Darkness swallowed him whole.
Then—light.
Kaito's eyes shot open as if torn awake from drowning. His lungs clawed at the air, dragging it in ragged gulps. He jolted upright, the straw-stuffed futon creaking beneath him, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. For a disoriented second he couldn't tell if he was still dying or alive again—until that cold, merciless chime rang in his skull.
> [You have died.]
[Save Point Restored: Virestead Outskirts.]
The message flickered across his vision, clean and indifferent, like a knife slipping between his ribs.
His hands trembled. His breath hitched. No matter how many times it happened, the brutality of it—the cruel neatness of the reset—always left him hollow.
He turned his head slowly, as if fearing what he would see. But of course, it was the same. The narrow room of the inn. Wooden beams crossing overhead. The weak morning sunlight pressing through thin curtains. The faint scent of baking bread drifting in through the shutters, taunting him with its warmth.
It was all the same. Again.
Kaito pressed his palms into his face, but it did nothing to stop the flood of memory that crashed down on him.
The hunt. The wolves. The laughter.
Fenria's wild grin when she split a wolf in half with her axe. Elion's quiet voice, steady as the draw of his bow. Darius's booming laugh shaking the tavern rafters as he clapped Kaito on the back. The way their faces had looked in the firelight, softened and alive.
And then—the shadow. The scales. That roar. That impossible beast blotting out the sky.
His own scream cut short as the world ended.
Kaito curled forward, fingers clawing into the futon. His throat felt raw, but no tears came. Not a single one. He wanted to cry, to sob until his body gave out, but it was as though the cycle had burned the tears out of him long ago. All he could do was shake.
"They were real," he whispered into the fabric of the bedding. His voice broke on the words. "They were real. I know they were."
But the system didn't care about real. It only cared about reset.
The memories were still there—alive in him—but the world would erase them as though they had never been.
The thought clawed at his skull until he couldn't sit still. Kaito staggered to his feet, barely managing to shove his arms through the sleeves of his hoodie. His sword hung at his hip, untouched, pristine—as if it had never clashed with wolf bone. As if he had never bled.
He shoved the door open and stumbled down the stairs of the inn, his boots thudding heavily against the worn steps.
The common room was alive with morning bustle. Merchants laughed over steaming mugs, the bard strummed his lute lazily in the corner, and a woman scolded her child for dropping crumbs on the floor. All so normal. All so untouched.
And then—he froze.
There they were.
Fenria, seated at a table gnawing at a roasted chicken leg, her golden eyes sharp as ever. Elion in the corner, carefully polishing the sleek wood of his bow, his emerald gaze focused. Darius leaning back in his chair, laughing with merchants, a mug of ale already in his broad hand despite the early hour.
For one wild second Kaito thought he might collapse. His knees nearly gave way with the sheer force of relief. They were alive.
He wanted to run to them, to shout, to shake them and tell them everything—that they had fought together, laughed together, died together. That they were comrades. That they had been his first fragile taste of belonging in this endless nightmare.
But then Fenria looked up.
Her eyes—those fierce, wolfish eyes that had locked with his in battle—slid past him with no flicker of recognition.
Kaito's stomach turned to stone.
"No…"
He stepped forward, desperate. His voice cracked as he called out, louder than he intended: "Fenria!"
Her chewing slowed. She frowned, confused, like a wolf scenting something strange in the air. "Do I… know you?"
Kaito's throat closed.
"Elion!" he tried, his voice breaking. "You—you remember me, right? We fought those wolves, we—"
Elion lifted his head, eyes cool and unreadable. He studied Kaito for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then, in a flat tone, he said, "You're new in town. Best mind your own path."
Kaito felt the floor tilt beneath him.
"Darius—" His voice cracked again, desperate now. He stepped closer, gripping the edge of their table. "Please. You know me. You said—you said we'd show those wolves what legends can do—"
Darius's booming laugh cut him off, but not with recognition. The knight slapped the table, nearly spilling his drink. "Hah! Another pup sniffing around for glory? Careful, boy. Wolves eat the weak." His grin was wide and careless, the same grin that once carried warmth and camaraderie. Now it was the grin of a stranger.
Kaito's vision blurred, his breaths shallow. He could barely choke out his own name:
"I… I'm Kairen."
The name fell flat in the air.
Fenria shrugged, already turning back to her food. Elion returned to his arrows. Darius raised his mug in mock salute, already lost in his own conversation.
And just like that—he was no one to them.
The weight of it slammed into him harder than any monster's blow. His knees buckled. He stumbled backward, clutching the wood of the doorway just to stay upright. His pulse thundered in his ears.
They're alive—but they don't know me.
All the nights by the fire. The laughter. The pain. The victory. All of it erased, smothered under the system's indifferent hand.
Kaito staggered outside into the cold morning light, the noise of the tavern fading behind him. His chest heaved, each breath sharp and uneven. The marketplace buzzed as villagers moved about their day, but to him it was just a blur of color and sound. His hands shook so violently he had to clutch them against his sides.
He pressed his forehead against the wall of the inn, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched until it hurt.
"Nothing matters," he whispered hoarsely. "Nothing lasts. Not even them."
For a moment, he almost laughed. A broken, hollow sound that didn't belong in his throat. He could die a thousand deaths, bleed a thousand times, and the world would simply wipe it all clean.
But then—something darker stirred beneath the despair. A voice colder than ice, whispering from the marrow of his bones:
If nothing lasts, then force it to last. Carve it into the world so deep it can't be erased. Make it matter—even if the world wants to erase it.
Kaito's eyes opened slowly. His chest still trembled, but beneath the fear there was a sharp, bitter resolve.
If the world wanted to strip him of meaning, he would steal it back.
Kaito stumbled out of the inn as if the floor had dropped out beneath him. The morning air hit his face, cold and biting, yet he barely felt it. He shoved through the narrow street, eyes searching, heart hammering with an impossible hope.
Maybe they're late. Maybe they're waiting somewhere else. Maybe… maybe this is just some kind of mistake.
His gaze swept the cobblestones, the vendors opening their stalls, the stray dogs sniffing through garbage. He turned corners with frantic speed, his breaths shallow and uneven. And then — he saw them.
Fenria, Elion, Darius. Together, walking casually down the main street.
His chest nearly burst. Relief and joy surged in him so violently that for a moment he almost cried. He broke into a half-run, weaving through the small crowd, ignoring the curses thrown at him when he bumped into shoulders.
"Fenria! Elion! Darius!" His voice cracked, too loud, too desperate. "It's me—Kairen! You were just at the inn last night, remember?"
They stopped. Turned.
Fenria's sharp violet eyes narrowed slightly, more out of confusion than recognition. Elion tilted his head like someone puzzled by a stranger. Darius's brows drew together, but his hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his blade — not in friendship, but in caution.
Kaito slowed, the blood draining from his face. His lips trembled as he forced a smile.
"It's me," he repeated, weaker this time. "We hunted the Hollow-Talon Wolves together. You—Fenria—you laughed when Elion tripped over that root. Elion, you argued with me about whether the stars looked different here. Darius, you… you pulled me out when that wolf nearly tore my leg apart." His throat closed, but he forced the words out. "Don't you remember? Please. Just… say you remember."
Silence.
The bustle of the town seemed to fade around him. He heard the faint creak of a shop door opening behind him, the rhythmic tap of a cane from an old man walking past, but all he could see were their faces. Blank. Cold. Strangers again.
Elion offered a polite but guarded smile. "You must be mistaken. We've never met."
The words shattered him.
Kaito shook his head violently, his messy hair falling into his eyes. "No. No, don't say that. Don't lie. You were with me! You—you can't just—" His voice broke, dissolving into a hoarse rasp. "You can't just forget me."
Fenria shifted her stance, clearly uncomfortable. "Come on, Elion. Darius. We've got work to do."
She turned, leading the group down the street.
Darius gave Kaito one last lingering glance — something sharp and suspicious flickering in his eyes — before following.
And just like that… they were gone.
Kaito's legs weakened beneath him. He staggered toward the wall of a nearby building and leaned against it, his breath coming in shallow, broken gasps. His palms pressed into the rough stone as if grounding himself in reality, but reality felt thinner than paper.
"No… no, no, no…" he whispered, repeating the word like a broken mantra. His throat burned. "Not again. Please, not again."
He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the cold stone ground, his knees pulled tight to his chest. His whole body trembled.
Why? The thought screamed inside his skull, louder than any sound around him. Why do I keep losing them? Why is it always ripped away?
His vision blurred, hot tears finally slipping free. He buried his face in his arms, his voice cracking.
"Fenria… Elion… Darius…" He spoke their names one by one, like fragile talismans, as though saying them aloud would force the world to remember. "You were real. You were with me. You laughed with me… fought with me… you believed in me. I wasn't alone."
His chest heaved. His voice rose, raw and ragged.
"I'm not crazy! I know I'm not! You were there! Why can't you remember?! Why can't anyone remember?!"
Passersby gave him wary looks, whispering among themselves. Some stepped around him as if avoiding a madman. The sound of their murmurs only deepened the pit opening in his stomach.
Kaito dragged his hands down his face, smearing tears across his cheeks. His fingers curled tightly into his hair, tugging hard enough to sting. He rocked back and forth slightly, like a child trying to soothe themselves.
"I don't want to forget. I can't forget. If I forget too, then… then maybe they really never existed." His voice was barely a whisper now, trembling with terror.
The names spilled out of him again, weaker this time, softer, like prayers.
"Fenria… Elion… Darius…"
Each name was a knife in his chest.
He lifted his head at last, eyes red-rimmed, breath unsteady. The sky above the town looked ordinary — pale blue, dotted with faint clouds — but to him it felt wrong, hollow, like painted scenery.
"They took them from me," he muttered, his voice shaking with both grief and a flicker of anger. "This world… it took them from me."
A bitter laugh escaped his throat, harsh and broken. "And I thought… I thought maybe this time… I finally wouldn't be alone."
He wiped his face roughly with the sleeve of his shirt, but the tears kept coming, betraying his effort to appear composed.
Inside, something fragile cracked a little further.
Kaito stayed crumpled against the wall long after Fenria, Elion, and Darius disappeared. His body felt like stone, too heavy to move, but his mind wouldn't stop. Thoughts spiraled, clashing against each other, loud and relentless.
What if they never remembered me in the first place?
What if I imagined all of it?
No… no, I know it happened. I know it. The wolves were real, the blood was real, the warmth of the fire was real.
Then why are they strangers now?
A cold draft swept through the street, lifting dust and scraps of parchment. The sound of boots clattered past him, vendors hawked fruit and bread, children laughed in the distance. All of it felt wrong, like a stage play he'd stumbled into by mistake.
Finally, he forced himself to move. His arms shook as he pushed himself off the ground, legs unsteady. His breath hitched when he straightened — as though even standing upright was defiance against something trying to press him down.
"Fine," he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse. "If the world wants to take them away… if it wants to play games with me… I'll play too. But I won't forget. I won't."
He staggered into the flow of the street. People brushed past him, their conversations blurring into meaningless noise. His eyes darted constantly, scanning faces, gestures, the rhythm of their steps. Every detail was suspect now.
And then he saw it.
A woman carrying a basket of apples. She tripped on the same uneven cobblestone twice in a row. Not once — but twice. Her body lurched forward in the exact same way, the apples spilling in the exact same arc, bouncing and rolling identically across the street. The gasp she made was the same sound, the same pitch, as though someone had pressed replay.
Kaito froze, his stomach lurching. He blinked hard, rubbed his eyes with trembling fingers. The apples were already back in the basket. The woman walked on as if nothing had happened.
"…No," he whispered. "No, I saw that. I saw that."
He spun around, searching for confirmation, for someone else reacting — but the townsfolk carried on, unbothered.
His breath came faster. He stumbled further down the street, his ears straining now, eyes sharp and paranoid. That's when he noticed another oddity: a child skipping rope. The rhythm was steady — slap, slap, slap against the stone — until it faltered. The child paused, blinked, then in a single jerk reset to the same position, rope mid-swing, and continued as though nothing had happened.
Kaito's skin prickled with cold sweat. He backed away, his heel catching the edge of a step.
"This town…" His voice shook. "…This town isn't real. None of this is real."
The crowd's chatter grew louder, but not natural — it had an uncanny repetition, a cadence too patterned. Snippets of phrases looped: "The market is fresh today." "The weather is fair." "The inn's ale is strong." Over and over, as though the whole town had only a handful of lines to speak.
Kaito's breath hitched. His hands curled into fists. "You think I won't notice? You think I'll just… accept this?"
He staggered toward a shop window, catching his reflection in the glass. His own face stared back — pale, sweat-slick, haunted. But when he moved his hand, the reflection lagged a moment behind before catching up. His chest constricted, nausea rising.
"…It's broken," he muttered. "This whole place… it's broken."
His heart hammered against his ribs as he pushed deeper into the town, desperate now, needing proof, needing answers. His eyes darted everywhere, hunting for cracks in the facade.
That's when he heard it — the sound of a cane tapping on stone. Tap. Tap. Tap. He turned, spotting an old man hunched with age, moving slowly down the path.
Kaito rushed toward him, grabbing his arm with trembling hands. "Hey — you! Tell me this is real. Tell me this place is real. Do you remember me? Kairen?" His voice rose in desperation. "Just say my name. Please. Say you know me."
The old man blinked at him, cloudy eyes dull. His lips moved.
"The harvest is good this year."
Kaito's breath caught. "No… no, don't give me that. That's not an answer." He shook the man harder. "Tell me the truth!"
"The harvest is good this year," the man repeated, voice exactly the same, tone unchanged.
Something in Kaito cracked further. He released the man with a shove, staggering backward, his whole body trembling violently.
"Goddammit!" he shouted, voice echoing down the street. "Is that all you can say?!"
Heads turned. Villagers stopped, their eyes settling on him — blank, glassy, unnervingly still. Dozens of them, staring.
Kaito's breath quickened, his throat tightening. He felt like prey surrounded by predators pretending not to be.
Slowly, the villagers resumed their motions. As if nothing had happened.
Kaito staggered backward, bumping into a wall. His body slid against it, his hand pressing to his chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of his heart.
He whispered, voice trembling, "I'm trapped in a lie."
The town stretched before him, vibrant on the surface but hollow underneath. Every smile, every step, every word — fake.
And he was the only one who knew.
Kaito dragged himself away from the old man, his chest heaving, his breath ragged. The phrase still echoed in his ears like a curse: The harvest is good this year. No emotion. No variation. Just a line. A script.
The street stretched ahead, and for the first time since arriving in Virestead, he noticed how it all moved in loops. The bread-seller on the corner waved his hand in the same way at every passerby. A blacksmith's hammer struck his anvil in perfect intervals, never missing, never faltering, like the ticking of a clock. A girl at a fruit stall laughed — once, then again, then again, each laugh identical in pitch, like a sound trapped in a broken bell.
Kaito's skin crawled.
He forced himself toward the fruit stall. The girl had bright eyes and flaxen hair tied in a neat braid. She smiled at him as if he were any other customer.
"Fresh pears, sir? Sweet as honey, plucked this very morning."
Kaito's throat tightened. He stepped closer, gripping the edge of the stall. "Do you… do you remember me? Kairen. I came here before. I bought food here." His words tumbled out, frantic, heavy with hope. "I had companions with me — Fenria, Elion, Darius. Do you remember them? Please. Just tell me you remember."
The girl's smile didn't falter. "Fresh pears, sir? Sweet as honey, plucked this very morning."
The words were identical. Same tone. Same inflection.
Kaito's stomach dropped. "No," he whispered. His hands trembled as he grabbed one of the pears, holding it up. "Look! Look at me. Look at what I'm holding. Don't repeat yourself. Say something else. Anything!"
Her eyes didn't blink. The smile stayed frozen on her lips. "Fresh pears, sir? Sweet as honey, plucked this very morning."
The pear slipped from his fingers, hitting the ground with a dull thud.
Kaito staggered back, a strangled laugh tearing from his throat. "God… it's all just a script. A bad play. And I'm the only one off-book."
He stumbled down another street, heart hammering, his gaze flitting wildly. Everywhere, patterns repeated:
A man sweeping dust from his doorstep… but the dust never diminished. His broom scraped back and forth over the same clean stone.
A dog scratching behind its ear… stopping, then beginning the exact motion again, scratching the same spot endlessly.
A vendor setting out loaves of bread… then the loaves vanished from his hands, reappearing back in the basket, and he set them out again.
Kaito's breathing grew uneven. Each step he took echoed louder in his ears, out of rhythm with the mechanical flow of the town.
He spotted a woman sitting on a bench, embroidering cloth. The needle rose and fell, precise and steady. He stumbled toward her, desperation spilling from him.
"Please… please tell me you see it too. The loops. The… the mistakes. You see it, don't you? You're not all—"
The woman lifted her head slowly, her eyes dull, her lips parting.
"The harvest is good this year."
Kaito's heart seized. He staggered backward, shaking his head violently. "No. Not you too. Don't—don't just say that. You're a person! You have to be a person!"
Her hand continued its needlework. Perfect. Unbroken.
Kaito's knees nearly buckled. He pressed his palms to his temples, his voice cracking. "I can't… I can't breathe. I can't—"
He turned sharply into another alley, needing escape, needing proof of something real. The narrow passage smelled of damp stone and rotting food scraps. Shadows pooled thick between the walls.
And then he saw them. Children. Three of them, sitting in a circle, singing a rhyme as they clapped their hands together. Their voices were high, sweet, and wrong.
"Round and round the world will spin,
All will end where it begins,
Step too far and fall away,
Come again another day."
The chant repeated. Perfect rhythm. Perfect pitch.
Kaito froze, bile rising in his throat. His voice rasped out, trembling. "What… what did you just say?"
The children didn't look up. They clapped their hands, giggling softly, singing again.
He stumbled closer. "Stop it. Stop singing that! Where did you hear it? Who taught you?"
This time, one of them — a little girl with tangled hair and dirt on her cheeks — broke from the rhythm. Her head turned, slowly, unnaturally, until her eyes met his.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath.
"You're not supposed to be here," she whispered.
The other two froze mid-clap, their hands hanging in the air. The rhyme cut off abruptly.
Kaito's skin went ice-cold. His voice cracked. "…What did you say?"
The little girl tilted her head, her pupils dilating unnaturally wide. "You're not supposed to be here."
Silence swallowed the alley.
Kaito stumbled backward, his heart pounding so violently it hurt. "No… no, this isn't real. This can't be real."
Then, as if nothing had happened, the three children turned back to each other and began again.
"Round and round the world will spin,
All will end where it begins…"
Kaito bolted. His footsteps echoed through the alley as he tore himself free, gasping, stumbling into the open street again. His body shook uncontrollably, his hands clammy, his head spinning.
Everywhere he looked now, he saw the cracks — too many to count, too many to deny. The smiles that lingered too long. The voices that repeated. The actions that looped.
And always, always, the words. The harvest is good this year.
Kaito pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart. His voice was raw when he whispered to himself, "This town is a lie. And I'm the only one awake inside it."
Kaito's steps grew uneven as he staggered deeper into Virestead. His heart felt like it was clawing its way out of his chest, but he couldn't stop — not while the town whispered lies all around him.
The market square opened ahead, bustling with color and noise, but now he saw it differently. Every stall, every customer, every exchange… too neat. Too smooth.
A man handed over coins to a baker. The baker smiled, handed him a loaf. The man walked away. Then — the same man reappeared at the other side of the stall, handed coins, received the loaf again. A perfect cycle.
Kaito froze, eyes wide. His breath caught in his throat. "It's repeating… it's actually repeating—"
No one else noticed. The crowd moved on, blind, deaf.
He shoved through them, almost tripping over his own feet. He stopped at a flower vendor, an older woman with her gray hair tied in a bun. Bright blossoms lay neatly arranged on her table.
"You!" His voice cracked as he slammed his hand on the table. "Tell me something real. Anything. Your name. Your past. Do you even have a past?"
The woman smiled serenely, her eyes lifeless. "The lilies are especially beautiful this season."
Kaito's throat tightened. He leaned forward, desperation twisting his words. "No. No flowers. No seasons. Tell me your name! Tell me where you were born! Tell me who you are!"
Her lips curved. "The lilies are especially beautiful this season."
The words were identical — every syllable, every pause.
Kaito's vision blurred with tears. He slammed his fist onto the table, sending petals scattering. "You're not real!" he shouted, voice breaking. "You're nothing but lines someone forced into your mouth!"
The woman didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.
The people around him slowed. He could feel their gazes settling on him — dozens of eyes, flat and cold, all staring at once.
Kaito's breath hitched. His pulse roared in his ears. "Stop staring at me!" he screamed. "Stop—STOP LOOKING AT ME!"
And just as suddenly, they all turned away. As if a switch had flipped. They resumed their motions, their chatter, their mechanical smiles.
Kaito staggered backward, trembling so hard his teeth rattled.
They heard me. They heard me, but they won't answer. They'll never answer.
He pressed on, legs heavy as lead, until he reached a tavern. The sound of laughter spilled from inside, but even that was wrong — it came in loops. A burst of laughter, the clink of mugs, a cheer. Then the same burst again.
Kaito stepped inside, the wooden door creaking.
The room was warm with firelight, packed with bodies. Men and women sat at tables, drinking, talking, laughing. But as he listened, the illusion crumbled. A man at the far corner raised his mug and said, "To fortune and good hunts!" — then, moments later, raised it again, same words, same tone. A woman nearby laughed, tossed her hair back — then repeated it exactly, the strand of hair falling the same way.
Kaito's skin crawled. He pushed through the room, his voice hoarse. "Do you hear yourselves? You're repeating! Over and over! Don't you realize it?"
Nobody looked at him.
He stumbled to a man at the bar, grabbing his shoulder. "You! Look at me. Just look at me and tell me this is real."
The man turned slowly, his smile wide but empty. "The ale is strong tonight."
Kaito's heart cracked. His voice rose in a desperate scream. "STOP IT! Stop repeating the same damn things! Stop acting like—like puppets!"
The laughter stopped. The clinking of mugs stopped. The tavern froze. Every head turned toward him, every pair of eyes staring, still, unblinking.
Kaito's chest heaved. The silence pressed down on him like a weight.
Then, all at once, the noise resumed. The laughter, the clinking, the chatter. The scene carried on as though nothing had happened.
Kaito stumbled backward out the door, his hands shaking uncontrollably. He doubled over in the street, retching, though nothing came up.
His breath came in ragged gasps. His voice cracked as he whispered to himself, "I'm going insane. I'm… I'm going insane."
But a darker thought coiled in his chest. What if I'm not? What if this world really is the lie?
He dragged himself upright, swaying, his vision blurred with exhaustion and tears. The cobblestones beneath his feet seemed to shimmer faintly, as though the texture were slipping. The lantern above him flickered — not with flame, but like the stutter of a broken image.
And faintly, so faintly he almost doubted his ears, he thought he heard whispers in the air. Not words. Not language. Just sound, like static seeping through cracks.
Kaito clenched his fists, forcing breath through his lungs. "No more lies. No more scripts. If the people won't give me answers…" His gaze sharpened, a flicker of determination beneath the terror. "…then I'll tear it out of the guilds themselves."
His legs trembled as he forced himself toward the Explorer's Lodge.
The Explorer's Lodge loomed at the end of the cobbled street, its lanterns burning warm and inviting. Normally, Kaito found a strange comfort in this place — records, missions, knowledge, order. It was supposed to be real.
Now, as he pushed through the doors, he clung to that thought like a drowning man to driftwood.
Inside, the air smelled of parchment and polished wood. Clerks moved behind counters, their robes neat, their expressions polite. Adventurers milled about, their boots clacking on the stone floor. It looked normal. Too normal.
Kaito walked straight to the counter, gripping it so tightly his knuckles went white.
The clerk — a woman with tidy auburn hair and calm brown eyes — smiled. "Welcome back, traveler. How can the Lodge assist you today?"
Kaito swallowed hard. His throat was raw from shouting in the streets. "My name's… Kairen." He almost choked on the false name, but forced it out. "Check the registry. I joined your guild. You branded me. You assigned my rank."
The clerk's smile didn't falter. "Of course. One moment." She flipped through a thick, rune-marked ledger. Her fingers glided down the pages, too smooth, too rehearsed.
Finally, she looked up, still smiling. "I'm sorry. There is no record of a member by that name."
Kaito's stomach dropped. "No—no, that's wrong. I was here. You tested me. You looked at my memories. You said—" His voice rose to a hoarse shout. "CHECK AGAIN!"
The woman's eyes softened, almost pitying, but still eerily blank. "I'm sorry. There is no record of a member by that name."
The words were identical. The same pitch. The same cadence.
Kaito staggered back a step. His vision swam. "You're lying…" His whisper was trembling, but filled with venom. "You're lying to my face."
He turned, almost running to the Hunter's Guild across the square. His boots echoed on the cobblestones like hollow knocks on a coffin.
The guildhall was darker, lined with mounted horns and pelts. A clerk at the desk looked up — a man this time, scarred and stern.
Kaito yanked open his shirt, baring his chest. The faint magical tattoo shimmered there — proof of his rank. "See this?!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "You put this on me! I'm a member!"
The man's expression didn't change. "I'm sorry. There is no record of a member by that name."
Kaito's hands shook as he pointed at the glowing mark. "It's here! It's branded on my skin!"
The man repeated, voice cold, unwavering: "I'm sorry. There is no record of a member by that name."
Something in Kaito snapped. He slammed both fists on the counter, the sound echoing like thunder. "STOP SAYING THAT!" he screamed. "Stop repeating the same lines! I EXIST! I KNOW I EXIST!"
The hall went silent. Every hunter in the building turned to look at him at once. Dozens of eyes, flat and lifeless, all fixed on him.
Kaito's chest heaved, his breath ragged. His vision blurred with tears. He wiped at his face with shaking hands, whispering to himself, "No… no, this isn't real… this isn't…"
Then, as suddenly as before, the room reset. Conversations resumed. Laughter returned. The clerk was calmly writing notes, as though Kaito had never spoken.
Kaito stumbled backward into the street, almost falling. He pressed his hands to his temples, his nails digging into his scalp. The records are gone. My name doesn't exist. They're wiping me out… piece by piece.
He lifted his head, and for the first time, he noticed something wrong with the sky. The stars were gone. Not hidden by clouds — gone. A blank black dome stretched above the town, and only the lanterns burned against the darkness.
Kaito's breath shuddered out of him. His voice cracked into a laugh — hollow, breaking. "The world's… breaking apart."
Somewhere in the distance, a child's laughter echoed. Too crisp. Too sharp. Like glass shattering.
And then silence.
Kaito wandered the streets with the weight of silence pressing against him. The starless sky above stretched like a suffocating black dome, as though someone had painted over the heavens and forgotten to finish.
His throat was raw, his chest tight, every breath uneven. This isn't real, he told himself, over and over, but the words only made the quiet worse.
Then, from behind, a voice.
"Good evening, traveler."
Kaito spun, dagger flashing. A man in a butcher's apron stood behind him, smiling pleasantly. Too pleasantly.
Kaito's pulse spiked. "What did you say?"
"Good evening, traveler," the man repeated, tone identical. Same pitch. Same inflection.
Kaito's mouth went dry. "Say something else," he demanded, stepping forward, hand trembling on his blade. "Anything else!"
The man blinked once, then tilted his head. "Good evening, traveler."
Kaito grabbed his apron, shaking him violently. "STOP IT!"
Another voice joined, from across the street. A woman carrying a basket. "Good evening, traveler."
Then a man with a cane. "Good evening, traveler."
A child peeking from a doorway. "Good evening, traveler."
One by one, they emerged from their homes, from the shadows, from the corners of his vision — all turning their heads toward him at once, lips curling into placid smiles.
"Good evening, traveler."
"Good evening, traveler."
"Good evening, traveler."
The words overlapped, layered, growing louder until they became a suffocating chant.
Kaito stumbled back, clutching his ears, his voice breaking into a scream. "STOP SAYING THAT! STOP IT! STOP IT!"
But the words only multiplied. Echoing, bleeding into one another, drowning him.
He bolted, shoving past them, running into a narrow alley. The chant followed, echoing in his skull.
Then — silence.
He collapsed against a wall, gasping for breath, sweat dripping down his temple. His dagger trembled in his grip. They're not people, he thought. They're lines in a script. They're not alive.
He turned his head — and froze.
The wall beside him wasn't right. At first glance it looked like brick, but the longer he stared, the more wrong it became. The same crack. The same stain. Repeating, over and over, like someone had copied and pasted a texture too many times.
His stomach lurched. He reached out, fingertips brushing the surface. It was solid — cold stone — but his skin crawled like he was touching something hollow.
"Do you see it?"
The whisper brushed the back of his neck. Kaito spun, slashing through the air. Nothing. Only shadows.
His breath hitched. "Who's there?!"
Only silence.
Then — a sound.
Soft. Fragile. Out of place.
A child crying.
Kaito froze. His dagger dipped. His pulse stuttered.
The sobs were faint at first, muffled, like they came from behind a wall. A child, alone, desperate.
Unlike the villagers' chants, this sounded real. Human. Raw.
Kaito swallowed hard. His throat ached. "No… that… that's different."
He followed the sound, stumbling deeper into the alleyways. His boots scraped against damp cobblestones, his shadow stretching under flickering lanterns. The crying grew louder — sometimes distant, sometimes close enough to be right at his ear.
Finally, he found it.
A crooked wooden door, hanging half open. The crying poured from inside.
Kaito's hand shook as he pushed it open.
The sound stopped.
The room beyond was bare. Stone walls. Dirt floor. Dust in the corners.
And in the center — a toy.
A little wooden horse, crudely carved, one leg broken.
Kaito's breath caught. He stepped forward, crouching, and picked it up with trembling hands. His nails scraped over the grooves in the wood.
"What is this…?" His voice cracked.
Then the crying returned.
But it wasn't the same.
It wasn't coming from the toy. Not from the walls.
It was coming from him.
Kaito froze, horror curdling in his chest. His mouth was shut, his chest still — yet the room filled with the sound of his own voice as a child. Weak, broken sobs. Pleading. Forgotten.
His grip on the toy faltered. He dropped it, stumbling back. "No, no, no…" His voice rose into a frantic scream. "That's not me! THAT'S NOT ME!"
The cries swelled until they became unbearable, flooding his skull. He fell to his knees, pressing his palms to his ears, his teeth grinding. "WHY?! Why are you showing me this?!"
The cries cut off.
The silence was deafening.
Kaito trembled, tears streaking his cheeks. His dagger clattered uselessly beside him.
Then, at the doorway — two figures.
Children. A boy and a girl. Pale skin. Dark, unblinking eyes. Smiling too wide.
Kaito's breath hitched. His voice cracked. "Was… was that you?"
The boy tilted his head. "Kairen."
The name hit him like a blade through the heart. His body recoiled, his hands trembling violently. "No one remembers that name," he whispered, broken. "No one but me."
The girl's smile stretched wider. "We remember."
Kaito stumbled to his feet, grabbing his dagger, his voice shaking. "Why?! Who are you?! What is this place?!"
The boy's voice was flat, cold. "You shouldn't be here."
The girl's followed, in perfect unison. "This place is not what you think."
Kaito's grip tightened until blood welled between his fingers. His scream tore through his throat. "THEN TELL ME WHAT IT IS!"
The children only tilted their heads in unison, smiling.
And then, in a blink, they were gone.
The toy rocked slowly on the floor, back and forth, though no one touched it.
Kaito staggered forward, slashing the air with his dagger, his voice cracking into madness. "COME BACK! COME BACK AND TELL ME!"
His scream echoed through the empty streets, swallowed by the starless night.
And in the silence that followed, he saw it — faintly carved into the wall.
A circle. Split by a jagged line.
The Gate's mark.
Kaito collapsed to his knees, laughter and sobs tangled in his throat. His voice shook, half-delirious. "It's here too… everywhere I go… it's here…"
The shadows stretched unnaturally across the walls, creeping toward him like black hands. The toy rocked once more. And faint, from nowhere and everywhere, the sound of a child's sob returned.
Not from him.
Not from any one place.
From the town itself.
Kaito clutched his head, screaming until his voice broke.
And in that moment, he realized the truth.
The town wasn't broken.
The town wasn't haunted.
The town was alive.
And it was watching him.
Kaito closed the inn door behind him and leaned against it, his breath ragged. The silence inside felt like a cage. He pressed his forehead against the rough wood, eyes shut tight, willing his heart to slow.
He didn't know how long he stayed like that. Minutes. Hours. Maybe longer. When he finally stumbled toward the bed, his legs felt heavy, as though the air itself was trying to drag him down.
The mattress sagged under his weight, but there was no comfort. He sat hunched, staring at the floorboards. His hands trembled uncontrollably.
"Fenria… Elion… Darius…" he whispered, the names barely leaving his lips. He wanted to hear them, to keep them alive in the air, but each syllable felt like it was tearing him apart. "You laughed with me. You bled with me. You… trusted me."
He dug his nails into his palms until they drew blood. The sting grounded him, but not enough.
His chest heaved. He wanted to scream. To tear the inn apart. To find someone—anyone—who remembered. But there was no one. Not anymore.
His reflection in the window caught his eye. For a moment, he thought it moved differently, lagging behind him. He froze, staring. The faint lamplight lit the shape of his face, but the eyes… the eyes in the glass weren't his. They were hollow. Empty. Watching.
A knock came from the wall.
Not the door. The wall.
Kaito shot to his feet, pressing his back against the far corner. The knock came again. Slow. Rhythmic. Like something inside the wood wanted out.
And then he heard it—faint at first, but unmistakable. A child crying.
His throat closed.
The sound slithered through the inn walls, muffled and trembling. It wasn't steady; it rose and fell in strange, jagged waves. Sometimes it sounded like it was right outside his room. Sometimes far away, buried under the earth.
He swallowed hard and forced himself toward the sound. His hand shook as he pressed his ear against the wall. The crying was clearer now—ragged sobs, broken hiccups.
"…M-Mother…"
The voice was young. Fragile. Terrified.
Kaito's heart clenched. Memories slammed into him—of the girl in the forest, of Thalen's false kindness, of the laughter of the children in the square. He staggered back, gripping his head.
"No. No, you're not real," he hissed, his voice cracking. "You can't be real."
The sobbing cut off.
The silence was worse than the sound.
Then—his own voice echoed from the wall. A raw, pitiful cry, the sound of a boy abandoned.
Kaito staggered away, bile rising in his throat. "Stop… stop it!"
The crying turned to laughter. Soft. Mocking. A child's giggle.
The door creaked open.
Kaito whirled.
No one was there. Just the dark hall stretching endlessly.
His pulse hammered as he stepped out. The hall was too long. He didn't remember it being this long. The shadows pooled unnaturally, swallowing the far end.
A figure stood there.
A traveler. Cloaked. Hat brim low. Lantern in hand.
The light flickered, but it didn't reach his face.
"...You're late," the traveler said, voice low and calm, as if this meeting had been expected.
Kaito's mouth went dry. "Who… who are you?"
The figure tilted its head. The lantern swung slightly, casting warped shadows along the hall.
"I've been waiting," the traveler continued. "But you keep forgetting."
Kaito stumbled back a step. "What do you mean? Forgetting what?!"
The traveler didn't answer. He only raised a hand, pointing at Kaito. The gesture was slow. Deliberate.
"You shouldn't be here."
The lantern flame died.
Darkness swallowed the hall.
Kaito gasped—and found himself back in his room, sitting on the bed, drenched in cold sweat. The door was shut. The window was closed. No sign of the traveler.
Only silence.
Only emptiness.
His breaths came sharp, uneven. He pressed his hands to his face.
"I'm losing it," he whispered. "This town is… it's rotting me from the inside."
He tried to lie down, but sleep never came. The crying echoed in his skull long after the night passed.
And when dawn light touched the window, Kaito no longer knew if it was the world outside, or another layer of the dream he couldn't wake from.
The first pale strands of dawn crept through the warped glass of the inn's window, brushing across the wooden floor. Kaito sat upright on the bed, hollow-eyed, clutching the blanket in white-knuckled fists. He hadn't slept. Not even for a breath. The phantom cries had chased him through the night, curling inside his skull until he no longer knew whether they were echoing from the walls or from somewhere deeper—inside himself.
The silence now was worse.
Every creak of the building felt deliberate. Every groan of wood, every distant scuff of footsteps above him stretched too long, as though the inn itself were listening.
He stood slowly, knees weak, and approached the basin in the corner. The water's surface shimmered faintly, disturbed by nothing. His reflection swam back at him—hollow-eyed, pale, lips cracked from hours of whispered prayers.
"…Fenria," he breathed, fingers trembling as they hovered above the water. "Elion. Darius. Were you… ever real?"
The reflection's lips didn't move.
Kaito's chest tightened. He staggered back, nearly tripping over the bedframe. His breath caught in his throat as he turned toward the door. The urge to leave consumed him, though where he would go he didn't know.
The hall outside was dim, still holding the weight of night. As he stepped into it, his footsteps echoed too loudly, bouncing against the walls in ways that didn't match the rhythm. He froze, listening.
One echo came a heartbeat too late.
It wasn't his.
He turned sharply, but the hall was empty.
The innkeeper's voice drifted faintly from downstairs, muttering in a low, rhythmic tone. Relieved to hear someone, Kaito descended. Each step felt heavier than the last.
When he reached the lobby, the innkeeper stood behind the counter, his hands folded neatly. His eyes were unfocused, staring just past Kaito's shoulder.
"You're awake," the innkeeper said, tone flat.
Kaito swallowed. His voice cracked as he forced out words. "I… couldn't sleep."
The innkeeper tilted his head. "You're awake."
The same words. Same cadence.
Kaito frowned. "I heard crying last night. Do you… know anything about that?"
"You're awake."
The words came again. Identical. Like a looped recording.
Kaito's stomach dropped. He stepped back, heart hammering. "Stop it," he hissed.
The innkeeper blinked once, slowly. Then smiled.
Too wide.
"You shouldn't be here."
Kaito froze. The same words the traveler had spoken in the hall. His mouth went dry.
When he blinked, the innkeeper's smile was gone, his posture normal. He was wiping a mug, humming tunelessly, as though nothing had been said.
Kaito's breath came fast and shallow. He stumbled to the door, pushing it open, desperate for air.
The morning streets should have felt alive. Merchants setting up stalls, villagers greeting one another, children darting about. But the square was wrong. Too still. The villagers moved, but their movements lagged, like marionettes with tangled strings. A woman swept the same patch of dirt again and again. A child ran past, giggling—but when Kaito turned, the same child ran past again. And again.
Each time, the laugh was identical.
Kaito pressed his hand to his temple. His skin burned cold with sweat.
"No… this isn't real. This can't be real."
The child's giggle cut short.
The sound twisted into a sob.
Kaito's head snapped toward the source. The same child now stood frozen in the street, shoulders shaking, face buried in their hands. A soft, pitiful cry slipped between their fingers.
His breath caught. "It's you… You're the one I heard."
The child dropped their hands.
It wasn't a child anymore. It was Kaito's face. His own eyes staring back at him, rimmed with tears. His own voice crying.
"No!" He staggered back, clutching at his chest as though the sight had ripped the breath from him. "You're not me! You're not—"
But when he blinked, the street was empty. No child. No reflection.
Only silence.
Only villagers moving like broken gears.
Kaito stumbled to the side of the square, gripping a wall for balance. The bricks beneath his palm were damp, though the air was dry. He turned his head and froze.
Symbols.
Scratched into the wall. Faint, uneven, as if carved by desperate hands. The same ones he'd seen flicker across the statue in the forest, the same shapes hidden in the edges of his memory.
His vision blurred. The marks seemed to shift, crawling across the bricks like living things.
"Kairen…"
His false name. Whispered on the wind.
He spun.
At the far end of the square, standing just beyond the morning haze, was the traveler. Cloaked. Hat brim low. Lantern unlit.
The figure didn't move. Didn't speak.
But Kaito could feel the weight of its stare. Heavy. Condemning.
He backed away, his voice shaking. "Stay away from me."
The figure didn't follow. Didn't vanish. It simply stood there, waiting.
Kaito ran.
He didn't know where. Through alleys, past looping villagers, past doors that opened into darkness instead of homes. His lungs burned, but he didn't stop until he collapsed against another wall, chest heaving, the phantom crying still echoing inside him.
And for the first time, Kaito wondered if he had ever truly left the forest at all.