Einz stood still, letting his eyes adjust to the new light.
The forest around him was… ordinary. That, more than anything, unsettled him. No twisted shapes, no breathing shadows, no sense of the world trying to permeate through him. The air was damp, but it did not burn his lungs. The soil beneath his sandals was dark and solid, not ash, not glowing.
Einz thought: So this is home again… yet not the same.
Compared to the Outer Verse, this place felt fragile. Quiet. A forest that simply was, instead of one watching his every breath.
He drew in steady breaths, then began to move. His steps were cautious, the habit of years. The undergrowth rustled faintly as he brushed past it. No hidden eyes pressed against his back. No whispers in the mist.
For the first time in years, he felt the weight of calm. It was alien.
And then—
A voice cut through the quiet.
Soft, steady. Certain.
"Strange place for a human."
Einz stopped dead, every instinct snapping tight. His gaze darted around, searching—until he saw her.
She stood half-hidden behind a tree, as though she had always been there, waiting.
Her skin was pale, untouched by sun. Her eyes, a clear, deep red, rested on him without malice, yet with a sharpness that stripped away pretense. She looked his age, but carried herself with a weight older than years.
And her hair… gold. Not warm, not bright—muted, as if each strand had been spun from faded sunlight and then drained of its warmth. Against that stark pallor, against those crimson eyes, the color seemed almost wrong. Wrong, but impossible to look away from.
Vampires.
The word stirred half-forgotten memories. Einz had heard of them as a child, whispered in cautionary tales and grand stories alike. An ancient race, formidable in both strength and cunning, feared in the old wars and respected long after. They were said to rule the night, possessing exceptional physical capabilities and living forever in the shadows of their own making.
In the First Race War, vampires had been among the most terrifying forces. Even other mighty races had thought twice before crossing them. But after the war ended, they had withdrawn—secluding themselves in distant places, hidden from the dealings of other races, including the Second Race War. Few ever saw them again.
Einz never thought he would.
And yet, here she was.
Her gaze lingered, steady and sharp.
"Humans don't simply wander into this territory. How did you come here?"
Einz shifted, his tone low, almost evasive.
"Got spat out of a hole, that's all. I don't belong anywhere these days."
Her eyes softened slightly, a flicker of curiosity slipping through. She murmured, almost to herself, "So even human children brave the holes this young… how peculiar."
Her gaze lingered on him. Then, without shifting tone, she said: "Follow me."
He hesitated, but only for a breath. She had not raised her voice. She had not threatened. And yet… his instincts told him that ignoring her would be foolish.
He moved.
They walked between the trees. Her steps were soundless, as if the forest itself made way for her. His were heavier, dragging a faint reminder of years spent surviving in harsher places.
For a while, no words passed. Then she spoke again.
"What are you called?"
Einz answered simply, "Einz."
She nodded once and said, "Aglaea."
The syllables lingered, cool and quiet, before fading back into the hush of the forest.
The silence that followed was not empty. It felt like a space where more could have been said, but neither chose to fill it.
Hours passed. Daylight shifted across the canopy in slow arcs. They walked in silence, stopping only when she chose a place. At dusk, she rested against the trunk of a tall oak, eyes half-lidded as if she were listening to something deep beneath the soil. Einz, unsure if she truly slept, leaned against a nearby rock, his body giving in to weariness.
When he woke, the forest was silver under moonlight. She was standing, watching the distance, and after some time, without a word, began walking again. He followed.
Their second day bled the same way—long stretches of quiet, interrupted only by her brief glances back, or a word spoken without preamble. He realized she needed little rest. He realized, too, that animals never came near her; the forest held its breath around her.
Einz thought: The world itself keeps a distance from her.
And yet, for all her silence, she had not harmed him. She had chosen to guide him, for reasons unknown.
At last, on the evening of the second day, the trees thinned. The ground sloped downward, and the horizon opened. From the forest's edge, the world spread wide—rolling hills, a valley below, and a town nestled in its heart. Smoke rose gently from chimneys. Distant rooftops glimmered faintly in the fading light.
Einz stopped, taking it in. After years of nothing but survival, the sight of simple rooftops felt unreal.
He turned slightly—
But she was gone.
No sound of steps retreating. No sign she had ever stood beside him. Only the whisper of leaves, and the town waiting below.
Einz let out a slow breath, almost a laugh, and walked toward the town on the horizon.