Inside one of the nearby cabins, Ren sat cross-legged on the floor, back leaning against the wooden wall. Across from him, Eva sat near the window, chin resting on her hand as she gazed out into the colorless haze that swallowed the village. It was so silent, and was so peaceful.
"Ren..." Eva murmured, "Do you think we should keep going?"
"What do you mean?"
She turned, her reflection faint in the glass. "You know what I mean, Ren. Keep moving on. Keep searching for whatever lies beyond this place…Or if we should just stop. And stay here."
Ren was silent, his hand absently brushing the hilt of his dagger. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I don't know, Eva...It's hard for me to decide that right now..."
Eva stood up from the window and crossed the room. The floor groaned under her bare feet as she sank down beside him on the floor. For a moment she didn't speak—just sat there, watching him stare at the floorboard.
"You're scared," She said in a soft tone. "Tell me, what's worrying you?"
Ren exhaled through his nose, rubbing a thumb along the edge of his dagger's hilt.
"There's more..." Ren whispered, a hint of fear in his voice.
"More?" Eva questioned.
"That old woman I talked to..." His tone grew flat, like he was forcing himself to stay calm. "She told me there were others like The Mother. That she saw them with her own eyes...And that when they appeared, even she went into hiding until they vanished."
"Even...she hid?" Her gaze dropped to the floor, mind reeling with the image. "I thought The Mother was…I thought she was the end of it. That there couldn't be anything above her?"
Ren's hand stilled on his dagger, the faintest tremor in his grip.
"If even she feared them, what could they be?"
"I don't know," Ren muttered. "But she said they were older...stronger than her."
Eva hugged her knees to her chest.
"So...if we keep going on. We could end up meeting them too."
"We could."
Eva let out a shaky breath. "Then, maybe stopping doesn't sound so bad."
Ren looked at her. "You mean staying here?"
"For a while longer at least...I don't know if I could face something like that."
He looked down, his reflection faint in the metal. "I get that feeling."
She tilted her head, studying him. "You're not just saying that, are you?"
Ren shook his head, eyes still on the dagger. "No, I don't know if I could either."
Eva stood, walking toward the aged front door. "I want to go talk to her myself. The woman."
She lingered at the door for a moment.
"You'll be here when I get back, right?"
A faint, tired smirk curved his lips. "Yeah. I'll be here."
Outside, Eva followed the worn dirt path, her steps leaving faint prints that the fog filled in moments later. The old woman sat on a broken bench along the road, watching the kids play with each other in the field. While Eva approached, the woman looked up.
"Ah, the companion returns."
Eva lowered her head. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"No, not at all, dear."
Eva lowered herself beside the woman, the bench creaking beneath her weight.
The woman smiled, her face lined with crinkled exhaustion.
"You see them?" She asked, gesturing with a trembling hand toward the field.
Eva followed her gaze. A few children she played with—thin and weak with a ghost-like palette—were chasing one another through the mist, their laughter and joy muffled but real.
"They seem so happy," Eva murmured, smiling as she watched them.
"They are." The woman replied. "They laugh and play here all the time."
Eva enjoyed the sight, children still being able to be children.
"Now...what is it you came to me for?"
"He's…worried," Eva said, her grip on her dress tightening.
"Your friend?"
Eva hesitated. Her throat tightened as her mind wondered what happened beneath the surface—how she died, what she became—but all that came was a blur. And Ren's expression when he'd found her again—like he was staring at something he couldn't bear to lose again.
"It seems you care for the boy very much...".
Eva responded with a weak nod.
"He tries to hide it, but I can feel it when he looks at me."
The woman's milky eyes narrowed on Eva.
"He...is afraid. Not just of what's ahead, but of what has happened." Eva's voice softened. "I don't know what happened below. When I woke up, I couldn't remember. But...whatever it was, it broke something inside him. I can feel it when he gets close."
"Child, there are wounds that don't scar the flesh, but something deeper within us. And that poor boy carries the burden of many…"
"I believe that's true...But—"
"Then, perhaps he is hiding it for a reason..." The old lady gave a warm smile, wrinkles creasing at her lips. "Maybe others not knowing the pain comforts him. Could be you who is the comfort."
Back at the cabin, Ren sat in the same position, though his hands now rested loosely in his lap. The silence of the room pressed down on him.
He looked toward the door Eva had walked through.
"Keep going," Ren muttered to himself, but the words tasted awful in his mouth.
He knew what it meant. To push forward. To keep fighting.
But he didn't know if he wanted to anymore.
'If we were to escape this world. What would I be left with? What would...be left of me? If she could return to what was left of the real world. Or even find peace in some other afterlife besides this one. What would I do? Where would I go?'
The questions burrowed into his mind. He wanted to believe she'd go back to the world that had forgotten him—that maybe she'd be able to live a happy life. But deep down in his heart, he knew she belonged to this place now, just as much as he did. Both of them were stuck here.
The same emptiness.
The same cycle of loss.
But here, even in this horror, he'd found something real.
Eva.
She made him feel something he hadn't in a long time—connection. The thought of losing that. Of losing her, struck deeper than any wound the Wretched Vale had given him.
Ren looked at the spot where she'd sat, her comfort still lingering on the floorboards.
"I...don't want this to end."
His jaw tightened.
'Selfish…'
To want to stay here. To pretend this place could last. That was a weakness. If this world were to fall apart, or if those things above The Mother came, she'd be the price for his own hesitation.
"No," He muttered. "Not like before."
If this place wanted to take her, it would have to take him first. Whatever waited beyond the forest—gods, monsters, or even the end itself—it wouldn't touch her if he stood there.
When Eva finally returned, she would find him still there, exactly as he promised. But something in his gaze would have changed. Not peace, but quiet resolve. He had made his choice.