The sting on his cheek was the first thing Tom felt when he came back.
A rough hand had smacked him awake. His eyes fluttered open, still dazed, the world swimming around him.
"Finally," a voice grumbled. "Was starting to think you'd decided to nap through history."
Tom blinked, vision clearing. The old cowboy crouched over him, hat tilted back, a grin tugging his cracked lips.
"You slapped me?" Tom muttered, rubbing his cheek.
"Course I did. How else you expect to wake up? Sweet whispers?" The man chuckled, though his eyes were sharp, watching Tom carefully.
Vera stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his trident leaning at his side. His expression unreadable, as always. His blue eyes cut through the dimness, calm and cold.
Tom pushed himself up, his body still heavy. The memory of that void, that voice, spun in his head.
He touched his chest, half-expecting to feel the strange strings again. Nothing. Just his heartbeat.
The cowboy leaned back on his heels and exhaled.
"Well, I'll be damned. Out of all of us, the Face picked you. The green kid who crawls more than he walks. Luckiest fool alive."
Tom looked at him, unsure if it was insult or praise. "I… didn't do anything. It just… happened."
"Exactly," the cowboy smirked. "That's what burns me."
For a while, no one spoke. The broken altar behind them still glowed faintly, but the orb was gone. The air was thick, carrying the weight of something irreversible.
Then, surprisingly, the cowboy sat beside Tom, dusting his coat. "Guess I should stop calling you weak now, huh? You're officially marked. Bet the system loves you already."
Tom forced a small smile. He didn't feel stronger. If anything, he felt more fragile—like carrying something he couldn't even understand.
He glanced at Vera. The man hadn't said a word since Tom woke. He stood still, quiet, eyes narrowed like he was measuring Tom's very existence. Tom almost shivered under the stare.
"Don't mind him," the cowboy said lightly, noticing. "Blue boy doesn't talk much. Probably planning your funeral in his head, though."
Vera finally spoke, voice low and steady. "You're still weak. Don't think the Face changes that overnight."
Tom lowered his gaze. He didn't argue. He knew Vera was right.
But then he noticed something.... something strange. As he looked at Vera, faint lines of light clung to his body, swirling softly. He turned to the cowboy. Same thing, but different, a darker hue, like smoke clinging to his skin.
Tom's chest tightened. Was he… seeing their auras?
He said nothing, afraid to reveal it too soon. Inside, his thoughts swirled. The Face had given him something. Not power to fight like Vera or the cowboy but sight. A window into something hidden.
Weak or not, he had a part to play.
Tom's eyes stayed fixed on the cowboy.
That smoky aura around him… it wasn't like Vera's steady glow. It flickered, thin in some places, heavy in others, almost as if pieces of the man's life were leaking away.
"Are you… sick?" Tom asked before he could stop himself.
The cowboy paused, one brow rising under the brim of his hat. "Sick? Nah." He waved a hand dismissively, then coughed into his sleeve, a dry rasp that echoed too long.
Tom frowned. "That doesn't sound like nothing."
The old man chuckled, leaning back on the stone. "Relax, boy. Ain't death breathing down my neck yet. Just… let's say my stomach's been at war with me. Diarrhea since last week. Haven't kept a proper meal down. Two days now, nothing in me but sand and pride."
Tom blinked, not sure whether to laugh or worry. "That's… not good."
"Eh, I've been through worse," the cowboy shrugged, though his voice carried a tired edge. "No one around to take care of me, so I take care of myself. That's how it goes."
The silence stretched. Vera, who had been standing apart like a shadow, finally stepped closer.
His presence shifted the air, cold and sharp, but he didn't speak at once. He just looked at the cowboy, then at Tom, his gaze lingering on the flower tucked at Tom's side.
"You're wasting energy talking," Vera finally said. His voice was low, steady. "If you're weak, you'll slow us all down."
The cowboy gave a lazy grin, tipping his hat. "And here I thought you cared, blue boy."
"I don't," Vera replied flatly, though the way he stayed near told a different story.
Tom studied them both quietly. One coughing but smiling. One distant, yet refusing to walk away.
For a moment, despite the strangeness of this world, despite the Face, despite the horrors they felt almost human.
Tom stood, brushing the dust from his hands. He looked at the old cowboy, who was slouched against a broken column, hat tipped low.
"Come with me," Tom said quietly. "You don't have to stay out there alone. We can move together, make it through this world. You'll die if you keep going back to that… broken house of yours."
The cowboy tilted his head up, one eye visible beneath the brim. A soft laugh rumbled from him, half amusement, half ache. "That old place?" he said, voice rough with years. "It's calling me, boy. Might be cracked walls and a leaky roof, but it's a castle of memories for me. Every nail, every board. A kid playing in the balcony shouting 'Father'. My Cinderella dancing under the moonlight like a broken star rushing of our sight.... It remembers me. I can't just leave it behind. A man shouldn't die away from his boundary."
Tom clenched his fists. "But—"
"No 'but,'" the cowboy cut in gently, though his tone held no anger. "You've got your road, and I've got mine. Don't waste your strength dragging a dying mule along. Just let me walk where I belong."
Tom swallowed his words. He didn't like it, but he understood. A strange heaviness filled his chest.
Vera, standing off to the side, didn't interrupt. He only adjusted his grip on the trident and said, "We should move. Talking wastes time."
The three of them descended back toward the Endless Black Ocean. The Soul Mantis Flowers they held glowed faintly in their palms, like lanterns against the void. As they stepped into the black waters, the flowers shimmered brighter, forming a shield around their bodies.
Tom felt the chill of the ocean wrap around him again. Shadows stirred. Dozens—no, hundreds—of massive creatures moved through the depths. Their eyes burned faintly, watching, but they did not attack. They only followed, trailing behind in silence like an army marching under command.
Tom's chest tightened at the sight, yet he pressed on. The three of them walked until their feet touched sand again. The desert greeted them with heat and wind, as if nothing had changed.
Vera's horse was there, waiting patiently at the edge of the dunes, its reins swaying gently. It lifted its head, blue eyes reflecting the flowers' glow, and stomped once, as if impatient for its master's return.
The cowboy leaned on his rifle, staring at the horizon. Vera mounted his horse without a word.
Tom clutched the flower tighter, feeling the necessity of it in his hand and for the first time, he wondered if the three of them had been brought together for more than chance.
The cowboy fixed his hat on his head, shadow falling back across his worn face. He gave Tom a crooked grin, the kind only an old man could carry after years of dust and bullets.
"Well, boy," he said, his voice steady though his shoulders sagged, "I reckon this is where our trails split. You've got your road ahead, and I've got mine behind me. Don't look back for me. I'll be right where I belong."
The cowboy raised a hand, silencing him. "Save your breath. Goodbyes are hard enough. Just remember.... keep your feet moving, no matter how heavy they get. That's the only trick to living. Don't be sad we didn't stay a long, be greatful that we met and it happened."
For a second, the desert wind carried silence between them. Then the old man turned, rifle slung on his shoulder, and walked into the dunes.
His figure grew smaller with every step, until the sand swallowed him whole.
Tom stared after him, not realizing how still he had become. Something inside him sank.
Then Vera's voice cut through, calm as ever. "Don't freeze. You'll waste time."
Tom turned, startled. "You… you're coming with me?"
Vera tightened the strap of his trident against his back and mounted his horse. "I want to see where you end up. Maybe you'll survive. Maybe you'll fall. Either way, I'll watch."
Tom blinked. "Wait?! you're serious?"
"Yes," Vera said simply. His blue eyes narrowed. "You're weak, but not useless. That Face chose you. So I'll walk your road… for now."
For a moment Tom couldn't breathe. The thought of someone like Vera, strong, calm, unreadable was choosing to follow him was almost unreal. But slowly, a grin crept onto his face. "Alright," he whispered. "Let's go back. My group… they'll be worried.... maybe...."
Tom Greyrat just found his "Face" and now it's time to study it.
The two of them set out across the desert, the Soul Mantis Flower glowing faintly in Tom's hand, the horse's hooves beating a steady rhythm against the sand. The journey back to the group had begun.
.....
[ 1000 coins, Kakin Kingdom's Yari and Dream Fossil has been added in Event Conqueror's slot and currency ]
[ The Event has ended ]