The grass stretched endlessly in every direction, swaying lazily under the breeze. The heat was bearable, but the walk had stretched into an annoying monotony. Garry's boots crunched rhythmically behind me, the sound blending with the occasional bird call. Neither of us spoke for nearly ten minutes.
"Were you always like this?" Garry's voice cut through the quiet, low and deliberate.
I didn't bother turning around. "What do you mean?"
"You know," he said, and for a second, I thought that was all he was going to offer. Then he added, "Heartless."
I laughed under my breath, more out of surprise than humor. "Coming from you? That's rich."
His silence pressed on me, like he was waiting for an actual answer. I shrugged. "I don't know. Probably."
"You're not even denying it." There was no judgment in his tone, just a flat statement of fact. Garry rarely wasted energy on things like feelings.
"Why bother?" I quipped. "You wouldn't believe me anyway."
The sound of his footsteps faltered for just a moment, as though he'd stopped walking, then picked up again. "When you fought them back there... You didn't hesitate. Didn't hold back." He paused again, then added, "Didn't even think."
I exhaled sharply. "Yeah, and? Weren't you going for the kill too?"
"Yes," he said, evenly. "But I don't kill for nothing."
The weight of his words settled in the air. I didn't have a response, not immediately. We kept walking, and the silence was heavier now. Eventually, I muttered, "Instincts, maybe."
"Instincts," he repeated flatly, his tone halfway between disbelief and annoyance.
"Yeah. You know, fight-or-die kind of instincts. When I'm in it, I'm not thinking about the long-term consequences or the morality of it all. I'm thinking, 'how do I survive, and how do I make sure they don't get back up?'" I finally glanced over my shoulder. "You gonna psychoanalyze me now?"
Garry met my eyes, his expression carved from stone. "I'm not interested in your excuses."
"Wow," I said with mock admiration, "you really know how to cheer a guy up."
"Maybe you don't need cheering up." He looked away, his gaze scanning the horizon like it was more important than this conversation. "Maybe you need to figure out why you're like this."
I didn't respond. I didn't want to. The truth was, his words hit harder than I liked to admit. Why was I like this? Was it just instinct, or was there something more broken inside me that made killing feel...easy?
We walked on, the meadow stretching out ahead of us in an endless golden sea. Eventually, I broke the silence again. "This place goes on forever. If we don't run into someone soon, I'm gonna die of boredom."
"We could take a break," Garry said without looking at me.
"Really? You, Mr. 'We're wasting time,' want to take a break?" I raised an eyebrow, though he probably couldn't see it. "What if we get ambushed?"
"Then it'll save us the trouble of looking for them," he replied. The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Hah. Fair point." I stopped walking and stretched my arms above my head. "Alright, let's rest. You can play lookout, and I'll enjoy the view."
We cleared a spot in the grass, and Garry used his Terrastone rune to smooth the ground beneath us. The earth shifted and compacted into a soft, cool surface, and I dropped onto it without hesitation, sprawling out on my back.
"So," he said, looking up at the endless hue of yellow, "since you let the metal guy run off—"
"Because of you," I interrupted, my voice sharp.
"Yeah, yeah, because of me," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "Anyway, since we let him run off, we didn't get the bonus Nyu. And their party wasn't exactly rolling in it, either. Maybe the metal guy was their leader."
"Probably," I said with a grin. "So, what now, oh fearless leader?"
"First," Garry said, his tone as serious as ever, "we need to adjust. This level's energy density is higher. That means the players here are stronger. More dangerous."
"Great. Stronger players means more fun," I said, folding my hands behind my head. "And more nyu. If we ever find them."
Garry ignored my sarcasm. "Terrastone's almost fully regenerated."
"That's nice. Means I can slack off, right?"
He gave me a sidelong look that could have frozen lava. "No. It means I don't need to babysit you anymore."
"Sure, sure," I said, closing my eyes and letting the sunlight warm my face. "So, how much nyu do we need to pass this level?"
"1,300," he said.
I groaned. "And I've got... 549." I opened one eye and glanced at him. "What about you?"
"Not enough," he said bluntly.
"Great. So we're both broke." I let out an exaggerated sigh. "Guess we better get moving again soon, huh?"
Garry didn't reply, and for a moment, the silence returned. But it wasn't uncomfortable this time. Just...quiet. Peaceful, even.
I didn't trust it.
I had closed my eyes, but sleep never came easy—not really. There was always that lingering dread, coiling tight in my chest, whispering: What if you close your eyes, and when they open, you don't exist anymore?
But exhaustion doesn't ask for permission—it simply takes. No matter how hard you fight it, how much you tell yourself to stay alert, it creeps in like a shadow, slow and inevitable. The weight behind my eyelids grew heavier with each passing second, dragging me down despite my best efforts to resist. It wasn't just physical; it was the kind of fatigue that settled deep into your bones, that seeped into the cracks of your mind and dulled everything sharp.
I tried to keep my eyes open, focusing on the sway of the grass around me, the distant hum of the meadow, anything to keep me grounded—but it was useless. The edges of the world blurred, soft and hazy, and before I knew it, the darkness wrapped around me like a heavy shroud. It wasn't a gentle embrace. It swallowed me whole, dragging me into the abyss with a force that felt almost merciless.
At first, the void was still. Quiet. Almost peaceful. But then, like waves against a fragile dam, visions began to creep in. Shapes shifting and twisting, too vague to grasp, too fleeting to hold on to. Whenever I focused on one, it would shatter, replaced by another—a cascade of images I didn't recognize. They felt foreign, yet they stirred something inside me. Something raw. Something wrong.
And then came the voices.
"Just let it die."
"Why prolong the suffering?"
"It was never meant to last."
"Abandon it. Like all the others."
"Another soul, another flame snuffed out. That's all it is."
I couldn't place the voices. I didn't know these people. But their words tore at me, hollowed me out in ways I couldn't describe. The guilt, the sadness, the anger—they weren't mine, yet they consumed me all the same. I wanted to cover my ears, to shut it all out, but in this endless void, there was nowhere to run.
The voices grew louder, overlapping in a maddening cacophony.
"A shadow of existence."
"A flicker that should've been extinguished."
"An abomination."
"Why does it still fight? Why does it still breathe?"
I felt my throat tighten, a scream clawing its way up, but when I opened my mouth, no sound came out. The voices pressed harder, suffocating, gnawing at the edges of my sanity. And just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore—when the weight of their words threatened to crush me—it all stopped.
The silence hit like a thunderclap. Deafening in its stillness.
And then, cutting through the void, came a single voice.
Deep. Commanding. Familiar.
"It was born to die, they said. But they were wrong. They've always been wrong."
I couldn't see him, not clearly. His face hovered just beyond recognition, shrouded in shadow, yet his presence was undeniable. I felt it like a pulse in the void, a tether holding me together when everything else was falling apart.
"Two nights," he continued. "That's how long they gave it. Two nights before it would succumb to its own frailty. Before it would be just another failed fragment, lost to the wind."
He paused, his voice steady but heavy with conviction.
"But it did not die. Not in two nights. Not in two years. It clings to existence, even as its body withers, even as its form defies recognition. It survives. Why?"
The question hung in the air, unanswered. I felt the weight of his gaze, though I couldn't see his eyes.
"Because fate wills it so," he said finally. "Fate has called me to this moment, to this decision."
I wanted to speak, to ask him who he was talking about—who I was in all this. But I couldn't move, couldn't speak. I could only listen.
"Every soul in this cursed prison we call the game serves a purpose, whether they realize it or not. Most flicker out like candles in a storm, insignificant and unremembered. But not this one. Not him."
He stepped closer—or maybe the void shifted, pulling him toward me.
"This one belongs to me now. Mark my words. From this moment forth, he will carry the name Lycoris. Brother of mine. Protected by my hand and bound to my will."
His voice grew louder, more commanding, as if speaking to an unseen crowd.
"I am XXXXXX, ruler of XXXXXXX, and I decree it so. Spread the word. For as long as he bears the name Lycoris, no blade shall sever him from his fate. No force shall claim him. Let all who challenge this decree know the wrath they invite."
The void trembled with his words, the weight of them sinking deep into my chest. And then, as suddenly as it began, the vision crumbled, the shadows collapsing in on themselves. His voice faded into nothing, and I was left with a single word spiraling through my mind:
Lycoris.
It lingered, repeating over and over, growing louder until it drowned out everything else. But the more I thought about it, the more it unsettled me. The word felt wrong, like a piece of a puzzle forced into a place it didn't belong.
No. Not Lycoris.
My eyes snapped open, and I found myself lying on the grass, staring up at the blue sky. The weight of the vision clung to me, but I pushed it aside. Whatever that was, whatever it meant, it wasn't me.
I sat up, glancing over at Garry, who was sitting with his back straight, staring at the horizon like it might attack him.
"What's my name?" I said suddenly, the words spilling out before I could stop them.
He blinked, his brow furrowing as he turned to me. "What?"
"If you had to call me something," I said, more deliberately this time. "What would it be?"
He stared at me for a moment, his face unreadable. "You don't have a name already?"
I shrugged. "Not one I care to keep."
He didn't respond immediately, his gaze drifting back to the horizon. "I don't know. Something simple. Something strong."
I thought about it. About the visions. About the word that wouldn't leave my mind.
"…Lukas," I said finally.
Garry raised an eyebrow. "Lukas?"
"Yeah," I said, the name settling on my tongue like it had been waiting for me to say it. "Let's go with that."
He gave a small nod, his expression unreadable again. "Lukas it is, then."
I lay back down, staring at the sky again. The visions, the voices, the name—I tried to push them all aside. But even as I closed my eyes again, the question lingered in the back of my mind:
Who am I, really?