naive wormed its way up from his gut, but Robin did his best to ignore it. If she betrayed his expectations somehow, then he’d deal with it when it happened. He wasn’t going to let unchecked paranoia ruin the first good thing to happen to him in… possibly forever.

Something moved through the brush nearby, snapping a branch and murdering the mood. They shared a look, backing into the shadows near the gate, almost pressing themselves up against it. Robin’s eyes scanned the trees, searching for anything that didn’t belong.

An unsettlingly tall figure emerged, its pace unhurried as it moved on bestial legs. Hollow eyes tracked them in their hiding spot, set in a bone-white skull resting on its shoulders. Past its exposed ribcage rested a still-beating heart, and in the hand that’d once held a blade dark as midnight was a familiar knife.

From behind it came others, twisted amalgamations of flesh and bone in various states of decay, emerging from the trees with the steady gait of predators, shocking him with just how silently they moved… to the point it was a wonder he’d noticed them at all.

Intelligent hunters.

It was then Robin had the sudden distinct impression he’d been allowed to hear them approach. It seemed he’d underestimated his opponents once again. He suspected it would’ve made little difference in the long run, of course; he’d been woefully unprepared the first time he’d fought a Blighted, and back then he’d had a sword and two working arms.

Medea pressed to his side, gasping as she crushed his hand in a death grip. Her heart pounded in her chest, beating a powerful rhythm against his arm. There was no doubt his was giving much the same performance.

He didn’t really know what he’d expected in coming here, but it’d always been a long shot. The faint, absurd hope was he’d discover some ancient magical weapon that would let him turn the tides of battle in favor of humanity—the realistic one was a place to hide. It was starting to look like neither was in the cards. What could he say? He could curse every god he knew of and it wouldn’t help them—wouldn’t help him keep the promise he’d only just begun to believe in.

The encroaching horde pouring from the trees stopped when the knife-wielder did, only a small distance away from where Robin and Medea stood. The knife-wielder’s chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, lungs visibly expanding and deflating beneath its ribs as its gaze roamed every inch of Robin’s body, pausing on his wounded side—or more specifically, his hand.

Was it searching for something…? A certain sword perhaps? How would it have even known he’d taken it, though? Unless… it’d been watching from the forest all along. That wasn’t creepy or anything. So what, it’d dropped the thing only to decide it wanted it back later? Or was this something else? But what? Why would it swap to a clearly inferior weapon and handicap itself?

Handicap...? No way...

Had it intentionally handicapped itself as some kind some kind of challenge? If so, did that mean Robin had accepted said challenge by taking the sword?

If so, that was a revelation to file under way too fucking late. He could get behind the idea the Blighted were smart enough to set up an ambush, but this was something else entirely. Their other behavior could be mimicked by animals to a certain degree, but this…? This was strikingly human. It should’ve been obvious considering they were human at one point, but somehow he still hadn’t seen it coming. Again.

The tall thing took a step forward, apparently tired of waiting. The horde simply stood by and watched it happen. Surprisingly honorable fellows, zombies.

“What are the odds this gate will teleport us somewhere?” Robin glanced back at the iron portal out of the corner of his eye. Medea didn’t bother responding, eyes glued to the hulking monstrosity approaching them.

Obviously she thought the odds were not in their favor. And to be fair, he’d touched plenty of gates in his day and only one of them had ever been a teleporter…

Still, nothing for it but to try.

Robin took one last look at the monsters that’d hunted them down, vowing to come back with a chainsaw if he somehow made it through this.

“Two for two, baby. Let’s go.”

He gripped Medea’s hand tight, squeezed his eyes shut, and pressed their hands to the gate.