The city burned in the distance. Faint cries echoed through the night, mixing with the crackling of flames that devoured what little remained. The streets were littered with debris—shattered glass, broken weapons, abandoned belongings. Blood stained the ground, dark and fresh.

The battle was over.

For now.

A group of students sat in the ruins of a half-collapsed building, their bodies slumped with exhaustion. Some wrapped themselves in torn blankets, trying to chase away the cold. Others leaned against the crumbling walls, their faces empty, eyes hollow.

In the corner, a civilian woman sobbed into her hands. Her body trembled, her quiet cries breaking the silence. No one tried to comfort her. They were all too tired, too broken. They had seen too much.

Edward stood with his comrades, watching the ruined city. His arms hung loosely at his sides, his fingers twitching slightly from the adrenaline still coursing through him. Even though the monsters were gone, their presence still lingered, like a sickness in the air.

"That was bad," someone muttered behind him.

Another scoffed. "They're always bad."

"Yeah, but this one was worse."

Edward barely listened. His gaze drifted away from the destruction, landing instead on a lone figure standing a short distance away.

Serian.

Wrapped in a thin blanket, the silver-haired boy stood at the very edge of the ruins, staring at the starless sky. The wind played with his long strands of hair, making them shimmer faintly under the moonlight. His violet eyes, deep and distant, held no fear, no sadness.

He looked completely unbothered.

No exhaustion. No grief. Just stillness.

Edward wasn't the only one watching.

"Doesn't he look weird?" one of the students whispered.

"He always looks weird."

"Not even a single emotion after all this..."

"Maybe he's in shock?"

"Doubt it. I don't think Serian can feel anything."

Edward clenched his jaw, irritated by their hushed voices. They didn't understand. Serian wasn't heartless. He wasn't emotionless.

But… he was different.

Even now, standing amidst the ruins of yet another lost city, Serian looked more like an observer than a survivor.

Edward hesitated, then stepped away from his group, his boots crunching softly against the rubble as he made his way toward him.

Serian didn't move.

Even when Edward stopped beside him, he remained perfectly still, his eyes locked on the broken skyline.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

The silence stretched, filled only by the distant crackling of fire and the faint murmurs of the others.

Edward shifted, glancing at Serian from the corner of his eye. Up close, his features were even more unnerving—too perfect, too cold. His pale skin glowed faintly under the moonlight, and his sharp, delicate features almost didn't seem real.

A face like that didn't belong in a place like this.

"...You're staring," Serian finally said, his voice smooth and calm.

Edward blinked, then looked away, embarrassed. "Sorry. Just... thinking."

Serian didn't respond. He simply continued gazing at the ruins, his expression unreadable.

Edward exhaled softly. "You don't look tired."

"I'm not."

A simple answer. No explanation. No elaboration.

Edward frowned slightly. "...How?"

Serian finally turned his head, meeting Edward's gaze with his piercing violet eyes. "Does it matter?"

Edward held his stare, unsure how to respond.

Of course it mattered. They had just fought for their lives, running, dodging, cutting down monsters that used to be people. Everyone else was barely standing. Their bodies ached, their hands shook, their minds screamed with exhaustion.

But Serian?

Not a single wound. Not a single bruise.

Not even a hint of weariness in his voice.

It was unnatural.

"Sometimes," Edward muttered before he could stop himself, "you look like a god who pities us."

Serian blinked.

Then, silence.

The wind rustled through the ruins, carrying the faint scent of smoke. The firelight flickered across Serian's face, casting strange shadows against his pale skin.

For a moment, Edward wondered if he had said something wrong.

But Serian didn't react. He didn't scoff, didn't deny it, didn't even look surprised.

He just… stared.

Then, slowly, he turned his gaze back to the city.

The silence between them stretched again, heavier than before.

Edward shifted uncomfortably. "...Sorry. That was a weird thing to say."

"No," Serian murmured. "It wasn't."

Edward blinked. "It wasn't?"

Serian didn't answer right away. His violet eyes remained locked on the ruins, his fingers tightening slightly around the blanket draped over his shoulders.

Then, in a voice so quiet Edward almost missed it, he whispered, "What do you think a god would feel?"

Edward hesitated. "...What?"

"If a god watched humanity destroy itself, over and over again," Serian continued, "what do you think he would feel?"

Edward frowned. "I... don't know."

"Would he be angry?" Serian's voice was soft, almost thoughtful. "Would he be disappointed?"

Edward glanced at him, feeling uneasy. "Maybe."

Serian tilted his head slightly. "Or would he feel nothing at all?"

A chill crawled down Edward's spine.

He swallowed. "You... talk like you've thought about this before."

Serian didn't respond.

Edward studied him carefully. The way his silver hair shimmered in the firelight, the way his violet eyes held something old, something knowing.

He had always been different.

But now, for the first time, Edward wondered if Serian was too different.

"...Who are you?" Edward asked before he could stop himself.

Serian finally turned to face him, his expression as calm as ever.

For a moment, Edward thought he wouldn't answer.

Then, with the faintest of smiles, Serian said, "Just another survivor."

Edward wasn't sure if he believed him.

But as they sat there, watching the ruins of another lost city, he didn't press any further.

Because somehow, deep down, he had a feeling that he wouldn't like the real answer.