Sun was in his room, always trying to understand his authority, when he discovered a chilling truth. He checked his status window and realized that his authority was not linked to regeneration. For now, he only had the ability to enhance his strength and agility. So how was he regenerating?
He came up with a theory. A normal person is made up of will, soul, and body, but his body also had this strange seed, making him unique from the rest, though he didn't know what the seed was. When a normal person dies, it is recognized through their will, soul, and body—but he had something else. That meant he was outside the system. He was not recognized. That was why, even though Kael cleaved his head, he didn't die.
The seed seemed to have a regeneration ability, though the cost was very bad. He still remembered how the seed took his emotions and devoured them all. Because of that, he couldn't even feel grief for his parents. That meant Sun could never die—if the theory was true. Though there were fates worse than death.
The seed had been silent these days. It hardly reacted. Sun decided to leave his room and go outside.
The market was louder than it needed to be.
Sun stood at the edge of it, unmoving, as if stepping in would mean agreeing to something he hadn't yet examined.
Voices overlapped.
"Fresh grain! Best price you'll find!"
"Move—move! You're blocking the way!"
"How much for this—no, that's too high—"
Coins clinked. Feet shuffled. Cloth brushed against cloth. The entire place moved like a single organism that had forgotten it was made of individuals.
Sun stepped forward.
No one noticed.
A man brushed past him, nearly knocking his shoulder, muttering an apology that didn't sound like it belonged to him. A woman dragged a child by the wrist, already arguing with a vendor before she stopped walking.
Everyone was going somewhere.
No one had arrived.
Sun's eyes moved slowly, taking it in piece by piece.
A merchant stacking fruit with careful precision—only for a customer to ruin it seconds later.
A trader counting coins, then recounting them, then recounting again.
A boy running errands between stalls, his steps quick, practiced… rehearsed.
Sun stopped in the middle of the flow.
People curved around him without thinking. Like water around a stone.
"They're here for food," he said quietly.
It made sense.
You earn money. You buy meals. You live.
Simple.
He watched a woman exchange coins for bread. She held it like it mattered. Like it solved something.
Sun followed her with his eyes as she walked away.
Then he looked back at the stall.
The bread was still there.
More of it.
Being sold to the next person.
Another transaction. Another set of coins. Another pair of hands reaching.
He frowned slightly.
"…it didn't end."
He turned his head slowly.
The merchant didn't stop. The buyers didn't stop. The movement didn't stop.
Even the ones who had already bought food—already solved the problem—were still moving like they hadn't.
Sun took a few steps deeper into the market.
A man argued over price like his life depended on saving a few coins.
A woman sold fabric, her voice tired but persistent.
A group of traders laughed loudly over a deal, already discussing the next one before the first had settled.
Sun's gaze sharpened.
"They're not here for food."
He watched the same merchant from earlier.
The man had enough coins. That was clear. The way he handled them—casual, practiced—this wasn't survival anymore.
And yet he kept selling.
Kept counting.
Kept reaching.
Sun's chest tightened slightly.
"…then why are you still here?"
No one answered.
Of course.
He didn't ask them.
He already knew they wouldn't know.
His eyes moved faster now, connecting patterns.
Buy. Sell. Count. Move.
Buy. Sell. Count. Move.
No pause.
No completion.
A cycle without an endpoint.
"They'll come back," Sun whispered.
The realization settled slowly, like something heavy finding its place.
"Even if they leave… they'll come back."
Tomorrow.
Next cycle.
Next durath.
The same stalls. The same voices. The same movements.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Not because they need to.
Because they want to.
Sun's fingers twitched slightly.
A memory surfaced—quiet, precise.
A voice without emotion.
A truth spoken without weight.
All beings shall desire. Endlessly. Without conclusion.
The God of Desire.
Sun's breathing slowed.
He looked around again—but differently this time.
Not as individuals.
As a system.
Every movement driven by something unseen but absolute.
No one forcing them.
No chains.
No visible command.
And yet—
They couldn't stop.
Even if they wanted to.
Especially if they wanted to.
"…a curse," Sun said.
The word felt… accurate.
More accurate than anything else he had called this world so far.
A man pushed past him, muttering about lost time.
A woman clutched her purchases, already thinking about the next thing she needed.
A trader smiled wide, already chasing the next deal before finishing the current one.
None of them were satisfied.
None of them would be.
Sun felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest.
Not curiosity.
Not interest.
Not even understanding.
Something colder.
He watched a child tug at his father's sleeve, asking for something shiny from a nearby stall.
The father hesitated.
Then sighed.
Then reached for his coins.
Sun's eyes widened slightly.
It didn't stop.
It would never stop.
Not at food.
Not at wealth.
Not at anything.
Desire didn't end when fulfilled.
It expanded.
It replaced itself.
It continued.
Endlessly.
For the first time since opening his eyes in this mortal body—
Sun felt it.
Fear.
Not loud.
Not overwhelming.
Quiet.
Precise.
Because this wasn't a trap you could see.
Not something you could fight.
It was inside them.
Built into them.
And for the first time—
Sun didn't look at the people.
He looked at himself.
And wondered—
Am I different?
The market didn't pause for his question.
It kept moving.
It always would.