Fallen off the Cliff by My Lover After Becoming a Hero

Hah… hah… breathing…

Thump. Thump.

My body… it hurts so much…

Thump. Thump.

What's… happening to me…?

Thump. Thump—

The steady pounding of my heartbeat pulled me back to consciousness.

With great effort, I pried open my heavy eyelids. My blurred vision revealed the faint, flickering glow of an oil lamp.

"Hah… hah… cough, cough, cough!"

Before I could fully regain my senses, a fit of violent coughing dragged me harshly out of my dreamlike state.

My body was burning. The heat was unbearable, and the coughing wouldn't stop. What's happening… to me?

Leaning against the wall for support, I turned my head slightly, surveying the dimly lit room illuminated by the feeble oil lamp. My gaze landed on the crude tally marks carved into the wall.

Seven vertical strokes, each grouped with one horizontal slash—two complete sets, with an additional single mark.

Fifteen days… yes. That's right. I remember now.

It started three days ago—this creeping sickness. And now, today, it's finally hit me in full force. On a normal day, I'd never allow myself to drift off before the designated rest period. I'd stay vigilant, monitoring every movement in the storage room. But today… I had no choice. My body simply gave out.

How long was I asleep? My last memory was… noise. It was noisy around midday. So, what… I've been out the entire afternoon? Damn it… this is bad—

"When's someone else taking over this shift?"

"Same as always. At night."

Just as I was ready to curse my circumstances aloud, the sound of voices—low and guttural—reached my ears. Slowly, I lifted my head and noticed two crew members approaching. They were carrying what appeared to be dinner, their footsteps echoing faintly as they neared the cell.

If my body weren't in such bad shape, I'd have noticed them the moment they stepped into the storage room.

"This sucks! I hate this job! This stinking warehouse is disgusting!"

"Shut it. Complaining won't change a thing."

Unintentionally, I'd started to pick up pieces of their serpentine language. I couldn't understand everything, but I was beginning to catch phrases here and there. Still, deciphering anything useful from their words was a challenge. My only opportunities to learn were these brief meal deliveries; the rest of the time, this place was desolate. Not a single crew member lingered in the storage room longer than necessary.

"Here. Yours!"

Grumbling as they worked, one of the serpent-men scooped several ladles of porridge into the bowl set in front of me. He filled it generously, only stopping when the bowl was nearly overflowing.

Across the cell, my fellow prisoners weren't treated nearly as well. Their portions were flung haphazardly onto the ground, forming messy puddles of gruel. They didn't hesitate, crawling over each other in their desperate attempts to lick up the scraps. Unlike my first day here, I no longer found their actions amusing.

"We're done! Let's go!" "Yeah, get out of here already!"

With their task finished, the two serpent-men left in a hurry, muttering about the stench of the warehouse. Even after they were gone, I didn't touch my bowl.

Grrrr…

My stomach growled loudly, a sharp reminder of its emptiness.

"That… meow…"

"Take it… cough, cough!"

The common tongue.

A language meant to bridge the gap between races, facilitating communication. Knowing it was enough to survive in most parts of the world. But mastering a specific race's native language? That was how you truly built trust.

If you wanted to connect with someone, their mother tongue was the way to their heart.

Cough, cough! "Here… quick…"

Stifling another wave of coughing, I pushed the bowl of porridge toward her.