***
Having finished his wash, Finn felt a portion of his exhaustion fade, though his muscles still ached from the day's training. His thoughts kept circling back to the conversation with Eva—too many questions had piled up, and she seemed to be the only one who could give him real answers.
When he glanced toward the spot where he had left his sweat-soaked clothes, Finn froze. Instead of the filthy kimono, a neatly folded new set of garments lay there, as if someone had quietly replaced them while he was in the bath. By now it hardly surprised him—the tree seemed to care for its wards in every detail. The clothes fit him perfectly, the soft fabric pleasant against his still-raw skin.
Stepping outside, Finn looked around. Under the light of the evening core, all the cottages seemed utterly identical—the same outlines, the same materials, as if someone had copied one model over and over. Which one is hers…? he wondered, moving slowly between the buildings. He examined each house carefully, searching for any distinguishing feature that might hint at where Eva lived.
"What are you doing here, Finn?" came a firm female voice behind him.
He flinched. How did she always move so silently? Even after several days in the settlement, he still couldn't get used to that elven trait.
"I… was looking for you," he admitted honestly, turning to face her. "I h-have some questions."
Eva didn't answer. She only gave a barely perceptible nod and motioned for him to follow. Their path led through the maze of identical houses, each one a mirror of the last. Silence hung heavy between them, broken only by Finn's footsteps—the elf's steps were utterly soundless.
Soon they reached the settlement's center, where the great trunk of the tree rose toward the cavern's roof. Finn recognized the place—this was where, yesterday, he had laid his hand upon the bark. The memory made him absently rub the bracelet on his wrist. Looking at Eva's house, it all seemed clear: of course one of the leaders would live closest to the tree's heart. At least, that was what Finn told himself.
Inside, he was surprised to find that her dwelling looked no different from his own—the same plain wooden walls, the same furniture, even the arrangement of objects almost identical. It felt strange, especially after visiting Adam's house, which had been cluttered with books and oddities Finn couldn't even name.
"C-could you tell me about Adam?" Finn asked as he sat down, his voice trembling slightly with nervousness.
"What exactly do you want to know?" Eva settled across from him, her movements smooth, like flowing water.
"Everything," the boy replied simply.
"As you wish, Finn." Eva tilted her head, and for a moment something like sorrow flickered in her eyes. "As far as I know, he was the first copy of the ancient race. His purpose was to absorb knowledge and pass it on through the generations. But fate had other plans—the creator left us before Adam could truly begin his work. The only request given to him was to find someone who could face the trial and aid him."
She paused, studying Finn closely.
"You already understand that you passed that trial. Much time has flowed since his search began. Adam circled the entire world more than once, seeking the one, but all in vain. He tried to reach out to humans, but every attempt ended… disastrously. Each failure left him more and more dejected."
Eva rose and walked to the window, gazing out at the shimmering core.
"Years, decades, centuries, thousands, even hundreds of thousands passed. Adam never gave up. He uncovered fragments, deciphered ancient runes, found answers to one set of questions only to be met with new ones. Yet none of it—none of all that knowledge—was ever truly about you." She turned back toward Finn. "To be honest, I had long since forgotten what Adam's smile looks like. We number barely a hundred now, where once we were tens of thousands, and those lost hopes… they left their scars on every one of us."
"Adam is a good man," Eva went on, her voice softening with warmth. "He has done so much for us—more than anyone could have expected. Though the sword never came naturally to him, he rediscovered a forgotten style of fencing and, overcoming his own weakness, taught us the art from the ground up."
She looked down at her hands, as though remembering the first time she held a blade forged by him.
"He sought out rare materials, from which our swords were made, and forged them for us himself. It wasn't just an act of care—it was a gesture of deep loyalty, of love for what we stood for. He guided us along this path for as long as I can remember. To us, he became like a father, though outwardly he looks no older than any of us."