Dawn Walker-Chapter 59: Home is Near

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[Ding! System Notification- Host nervousness detected.

No need for forced compliments or false praise.

High-tier gods cannot observe hosts directly unless the host is within their territory or their active perception domain.

Communication through abyss-class artifacts is limited to artifact-to-artifact channels.

Note: Void God John and Ant God Kai are not watching the host. They sent gifts and released the host to walk his path.]

Sekhmet felt his lungs finally unclench.

He did not show relief on his face, but inside, the knot loosened.

He glanced at Lily.

She was still eyeing him like he might suddenly confess he was married to a void woman.

Sekhmet cleared his throat.

"Anyway," he said, forcing his tone casual, "I will be careful with it. I will not flash it around in the city."

Lily’s expression softened slightly.

"That would be wise," she said. "People kill for far less."

Bat Bat flapped down and perched on Sekhmet’s shoulder.

"I kill for meat," it announced.

Sekhmet hissed, "Stop talking about killing."

Bat Bat nodded solemnly.

"I murder quietly," it promised.

Lily laughed once, short and surprised, like the sound escaped before she could stop it.

Sekhmet pretended not to notice.

They continued forward.

The forest thinned gradually over the next week. The dead trees became less twisted. The stones became less sharp. The air became less thick with old hatred. The land still felt dangerous, but the danger began to resemble nature again, not malice.

Days passed.

A month did not feel like a single stretch. It felt like many small survivors stitched together.

During the day, they walked and stayed visible enough to avoid looking like easy prey. Lily’s guards —what remained of them— were gone now. The silence of their absence traveled beside Lily like another shadow, but she did not speak their names. She did not cry. In Null, tears were expensive. They bought nothing.

At night, they made camp.

Sekhmet always positioned himself between Lily and the deepest darkness. Lily acted like she did not notice. She did not argue. She had grown up around merchants, soldiers, and predators disguised as nobles. She understood silent arrangements.

Bat Bat learned quickly.

Not just words.

Behavior.

Lily spoke to it constantly, as if teaching a child.

She told it stories about Slik. About the city walls. About market streets full of chaos stones and chaos fruit, about merchants who shouted lies so loudly even truth felt embarrassed, about guards who pretended to be brave until the city lord’s wife looked at them.

Bat Bat listened like it was absorbing language through its ears.

By the second week, it could speak more clearly.

Not perfect.

But understandable.

"Good morning," it said one dawn, pronouncing it like "guh mor... ning."

Lily clapped softly, delighted. "I think we should give you a warrior name."

Sekhmet stared at the bat, then muttered, "Now it will never shut up."

Bat Bat looked offended.

"I talk important," it declared.

Lily smiled. "Tell him you want a warrior title like void god," she said to the bat.

Bat Bat blinked.

"Name," it repeated, then fluttered down in front of Sekhmet, hovering nose-level.

Flap... Flap...

"I want the title name," it announced.

Sekhmet narrowed his eyes.

"You already have one," he said.

Bat Bat puffed up.

"That not title," it argued. "That is just name."

Lily grinned.

"It is a title," she teased. "It is just a silly one."

Bat Bat crossed its tiny arms in the air, somehow.

"No silly," it said firmly. "I am a warrior."

Sekhmet stared at the bat, then at Lily, then back at the bat.

He sighed as if the universe had given him the wrong pet.

"Fine," Sekhmet said. "You are... blood Bat Bat."

Bat Bat blinked.

"... blood Bat Bat," it repeated slowly.

Then it smiled, showing tiny fangs.

"Blood sounds good," it said proudly. "I Blood Bat Bat."

Lily laughed again.

Sekhmet’s mouth twitched slightly, almost a smile, but he forced it away.

Joy was dangerous in purgatory. It made you careless.

And Sekhmet could not afford careless, not with the hunger still lurking inside him.

Because at night, when Lily slept, Sekhmet hunted.

Not loudly.

Not violently.

He moved away from camp like a shadow, using the forest’s edges and broken ridges. He chose targets carefully — lonely beasts, stragglers, weak predators that would not draw attention if they disappeared.

He fed only enough to calm the burning thirst.

Never enough to leave someone alive and changed.

Never enough to risk another accident.

Each time his teeth touched flesh, trauma rose like bile.

The first taste of blood had saved him.

It had also marked him.

He would drink, feel the relief, then feel disgust. Then feel relief again. Then hate himself for needing it.

He returned to camp each time with his mouth cleaned and his hands steady.

Lily never asked why he always came back smelling faintly like iron.

Or maybe she noticed and chose silence.

Sekhmet did not know which option made him more uneasy.

Because blood proficiency rose slowly.

Not like before.

Not in leaps.

In fractions.

In stolen gulps.

By the time the month neared its end, the system reported his progress quietly.

[Blood Proficiency: 56%.]

Sekhmet stared at that number one night while sitting beside the dying fire.

"Fifty-six," he thought, his mind cold. "And it still feels like I am starving."

Bat Bat snuggled into Lily’s cloak like it belonged there. Lily scratched its head absentmindedly, half asleep.

Bat Bat murmured, "Warm," then added, "Lily good."

Lily smiled in her sleep, as if the bat’s approval was a blessing.

Sekhmet watched them for a moment, something tight in his chest loosening.

Then he looked away. He did not deserve softness yet. He did not deserve comfort yet. But the road kept moving anyway.

The last week of the forest felt like the land was giving up, gradually surrendering them back to civilization. Trees became thinner. The ground became flatter. Stone ridges softened into rolling hills.

And then, one morning, they stepped out of the purgatory forest entirely.