Inside one of the decayed houses, a fire burned low in the hearth, its orange light trembling over the cracked floorboards. The old woman lowered herself into a chair near the fire, her wrinkled hands folded over the top of her cane.
"Sit, boy...you look weary." The old woman said to Ren.
Ren hesitated before taking the chair across from her.
"What do they call you, child?"
"Ren..." He responded simply, watching the fire crackle.
"A short name..." She murmured, tapping her cane on the cracked floorboard. "Easy to remember. That's good. You'd be surprised how many here have long forgotten theirs."
"Forgotten?" Ren looked up at her.
The lady's lips curved in a sad smile.
"A name means little when the soul begins to fade." The lady's lips curved into a sad smile. "And most of us here…well, we've been fading a long time."
She looked into the fire, milky eyes reflecting the glow.
"It's strange, isn't it? To still feel when we shouldn't."
Ren crossed his arms, asking her softly.
"What do you mean by that?"
She hesitated, then looked back at him.
"Tell me something, Ren. When was the last time you slept?"
"I don't know," He thought hard on the question. "It's been…a while."
"And when was the last time you felt hunger?"
Her tone was soft but sharp, like she already knew the answer.
"I-I can't remember. Not since I came here."
The woman nodded slowly, as if confirming a truth she already carried. Her pale eyes met his, and for a moment, he saw something in them—pity.
"Ren...you are like us," She said gently. "You do not sleep, nor hunger, nor age. Because, child…You are already dead."
"…Dead?" He echoed the word back to her.
"Wait, why am I questioning it?!" Ren closed his eyes and thought. "Of course I'm dead...I should know that more than anyone. But why...why does it hurt so much to admit it?"
She leaned forward, poking the wood with her cane.
"Only the dead are able to walk these lands..."
He sat back slowly, staring into the fire.
"...Then why?" Ren muttered. "Why haven't my friend and I decayed yet? And what about you all here in this village? You all seem to be holding onto your humanity..."
"Decay..." The woman's face softened, her gaze drifting toward the flames again. "The more someone revives in this world, the more they give in, the more this world consumes them. The ones who no longer remember who they are, or what they endured—those are the withered ones. Hollowed vessels, stripped of everything that made them human...And as for you and your companion, it seems you have just yet to face the cruelty this world can offer."
Ren's fingers twitched. A faint laugh—dry and humorless—escaped his throat.
"Yet to face it, huh?"
He looked into the fire, the orange glow reflecting in his dull grey eyes.
"The hell does this lady know about cruelty...Stabbed and ripped apart over and over again...What could she possibly know about it?! The ink...the shadows...Every single thing I have faced until this moment, and she thinks I haven't faced enough to change?! No...She just doesn't know. She's just talking, just saying what she's seen. I know she means no harm."
Ren exhaled slowly, eyes falling back to the fire.
"Tell me, boy..." The old woman asked, voice low. "Have you seen them before? The mother's creations."
Ren's gaze flicked over to her. "You mean those…things made of flesh?"
She gave a faint nod.
The wailing slug-like mutation of flesh.
The wyvern was born too soon for its own body.
Ren remembered it all too well.
"...Yeah, I have."
"Then you must know her creations; those twisted things are best to be avoided." The old lady's thin lips began to tremble when she spoke. "But...they still roam these lands."
"Still..." Ren asked in a confused state. "Shouldn't they die off without her controlling them?"
A distant look clouded her eyes, like she was peering into something far beyond the firelight. "You'd think so," She murmured. "But Mother was never the only will at work in this world."
Ren leaned forward slightly. "What do you mean?"
"There...are others, child," She whispered, her voice trembling with the memory. "Older than her...Stronger, perhaps. I saw them once, long ago—three figures, illuminated in the sky..."
"They watched from above…I do not know what they were, or who they were, but—" She paused, her hands gripping the cane tightly. "Only when they disappeared, the Mother continue her reign. From that moment, I believed that even she was afraid of those things."
Ren didn't respond. His eyes were distant—grey, empty.
"Three figures illuminated from above...Older than the Mother of Sorrow? Stronger?"
He could feel it deep in his chest—a gnawing unease.
"Could they be overseers?"
He thought of everything he had endured—the endless revivals in this relentless world.
"If what she said is true...If they are far stronger than Nocstella. I wouldn't be able to do anything, would I?" The thought lingered in his mind. "There's no way I could win..."
Ren was being drowned in his own thoughts.
The old woman shifted slightly in her chair, the firelight glinting off her milky eyes.
"Ren?" She spoke, breaking Ren out of his thoughts. "What will you do, now?"
The question hit harder than it should have. His hand unconsciously went to his chest—where the ache of purpose used to burn. His world had been narrowed to one goal.
To kill Nocstella.
And now that she was gone, there was nothing anymore.
"I don't...know," Ren admitted quietly.
"Eva..." Ren disgracefully thought, listening to Eva's soft voice just outside the house, sounding very joyous. "It seems she doesn't need my protection anymore, either, huh?"
The old woman's gaze softened, sensing the storm behind his eyes. "Then rest for a while. You and your companion—you have earned that much. Stay as long as you need, Ren."
"Yeah...thank you." Ren stood slowly, nodding in appreciation.
He stepped toward the door, hand brushing the worn wood, and paused.
"…May I ask your name?"
The old woman's gaze fell to the fire, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
"I…no longer have one."
Ren's hand lingered on the doorframe a moment longer, digesting her words. Then, with a slow exhale, he opened the door and stepped out, the cool air brushing against his face.
Outside in the field, Eva knelt in the grass, surrounded by a small cluster of children.
"See? It's easy if you take it slow." Eva said softly, demonstrating how to balance along a fallen log. "Now you try—careful!"
The children giggled, watching as one of the little boys attempted to balance. The boy tumbled forward, and Eva reached out, catching him before he fell.
"Careful there! You've got this, I promise."
A small girl tugged at Eva's dress. "Will you play with me next?"
Eva smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Of course. Just give me a moment, I'll be right there."
Her voice was gentle, calm, and patient—so different from the darkness Ren was used to. He leaned against the doorframe, watching her, the warmth of her laughter threading quietly through this cold, decayed world. Something about Eva had brought all his worries to ease.
But in the back of his mind, he knew that these moments would not last forever.