The chest sat beneath the red-violet sky, half-embedded in the roots of a warped, slanted tree. It wasn't there monts ago. Its presence warped the air around it, like heat radiating off the pavent, subtle yet constant. Etched into its wooden surface were spiraling sigils that shifted with every glance.
A new kind of treasure chest than the one she saw before.
Kivas stood a safe distance from it, arms folded, her foot tapping with unease. "Nope. Absolutely not. I don't like that thing."
Samael, calm as ever, stepped up beside her with her usual smirk. "Worried?"
"Yeah, most definitely." Kivas voice was flat but wary. "Weird chest randomly spawning out of nowhere, just outside our shelter. I've seen this horror movie before."
"We call these kinds of chests as Curios, for your information."
"I just called them trauma boxes."
"They are a kind of environntal anomaly, yes," Samael said. "Curios are born from Fathomi itself. The world crafts them when conflict and interaction reach a certain threshold. It's Fathomi's way of keeping things... interesting."
"Fathomi sounds like a sassy bitch," Kivas uttered, squinting at the box like it might bite her. "So these Curios are like little reward crates that pop up when sothing important happens?"
"Well, they just appeared for many reasons from ti to ti." Samael replied. "Each Curio has sothing within. An item, a boon, sotis a curse. Their contents vary—bizarre, powerful, or utterly mundane."
"And let guess," Kivas muttered, "they co with a trap."
Samael raised the cinquedea, its blade catching the dying light. "You've experienced that firsthand. That trap almost split your soul in two, if I rember the words you said correctly
"That was horrifying," Kivas deadpanned. "And I didn't even get anything cool. Just a weird knife."
"It's a well-forged dagger imbued with faint divine will," Samael countered. "You just don't appreciate craftsmanship."
Kivas sighed, stepping slightly closer, still wary. "So, what happens if we touch this one? Will the sky folds inside out?
"Then you try not to die," Samael said, before placing her hand casually on the chest's lid. "For this particular chest, it appeared to be hosting a trap that will place one of your splitted consciousness into a room of emptiness with several clues."
The world bent.
Only for a mont.
Kivas staggered, the forest tilting like her mind was trying to fall through itself. Leaves reversed mid-fall. Distant shadows flickered between realities.
And then—nothing.
Just the sound of the chest clicking open, softly.
The glow from within pulsed once, golden and firm.
Samael removed her hand. "Regardless, a complex trap can be easily disard with a great wisdom and experience."
"Whoah! That's my girlfriend right there!"
"You're too quick to claim as your partner."
"Hey, it's not like you're rejecting the idea~" Kivas whistled. "For a woman of your worth, I will be so dumb to not claim you right away."
"I'm a Voidling."
"Forrly." Kivas chuckled, enjoying the ti where she can tease the deadpanned Samael. "Still, that was a very very fast process of trap disarming."
"I've disard thousands. The traps respond to intent. And skill. The more familiar you are with the world's soul-layer, the less likely it is to try and unmake you. Not to ntion, the stats within your Well of the Soul."
Kivas happily muttered sothing under her breath that sounded like cheating.
Samael ignored it and slowly lifted the lid.
Inside, nestled in a velvet-like inlay, was a long black object with a sturdy wooden stock, sleek barrel, and tallic body. It glead with age and function.
Samael tilted her head. "Now that's unexpected."
Kivas stepped forward.
And froze.
"That is..." Kivas was unbelievably put in a great disbelief to what she had seen sitting inside the disard treasure chest. "A Remington Model 870."
Samael didn't answer imdiately. She simply picked up the firearm with both hands, inspecting it. The weapon had no rust, no damage. It was clean, heavy, humming faintly with imbued energy.
"That's a shotgun," Kivas said louder. "A pump-action shotgun. It shouldn't be here. That is a pump-action culmination of freedom!"
Samael held it up, turning it slowly. "I've seen a few like these. From ti to ti. Not the most peculiar object to find in Fathomi."
"You've—what?"
Samael glanced at her. "It's not uncommon. Curios sotis draw from places beyond Fathomi. Even beyond other dinsions. The logic of where these items co from is unknown, even to . They simply appear. Fabricated. Or plucked. Or gifted. In this case, might be related to your forr world."
Kivas clutched her forehead. "This is a gun. From Earth. From my world. I used this model in half a dozen video gas before. It's literal. Why is it here?"
"You tell . You seem to be very familiar with it." Samael gave the gun a light toss. Kivas instinctively caught it, holding it in both hands like a holy relic. "I examined it. It's Exotic Tier."
"Is that good?"
"The tiers are: Common, Rare, Noble, Exotic, Legendary, and Godly. Exotic has a one-in-a-thousand chance. So yes, congratulations, Fateling." Samael chuckled. "You got a good loot."
"I am screaming internally."
"Externally, too."
"But it's just a—wait, how does it even work here? Where's the ammo?" Kivas turned the weapon in her hands, searching for a slot, chamber, or port.
"It uses Mana Psyche," Samael said. "When you pump it, it converts a portion of your MP into kinetic energy. Try it."
Kivas hesitated, then gripped the fore-end and pumped it.
She felt it imdiately.
A sharp pull against her core, a surge through her arms.
2 MP was deducted from her Well of the Soul.
❤️ Hemo Psyche (HP): 7 / 36
🔮 Mana Psyche (MP): 24 / 26
She raised the barrel, aid at a nearby tree.
Pulled the trigger.
The air shattered with the echo of a scatter-blast. Bark exploded from the tree, shredded and thrown back in chunks. The recoil bit into her shoulder.
"Okay—holy hell—"
Samael stepped back, eyebrows lifted. "Hmm. It's loud. And a bit underwhelming. The damage isn't as high as I'd hoped."
"But it barely used any MP!" Kivas shouted, face bright. "I can use this like, ten tis before running dry!"
"Then it's perfect for you—"
Samael unwarily turned to say more—then flinched.
A sudden sharp pain bit through her forearm. She staggered as her wings flared instinctively. A second sting sliced across the mbrane of her right wing.
Blood spilled in jagged lines.
She spun around.
Kivas stood with the shotgun raised, still smoking. Her arms were firm. Her posture rigid. Her eyes were narrowed, pupils smaller than usual, her stare unfocused and frozen.
Emotionless.
Cold.
She pumped the shotgun again. The tallic shhk-shhk echoed through the clearing.
Samael narrowed her eyes, blood dripping from her fingers. "Kivas."
No reply.
Kivas cocked her head slightly, the barrel following with it.
Samael's breath slowed.
Kivas took a step forward, silent.
Another pump.
Another click of the trigger being prid.
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