The seconds passed slowly.
The black veins seemed to be devouring him from the inside, and his lungs, still in shock, barely remembered how to breathe.
She watched with quiet expectation.
She had seen many people faint during the second minute of assimilation. Others screamed in desperation from the pain. And a few simply died on their first attempt.
This young man clenched his teeth.
Despite his weak body, his eyes remained conscious.
He has talent for pain. He's intelligent… and an excellent liar, she thought.
Besides, coincidence, mystery, and misery seemed to cling to him.
He had fallen into absolute ruin in the Ash Field and had the luck of being found at the very last moment.
He's a survivor. I can see it clearly from the way he reacts.
He could become an exceptional Seeker.
Ten agonizing minutes passed.
The young man breathed in ragged gasps. The pattern of black veins was now barely visible beneath his skin.
"Is… the moment of assimilation when a Seeker is weakest?"
She nodded.
"You noticed. Yes. It's the most vulnerable moment."
"But you can compensate for it once you have a singularity like Sira."
At her side, the horned Bengal tiger lifted its head slightly upon hearing its name.
The animal released a low snort, almost proud, before fixing its gaze once more on the dark forest beyond the clearing.
She rested a hand on the tiger's back.
"While you assimilate… someone must watch over you."
She paused briefly.
"With time, you'll even be able to fight in that state… but don't forget something."
Her eyes sharpened slightly.
"Pain is an anchor. Heh… when you stop feeling it, it will probably be because you're no longer human."
He hadn't even finished processing those words when his eyes finally surrendered to darkness.
The next morning, a delicious smell slipped into his nose.
It was a starchy, steaming aroma, almost sweet.
His eyes opened immediately.
He was wrapped in a thin but comfortable blanket. It seemed she had covered him while he slept.
He sat up and checked the leather bag, which blinked faintly like a firefly.
All the singularities were still there.
He followed the smell with his gaze and found her cooking beside the campfire.
Morning light filtered through the trees and slid over her bright yellow hair, almost golden, falling freely over her shoulders. Her deep sea-colored eyes carried that watery shine that always seemed to hide something beneath the surface.
Her expression was calm, focused on the simple task of turning the sticks holding the potatoes, as if she weren't the same woman who had spoken about killing with such coldness the night before.
Four large potatoes were skewered on branches around the fire.
Their edges were golden and crisp.
At the sight of them, his mouth watered.
"Hungry? Come eat."
"I'm always hungry," he replied.
His body was thin, almost skeletal. But in his previous life, he had been someone who loved food.
After starving on the streets, when he finally managed to get some money, one of his hobbies had been tasting delicious meals.
The potatoes looked perfect.
He sat beside her casually and asked:
"Where's Sira?"
The woman seemed absorbed in the potatoes, turning them carefully.
"She's scouting the area and tracking prey for the road."
The young man snorted.
"That singularity is incredible. It can carry two people, protect you, fight for you when you're weak… and it can track too? Incredible."
She picked up a yellow jar of butter and a smaller one of salt. Then she pulled one potato from the fire and held it toward him.
"Eat. We'll leave soon."
Her words were cold, but she didn't look away.
It was as if she wanted to see his reaction.
His stomach growled, but he didn't begin immediately.
First, he silently thanked the world for the food.
Gratitude matters, he reminded himself.
He grabbed the end of the stick with two fingers and broke off a small piece. Using it like a knife, he carefully opened the potato. Once split, he slowly whipped the inside.
Butter.
A little salt.
Each movement was precise. Ritualistic.
The woman's eyes widened slightly.
There was no mockery in her gaze.
Only attention.
He noticed.
He took the first bite. His face reflected deep satisfaction. His shoulders lowered by a millimeter.
She watched how he chewed slowly, how he didn't devour the food despite his obvious hunger.
"It's perfect. You crisped the skin but left the inside soft."
It wasn't a compliment.
It was an analysis.
She didn't answer.
Her hands simply moved.
She repeated exactly the same movements.
He tilted his head slightly.
She wasn't copying him as a joke.
She was doing it seriously.
She had always eaten potatoes with butter… but never like this.
When she opened her own potato and began whipping the inside, she did it more slowly than usual.
He noticed.
When she took the first bite, her eyelashes lowered for a second longer than normal. Her fingers paused before taking another bite.
The taste had changed.
Not because of the ingredients.
Because of the method.
She kept eating, now without hurry.
"You really enjoy cooking, don't you?"
She gave a faint scoff.
"Yes. I enjoy making myself a good dish from time to time."
She said nothing more.
But she didn't release the stick until the potato was completely finished.
He watched her for a moment longer.
The same woman who spoke about losing humanity had watched over his assimilation all night.
And now she turned a potato over the fire with the same concentration.
She didn't cook because she was hungry.
There was something else there.
She felt that gaze.
She didn't look at him immediately.
But she knew he had understood something.
And that made her slightly uncomfortable.
"Do you also have a Nest of Hot Potatoes singularity?"
"Most Seekers do."
She finished the last potato.
The fire crackled beneath the ashes.
The young man set the empty stick aside.
For a moment, only the forest breathed.
She spoke without looking at him.
"I never asked your name."
He froze.
Name.
The word fell inside him like a stone into deep water.
He didn't know what his name was.
He hadn't even thought about it.
In this world he had no identity.
Only pain. Hunger. Survival.
He tried to remember.
Cold. Ash. Blood.
Nothing else.
What's my name?
He frowned slightly.
And then he knew.
It wasn't a clear memory.
It wasn't a voice.
It was simply there.
As if it had always been waiting to be spoken.
"Soren," he finally said.
She lifted her gaze.
Studied him for a few seconds.
Then repeated the sound softly.
"Soren…"
The wind moved through the trees.
There was a small silence.
Then she added:
"Audrey."
Her voice was low, steady.
She placed the name between them naturally, as if fixing something into the air.
"If we're going to travel together, it will be easier if we know how to call each other."
Soren nodded.
The words remained suspended between them.
The fire finally died.
The last embers faded with a quiet crackle.
And for the first time since he had awakened in this world…
Soren stopped feeling like just a body that endured.
Now he had a name.