Darkness didn't come gently.
It swallowed.
Then—sound.
A faint, wet rhythm echoed somewhere in the distance.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Bjorn's consciousness surfaced slowly, like something being dragged upward through thick water. His thoughts lagged behind, heavy and unsteady.
The smell hit first.
Iron. Strong. Suffocating.
Beneath it… something sharper. Unfamiliar. Chemical. Burnt.
His brow twitched.
Where… am I?
His eyes opened—but the world refused to fully form. Shapes bled into each other. Light flickered weakly from above, casting long, distorted shadows across a wide, cold room.
Figures stood around him.
Six of them.
Tall. Still. Silent.
Silhouettes.
They formed a circle, all facing the same direction—toward something at the center.
Bjorn's breathing felt… wrong. Too steady. Too distant. Like it didn't belong to him.
Who are these…?
His gaze shifted, drawn forward without resistance.
At the center stood a pillar.
No—something was bound to it.
A body.
His vision pulsed, struggling to focus. For a moment, everything sharpened—
Then warped again.
Skin split open in clean lines. Not wild. Not chaotic.
Precise.
Deliberate.
Blood ran slowly down the length of the pillar, dripping into a dark pool below.
Drip.
Drip.
Bjorn's chest tightened.
Is this a dream…?
No.
Too real.
Too vivid.
Fragments of memory flickered—fire, pain, Mia, the fight—
If I remember correctly, I was—
No…
Let's figure out how to—
"Master."
The voice cut through everything.
Calm. Close.
Bjorn turned his head slowly, the movement feeling delayed, unnatural.
One of the silhouettes had shifted. Slightly. Facing him now.
"Why are you spacing out?"
Bjorn froze.
Master…?
The word didn't settle right.
His gaze dropped instinctively—
And stopped.
His hand.
It looked like his… but it wasn't.
Something about it felt off. The weight. The proportion.
And in it—
A tool.
Long. Thin. Metallic.
Sharp enough to gleam faintly under the dim light.
Covered in blood.
Fresh.
Dripping.
Bjorn's fingers twitched, but the movement didn't feel like his own.
Slowly—almost against his will—his gaze lifted again.
Back to the pillar.
The body.
A section of it… missing.
Removed.
Cleanly.
His vision distorted. The edges of the room bent slightly, like reality itself was unstable.
That tool…
I did that…?
The thought slipped through his mind but refused to settle.
Didn't feel real.
Didn't feel possible.
The silhouettes blurred again, their forms shifting like smoke. The room pulsed faintly, as if breathing.
Another drip.
Another movement—
His hand tightened unconsciously.
The blade sank slightly deeper.
A wet sound followed.
Bjorn's pupils shrank.
This isn't—
The thought broke apart before it could finish.
The world flickered.
Once.
Twice.
And something deep inside him—
Something buried beneath instinct, rage… and survival—
Shifted.
The silhouettes leaned in, watching. Waiting.
And Bjorn—
Standing among them—
Holding the blade—
Could no longer tell
if he was witnessing something…
Or remembering it.
"Scene switch"
Then—
A sound.
A broken inhale.
"—Ghk—!"
Bjorn's body jerked against the mud. His chest convulsed violently as air forced its way back into his lungs. Blood bubbled at his lips as he coughed, dragging breath in like his body was remembering how to live.
His fingers twitched.
Curled.
Then clenched.
Another breath came—shaky, unstable.
But it came.
The shadow stilled.
"…Is this…" his voice lowered slightly, "…a Lazarus phenomenon?"
Bjorn didn't respond.
His breathing was rough, uneven, but steadying. His heart—faint, but beating.
Alive.
The shadow watched him for a moment… then a slow grin formed.
"…What a ridiculous life force."
Bjorn's eyes fluttered open.
Blurred.
Heavy.
The world didn't come back all at once—just fragments. Fire. Smoke. Pain..intense headache...as if to faint again but decided to held on!
And something else…
A memory.
A room.
Blood.
…gone.
Slipping.
He couldn't hold onto it.
His body moved before his thoughts could catch up. Slowly—dragging through mud and ash—he pulled himself toward the nearest tree.
Each movement felt wrong.
Heavy.
Like his body didn't fully belong to him yet.
Behind him—
Silence.
But he could feel it.
That presence.
Watching.
Bjorn reached the tree and leaned back against it, his body barely holding itself upright. His breathing was still uneven, his vision still unsteady.
Then he lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
The shadow.
Still holding Aira.
Still watching him.
Like a predator waiting to understand its prey.
Neither spoke.
Three seconds.
Maybe five.
Then—
Bjorn exhaled slowly. It caught halfway.
"…Answer me."
His voice was rough. Dry.
Steady—but thinner than before.
The shadow tilted its head, waiting.
Bjorn lifted his right hand. It trembled faintly against the bark, fingers not fully responding.
"I don't… see myself as anything important," he said quietly. "Just… something small. Replaceable."
His gaze dipped.
"The kind of person… people forget the moment they're gone."
A pause.
"…Maybe that's why disappearing never felt wrong."
His eyes shifted toward Aira.
Still unconscious.
Still in the shadow's hold.
"It's not like I don't feel it…" he added, softer. "The loneliness… I do."
A breath slipped out.
"But even with that… I didn't want much."
Another pause.
"…Just peace."
A faint, wet cough interrupted him.
A trace of blood followed his breath.
He steadied himself, jaw tightening slightly.
"But that doesn't exist here."
His voice remained low.
"I tried to understand it. Groups… strength in numbers… all of that."
A small shake of his head.
"All I saw… were cracks. People turning on each other… the moment it mattered."
His eyes hardened.
"So I stayed alone."
A beat.
"Not because I'm strong."
A second breath—uneven.
"…Because I didn't trust what staying would turn me into."
Silence lingered.
"The Wrath faction saw that as arrogance," he added. "Like I was challenging them… just by existing."
A faint, humorless exhale escaped him.
"I wasn't."
His gaze lifted again, steadier now.
"I was just tired."
A pause.
"Then I met them. The faction leaders."
Something subtle shifted behind his eyes.
"And that's when I realized…"
A slight tension in his chest.
"I wasn't invisible."
Another pause.
"I was being watched."
His eyes flicked briefly to the shadow.
"…Just like now."
Silence.
"Mia…"
The name came quieter than the rest.
"Her grip… wasn't just physical."
His fingers pressed faintly into the bark.
"It felt like she could see through everything."
A longer breath left him.
He coughed again—deeper this time.
Wet. Blood mixed into it.
"…And now I'm here."
No emotion in the words. Just fact.
"Dragged into something I never wanted."
He paused.
Just briefly.
"…So tell me."
His eyes locked onto the shadow.
Tired.
Focused.
Still holding on.
"What am I supposed to do?"
The shadow didn't answer immediately.
He just watched him.
Head slightly tilted.
Like he was trying to figure out what exactly he was looking at.
Then—
A quiet breath left him.
"…You're asking the wrong question."
Bjorn didn't move.
The shadow shifted Aira slightly on his shoulder, adjusting her weight.
"You keep talking like you had a choice," he continued, voice calm… almost bored. "Like this place cares what you want."
His gaze flicked briefly around them—the burning camp, the bodies, the chaos.
"It doesn't."
A short pause.
"You wanted peace?" he added. "Wrong place."
Bjorn's expression didn't change.
The shadow's eyes narrowed slightly.
"But here's the part you're not getting…"
He took a small step forward.
Not aggressive.
Not cautious.
Just… closer.
"You tried to stay small."
A beat.
"And now look at you."
His gaze dropped to Bjorn's body—broken, barely holding together… but alive.
"You fought a faction leader. Survived it. Burned half a camp down in the process."
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"You don't get to be 'replaceable' after that."
Silence.
The fire crackled behind them.
"You think staying alone keeps things simple?" he went on. "It doesn't."
Another step.
"It just means when things like this happen…"
His eyes flicked to Aira.
"…there's no one standing between you and losing everything."
That one landed heavier.
He let it sit.
Then shrugged lightly.
"Groups are messy. People are worse. You're not wrong about that."
A pause.
"But they exist for a reason."
His gaze returned to Bjorn.
"Not because people like each other."
A slight tilt of his head.
"Because alone… you don't last."
Silence stretched again.
Then—
A quieter tone.
Less detached.
"…You already have attention."
His eyes sharpened.
"From Wrath. From Lust. From people you haven't even met yet."
A faint breath.
"You can keep running from that."
A beat.
"Or you can decide what it turns into."
Bjorn didn't speak.
Didn't move.
The shadow studied him for another second… then gave a small, almost dismissive shrug.
"Either way…"
He adjusted Aira again.
"…next time, it won't just be one faction coming for you."
A pause.
Then, almost as an afterthought—
"If you're going to survive here…"
His eyes met Bjorn's one last time.
"…stop acting like you're alone."
In any case....what am trying to say I that uhm.....you'll have to sieze it 'PEACE' that is!
Silence fell again.
The kind that doesn't end anything—
Just leaves something behind.
The shadow held his gaze for a moment longer.
Then—
He turned.
Boots shifting softly against the mud as he adjusted Aira on his shoulder.
Without another word, he began to walk away.
Slow.
Unhurried.
As if the conversation had already reached its end.
A few steps in, he paused.
Not turning fully back—just enough to speak over his shoulder.
"…Oh."
A brief silence.
"The Lust princess doesn't know you're still alive."
Another pause.
Shorter this time.
"So I'd suggest you move before she—or her people—decide to take an interest."
No warning in his tone.
No urgency.
Just a simple observation.
Then he continued walking.
The flames crackled behind him as his figure faded into the smoke and distance, carrying Aira away without hesitation.