Tales of the Wastelander Ch. 40 - Teaser (Patreon)

Ben stirred under the soft weight of the quilt, the first light of dawn filtering through the sheer curtains of the apartment. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of Ylva’s breathing beside him. Her dark red hair fanned out on the pillow, her face peaceful and untroubled by the chaos that had engulfed their lives just days ago.

As he blinked awake, Ben flexed his fingers, slowly testing each muscle, each joint. The dull ache in his side where the Screamers had clawed him was still present, but far less intense. For the first time since the fight, he felt... better. Not completely healed, but alive, functional. The deep exhaustion that had weighed down every inch of him seemed to have lifted, like a heavy fog dissipating with the morning sun.

He shifted carefully so as not to wake Ylva, grateful for her presence. She had been with him through every dark moment, her quiet strength a constant anchor. Ben glanced at the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso, a stark reminder of how close things had come. In the time he was from, such a chance to simply rest and recover would have been impossible. Cost prohibitive, they’d said. In his era, rest was a luxury reserved for the wealthy or the fortunate.

But here, now, he had been allowed time to heal, to rest without the worry of it running his life dry. His body had needed it, and it was a strange, almost foreign relief to feel stronger after just... sleep. Simple, undisturbed sleep in a quiet, safe place. He exhaled slowly, a soft smile curling his lips as he looked at Ylva’s sleeping form. For now, in this place, with her, he was safe.

Ben lay there quietly, his gaze drifting up to the ceiling, lost in thought as his mind wandered back to the life he had once known. It felt so far away now, like another lifetime, but the memories of those days were still vivid. Back then, life had been all about work—nonstop, relentless work. There had been no time to think, no time to feel. Every moment of every day was about productivity, about squeezing every drop of usefulness from every second, as if time itself was just another resource to be mined.

He remembered the long, endless shifts under artificial lights, surrounded by the constant hum of machines. The sterile, metallic air of the shop he worked, and the hollow shell of a life he’d once had. Dealing with arrogant, obstinate people who only saw him as a cog in the machine of society. Every choice boiled down to a simple question: Is it worth it? Rest, comfort, leisure—they had all been luxuries, sacrificed on the altar of efficiency.

Sure, civilization had its comforts. The security of infrastructure, the predictability of schedules, the control over one’s environment. He couldn’t deny that. And, in some ways, he missed it—the clean, sharp lines of the cities, the ease of having everything at your fingertips. But now, after everything, he realized what had been missing in those days: life. Not just the act of existing, but the act of living—really living.

Ben turned his head slightly, watching Ylva’s chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. She was so deeply asleep that her breathing almost bordered on a quiet snore. He chuckled softly under his breath, careful not to wake her.

He then glanced down to the foot of the bed where Achilles, his Darkwolf, was sprawled out, snoring unabashedly. The great beast was more wolf than anything, massive and muscular, with fur as black as midnight, but right now, he looked more like an oversized dog in the midst of a nap. His snores were low and rumbling, loud enough that Ben couldn’t help but laugh quietly.

“Guess it’s not just me who’s enjoying this, huh?” Ben muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. Achilles’ ear flicked in response but didn’t stir otherwise. Ben exhaled slowly, the smile still lingering on his face.

“It’s an acceptable tradeoff,” he said softly, almost as if he were trying to convince himself. “Sure, I’ve left the comforts of that old world behind, but this… this is living. Not just surviving, but really being here, in every moment. It’s messy, it’s painful, but it’s real.”

He glanced back at Ylva, his eyes softening. There were no sterile walls here, no machines buzzing with data, no relentless demand for output. Just warmth, quiet, and the knowledge that, for the first time in what felt like forever, he was truly alive.