The morning sun hung high above them, warm and unhurried, spilling light through the scattered trees like liquid gold. Its rays filtered down onto the clearing where the group had settled, turning dew into faint mist and shadows into soft shapes.
Arin lay beneath one of the trees, his back pressed against the cool earth, the shade shielding his face from the sun. He stared upward through the leaves, watching them sway gently with the wind. They moved freely, without purpose, without urgency. For some reason, that irritated him.
A short distance away, Byukoten stood speaking quietly with Hanase. Their voices were low, calm—nothing urgent, nothing sharp. Neblaheim knelt near a small fire, methodically preparing breakfast, his movements steady and practiced. The scent of meat cooking drifted through the air, rich and savory.
It had been three days since their last fight.
Three days since blood had soaked the ground.
Three days since Arin had needed to be alert, sharp, alive.
They had decided to rest.
That was what Byukoten had said.
"Take breaks every once in a while. It feels better to not fight every once in a while."
Arin exhaled slowly. He understood the words. He just didn't feel them.
He wasn't injured. He wasn't exhausted. He wasn't afraid.
And yet, boredom gnawed at him like a dull blade scraping against bone.
He pushed himself upright and walked over to Neblaheim, watching him slice the meat into even pieces. Without asking, Arin picked up a knife and tried to help, pressing the blade down awkwardly. The meat slipped beneath his grip. His cuts were uneven, messy.
Again.
And again.
Neblaheim glanced at the results, then calmly took the knife from Arin's hand.
"You're forcing it," he said, not unkindly. "Go help Hanase instead."
Arin hesitated, then nodded.
Hanase stood by the water's edge, a fishing line cast into the slow-moving stream. The surface shimmered softly under the sun. Arin sat beside her, took another line, and waited.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
The world was quiet—too quiet. No growls. No distant footsteps. No threat lurking just beyond his senses.
An hour slipped by.
Arin caught nothing.
His fingers tightened around the line. He stood abruptly, the motion sharp compared to the stillness around him, and walked away without a word.
Byukoten noticed him approach before Arin spoke.
"I tried," Arin said, frustration seeping into his voice despite his effort to suppress it. "Helping. Fishing. Sitting around. I just… I feel uneasy when I stay still."
Byukoten studied him for a moment, eyes unreadable. Then he nodded toward the distant path cutting through the forest.
"Then watch," he said. "The people who deliver food and spices to the fighters. Learn how the world moves when there's no battle."
Arin followed the direction with his gaze. He focused. Observed.
"They're about a day's travel from here," he said after a moment.
"Good," Byukoten replied. "We'll continue after they arrive."
Arin nodded once and walked away.
Breakfast was ready soon after.
Neblaheim called everyone over, and they gathered around the fire. Plates were passed. Food was eaten. Laughter surfaced—quiet at first, then more freely. Hanase smiled as she spoke. Neblaheim relaxed, shoulders easing as he ate. Even Byukoten chuckled at something trivial.
Arin sat with them.
He chewed. Swallowed. Listened.
Their voices sounded distant, as if coming from somewhere far away. The warmth of the fire didn't reach him. The food had taste, but no comfort. His face remained still, eyes empty—like something vast and hollow stared back through them.
He stood.
"I'm going to sleep," he said flatly.
They nodded, accepting it without question, and continued talking, laughing, living.
Arin lay down beneath the tree again. The sun had shifted slightly, light brushing the edge of the shade. He closed his eyes, but sleep didn't come.
Their voices carried on around him. The sound of normalcy. Of peace.
Something pressed against his chest—not pain, not guilt. Something quieter. Wrong.
He felt as though he had misplaced something important.
Something he should have held onto.
The thought lingered.
And then, as he always did, Arin ignored it.