By the following afternoon, the weight of yesterday lingered as he moved through the square on a simple tavern errand to get flour. There she was—the woman from the tavern—seated beside a massive beastkin man, quiet and still. Behind them, a banner fluttered faintly, proclaiming "The Order Recruitment". The stand stood empty of applicants. Around them, the square buzzed: children darted past, merchants shouted prices, townsfolk moved through their day. Her presence here caught him off guard, and he paused.
As he stood, a pair of men passed by, casting the banner a glance before scoffing.
"Order's just feeding kids to the Holes," one muttered.
"Better to stay alive and stay out," the other replied.
Their voices faded into the crowd, but the words dug in, heavy.
Her gold eyes met his, sharp with recognition and quiet calculation. Without a word, she rose and approached, each step measured, deliberate, closing the distance.
"You carry the refined mana of someone who's challenged a Hole," she said, voice low, "yet I've found no record of a young human challenger like you. I checked the logs with the others—nothing. Who are you? One of those Hollowborn fanatics?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Einz said, jaw tight.
Her gaze held his, steady and unyielding. "The only way to grow your power—to survive what's coming—is to face the Holes with us. That's how you'll get stronger."
Her voice, low and faintly bitter, cut through him. "You don't belong among the mundane… but I can't force you into this."
He said nothing. His feet moved before his mind caught up, leaving the stand behind, the square swallowed him back into its noise. Merchants barked louder, children laughed, life rolled on—but the words clung to him like burrs, sharp and impossible to shake.
He hefted the flour sack onto his shoulder and started back. His gaze drifted upward.
Far off, the sky looked wrong.
It funneled downward, as if something deep underground had hooked into it, dragging clouds and light into a single unseen point.
For a breath, he felt it—the weight of that distant Hole tugging at the world.
The image clung to him, sharp and heavy. A reminder: the ground might feel steady now, but it could vanish without warning.
Back at the tavern, he moved through the motions: stacking plates, clearing mugs, carrying trays. Each gesture was mechanical, a shield against the tide of questions.
Why am I surviving like this?
For what?
To live.
That was all.
The thoughts cut through him, jagged and relentless. Friends better at hiding than him had been shredded by the Holes. He had survived by chance—or by the power of the Hole that had slipped into him as he was unmade.
Or was it fate?
Why do I keep hiding just to survive?
How long will I keep doing this?
Hiding. Running. Surviving for nothing.
The thoughts coiled, struck, recoiled. He couldn't continue like this. Not if he wanted to live. Not if he wanted to truly survive.
The only way to survive is to face it.
Walk into the danger that claimed so many—and return stronger.
Strong enough to stop hiding.
Strong enough that nothing in existence could grasp him… or see through him.
Determination tightened in his chest, hot and unyielding. Fear whispered at the edges, but it drowned beneath the weight of his choice. He wouldn't stand still while the world tore itself apart.
The more he turned it over, the clearer it became: hiding had only bought him borrowed time. And borrowed time always came due.
Evening came. Shadows stretched across the cobbled streets, long and gray in the fading light. He left the tavern, steps measured, carrying a decision he could no longer delay.
The recruitment stand waited as he'd seen it before. She and the beastkin sat quietly, patient, unmoving. The world moved around them, indifferent, yet the gravity of the moment pulled him forward.
He approached, shoulders squared, breath steady. Questions, fear, and the bitter taste of loss hardened into resolve.
"I want to sign up," he said, voice low but certain.
Her gold eyes lit up, a sharp, pleased glint breaking her calm mask. "Finally," she murmured, almost to herself. Her smile was small, restrained, but genuine—like someone seeing a puzzle start to make sense.
The beastkin beside her gave a low, approving nod. "Good," he rumbled. "We'll get you ready."
She leaned back slightly, voice low and teasing, yet weighted. "You'll see why the world can't be ignored… and why hiding only costs you."
Einz said nothing. The questions, the fear, the bitter memories—they remained. But for the first time, they had direction. He had chosen. He would face it. He would survive.