The piercing screams, rising and falling as if seeping from every corner of the town, still felt like icy steel needles stabbing straight through Erika's nerves—even with his hands clamped tightly over his ears.
Erika instinctively tried to sit up.
He pushed himself upright with his left elbow, his muscles trembling slightly from tension and exhaustion.
However, a gentle but firm pressure met his chest, stopping him from fully rising.
It was Cole.
At some point, Cole's hand had come to rest lightly—yet unmistakably—on Erika's chest, right over his hammering heart.Through the rough fabric of the white robe, Erika could feel the warmth and steadiness of that hand.
"Don't panic," Cole's voice slipped into a gap between the screams, surprisingly relaxed—even carrying a trace of lazy drowsiness, utterly out of place against the hellish soundscape outside.
"I've seen worse than this."
Worse than this?
Countless people screaming in despair all at once in the middle of the night wasn't "worse"?
What had Cole experienced?
Erika remained half-suspended, unconvinced, his elbow still propping him up, his chest held beneath the warmth and weight of Cole's hand.He looked at Cole's face.
Firelight danced in Cole's eyes.There was no panic there—only a deep, well-worn calm, and even a faint trace of irritation at being woken.
Maybe… he was telling the truth.
Maybe this really was just the "normal" state of nights in Darenz—the same way people ignored the things crawling along the ground during the day.
The thought was utterly absurd.
And yet, it brought with it a strange, unsettling comfort.
After all, Cole was the experienced one.He knew this place.
And… Erika truly was exhausted.
From body to spirit, he felt hollowed out—crushed, broken apart, and only barely pieced back together.His supporting left arm began to ache.
The screams really did seem to be fading.
Not disappearing all at once, but receding like a tide—from dense to sparse,from shrill to faint,until only scattered, distant sobs or whimpers remained.
Soon, even those were swallowed by the silence that reclaimed everything.
It was as if the collective outburst had been nothing more than a brief, violent spasm of the night—over now, the city sinking back into slumber.
Or pretending to.
Erika's last reserves of tension drained away along with the fading screams and the steady, reassuring pressure of Cole's hand.
He slowly let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
His body went slack.
He stopped resisting and followed the guidance of Cole's palm, slowly lowering himself back onto the warm carpet.His back and the back of his head sank into its slightly springy yet solid support.
Only once Erika was fully lying down did Cole withdraw his hand, returning it naturally to his own side.He rolled over, resuming his position with his back to Erika, facing the hearth and the closed door—as if the brief interruption had never happened.
The room now held only the steady breathing of the fireand the vast, unfathomable silence of Darenz's night outside.
A silence that felt heavier, more unknowable, than the screams that had come before.
Fatigue finally swallowed Erika whole, like a black tide.
His consciousness felt like parchment soaked in water—the writing blurring, dispersing, sinking away.
His eyelids closed heavily.
The last images that lingered were the warm afterglow of the leaping flamesand Cole's quiet silhouette, turned away from him.
He fell asleep.
His first night in Darenz—amid the cycle of screams and silence,caught in the narrow space between warmth and the uncanny,burdened with unanswered questions and deep exhaustion—
he sank into an uneasy sleep.
And the night was still long.
…
Consciousness rose with difficulty, like a sunken ship clawing its way up from a pitch-black sea.
Erika opened his eyes.
The air was thick with heavy, choking smoke, tinged with the smell of burning and ash, stinging his nose and throat.He couldn't help coughing, his dry throat scraping like sandpaper.
"Awake?"
Cole's voice came from the area where the smoke was densest, sounding muffled, with a slight nasal tone—as if he, too, had been choked by it.
"The flue's acting up. Sorry."
He said it lightly, as though it were nothing more than a trivial morning inconvenience—like a kettle boiling over or a window left ajar.
Erika felt groggy.
His mind was stuffed with soaked cotton—heavy, sluggish—still struggling to piece together the broken, chaotic memories of the night before.
The warm hearth.Cole's invitation.And then—
the rising and falling screams, tearing through walls, flooding the room, before vanishing into that eerie silence.
"Last night…"
He coughed again, trying to steady his voice, which still carried traces of sleep and confusion.
"…what happened?"
He propped himself up on his elbows, sinking into the soft carpet, his gaze searching the dim room.
Most of the smoke lingered near the ceiling.Through the pale gray haze near the fireplace, he saw Cole's silhouette, turned away, apparently working on something.
Cole turned around.
Morning light filtered in through the tall, dust-caked stained-glass windows, mingling with the faint glow of embers that hadn't fully died in the hearth.
It illuminated him.
His hands were blackened with soot and smeared with some kind of oily residue.He wiped them casually on the already filthy hem of his white robe, leaving even darker stains behind.
A few smudges marked his face as well, making him look like a craftsman who had just finished dirty work.
At Erika's question, Cole's movements paused for a fraction of a second.
His blackened fingers rubbed together absently in the air, as if considering how to answer.
But his gaze never met Erika's.
Instead, it drifted to the dark wooden door leading to the storage room—still firmly closed—then swept briefly toward the brightening sky outside.
"I'll take you to eat later," Cole finally said.
His tone slipped back into its usual casual impatience.
He didn't address the screams at all.
As if they were something that didn't need explaining—or perhaps didn't deserve it.
Just another small flaw in life at Darenz, to be endured, like a clogged flue.
He gently pushed the question aside, covering it with something more immediate, more practical:
food.
Erika was still half-asleep.
Rest hadn't fully chased away his fatigue; instead, his body felt even weaker, hollowed out and drained.Hunger surged back the moment he woke—far more fiercely than the night before.
Cole's words felt like a coarse but solid piece of bread, temporarily stuffing down his urge to press for answers.
"Okay," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.
Then, as if that single response had exhausted what little strength he'd gathered, he slowly, obediently sank back down, lying once more on the carpet that still held a trace of warmth.
He closed his eyes.
He shut out the choking smell of smoke, Cole's blackened hands, the unresolved mystery of the night, and the promise of "breakfast" waiting beyond his eyelids.
Just… rest a little longer.
Only a little.
Cole watched him lie back down and said nothing.He simply turned away and resumed clearing the fireplace flue, the faint scrape of metal echoing softly in the room.
A new day began—in smoke and silence.
...
Two white figures—one filthy and greasy,the other just as worn but relatively "clean"—
appeared on the inner city streets of Darenz, which were growing steadily livelier with the morning.
Erika and Cole.
Erika followed in Cole's footsteps, heading toward the place he had promised where they could "eat."His steps were still a little unsteady; sleep hadn't fully restored his strength, but hunger drove him onward.
Yet his gaze wandered on its own, carrying caution and lingering unease.
Such a massive disturbance last night.Those screams—rising and falling, sweeping across the entire city…
Surely there should have been some trace?
Collapsed buildings?People still shaken with fear?
At the very least, there should have been whispers, some form of lockdown, or a somber, restrained atmosphere.
But now it was nearly noon.
Sunlight shone brightly on the clean stone-paved streets.
Most of the shops lining the road were already open. Shopkeepers held brooms or rags, leisurely sweeping their doorsteps or wiping down display windows.Women carrying baskets walked in pairs or small groups, chatting softly, occasionally breaking into light laughter.Craftsmen with tools slung over their shoulders strode past briskly, nodding to one another.A few children chased a leather ball at a street corner, their laughter ringing clear and bright.Farmers carrying fresh vegetables or live poultry squatted by the roadside, bargaining unhurriedly with customers.
Everything looked exactly the same as when they had arrived yesterday.
Bustling.Busy.Full of everyday life.
If anything, it looked even more "normal," more "orderly," than yesterday afternoon.
Erika moved through the crowd, his eyes sweeping over face after face, searching for even a shred of fear left over from the night—a hint of exhaustion,a trace of something off.
There was nothing.
People's expressions were calm—some even cheerful.
Looking more closely, Erika noticed that the residents wore smiles.Not exaggerated or mechanical smiles, but natural ones, carrying a sense of contentment with life.
Their manners were proper as well:they inclined their heads slightly when yielding the way,used polite forms of address during transactions,and even children immediately stopped to apologize if they bumped into someone while running.
Strange.
Too strange.
Last night's hellish wails and today's peaceful routine felt like two completely unrelated film reels, forcibly spliced together—with no transition, no explanation in between.
That extreme sense of dissonance sent a chill crawling deeper into Erika's spine than outright horror ever could.
Cole, however, seemed utterly accustomed to it all, walking ahead without so much as a sideways glance.
At last, they stopped in front of a shop with a modest facade.The signboard was simple, and a half-length blue cloth curtain—washed so many times it had faded pale—hung over the entrance.
The air already carried a mix of food aromas.
"This is it," Cole said, stopping and turning back.
His expression carried the relaxed air of someone who had completed a task, but he raised one finger in advance.
"Let's be clear first. I can only afford to treat you once.""Wait for the next gathering—I'll pay then."
A gathering?
The word caught Erika's attention.
A gathering among the white-robed?Like yesterday's meeting with those two clean white-robed figures outside the walls?
Or something else entirely?
He thought about it vaguely as he followed Cole.
Cole reached out and pushed aside the half-length blue curtain.It rustled softly.
Then he pushed open the slightly heavy wooden door inside.
An indescribably complex smell hit them instantly, flooding the space.
It was overwhelmingly intense and domineering—as if countless different spices had been roughly mixed and crushed together, then thrown into hot oil and violently stir-fried,blended with the thick, greasy richness of long-simmered meat and bone marrow,and undercut by a faint, hard-to-describe bitter sharpness from herbs or roots.
Fragrance.Oil.Bloodiness.Medicine.
All of it twisted into a single, thick rope that slammed straight into the nose, almost suffocating—yet strangely stirring the most primal appetite.
Erika narrowed his eyes slightly from the impact, taking a moment to adjust before seeing the interior clearly.
The shop was deeper than its facade suggested, but dimly lit.
At its center stood a massive black iron cauldron, mounted on a brick stove.Its opening was nearly as wide as a manhole cover.
Inside, a dark, viscous, bubbling paste churned endlessly, going glug-glug as it boiled, releasing the core of that overpowering composite scent.
Steam rose in lazy coils, forming a damp haze near the ceiling.
Only a handful of people stood around the cauldron.
Each held a rough ceramic bowl, standing silently and intently by the pot, carefully ladling food from the roiling, thick broth.Their movements were steady and patient, as if performing some private, reverent ritual.
They paid no attention at all to the two newcomers at the door.
There were no tables.No chairs.No chatter.
Only the bubbling of the pot, the scrape of ladles, and the dense, dizzying aroma that filled every inch of the space.
This was… where Cole was treating him to a meal?
"Ah… damn it.""Damn, I was so close."
From time to time, such muttered complaints or sighs slipped out—from a corner of the shop,or from someone leaving the cauldron with an empty bowl.
The voices carried genuine regret and frustration, blending strangely with the rich smell and the diners' focused silence.
Erika, still bewildered, simply followed Cole closely, avoiding the central cauldron that radiated astonishing heat and scent, and moved toward the counter.
It was even darker there.
Against the wall stood an old, grease-stained wooden table.Behind it, slouched in a creaking wicker chair, sat a thin old man with drooping eyelids, wearing a dark apron—presumably the owner.
His hands were folded over his stomach, his expression one of complete indifference to the activity around him.
"The usual?" Cole asked as he approached, his tone familiar.
His expression carried that habitual balance between casual ease and quiet testing.
The owner didn't even fully lift his eyelids.
He slowly extended a withered finger and tapped twice on the greasy tabletop.
Tap. Tap.
The sound was light, but clear.
Then he used that fingertip to point at a small, dark wooden plaque standing at the edge of the counter, its edges worn smooth.
Erika followed his gaze.
There were no words on the plaque—only five deep vertical slashes, carved repeatedly with what looked like a knife.
Like some kind of primitive tally mark.
What did that mean?
Cole, however, seemed not at all surprised by the owner's "answer."
He rummaged in his robe and pulled out several dull, slightly warped pieces of rough metal.
Without a word, he gently pushed five of them toward the corner of the counter near the owner's hand.
The old man's fingers twitched like the feelers of a lazy snail.
He silently gathered the five metal pieces, gave them the briefest glance, and swept them into an open, pitch-dark drawer beneath the counter with a soft clatter.
Only then did he lift his eyelids slightly.
His cloudy gaze passed over Cole, then paused for the briefest instant on Erika—lingering especially on his empty right sleeve.
The corner of his mouth twitched downward, almost imperceptibly.
Then his expression returned to one of total disinterest in the world.
He offered no token.Called no attendant.
He merely tipped his chin, almost imperceptibly, toward the cauldron and let out a vague grunt—as if to say:
Help yourselves.
Cole nodded, as though completing a standard procedure.
He turned and patted Erika on the shoulder, who was still staring blankly at the wooden plaque marked with five lines.
"Come on, 'Princess.'""Our turn to try our luck."
For the first time, his tone carried something Erika wasn't familiar with—a mix of anticipation and a subtle, underlying tension.
His gaze returned to the boiling cauldron, its dizzyingly complex scent, and the silent, focused figures standing around it.
Erika suddenly realized that in Darenz,even something as simple as "eating a meal"seemed to hide invisible rules—
and unspoken costs.