The whispers of the wind drifting through the lower branches beneath the towering cliff gently brushed the leaves.
The forest watched in silence, holding its breath deep within, waiting.
Raymond Baskerville slowly opened his eyes.
His consciousness was still completely numb, yet a familiar voice echoed in his mind—vague, like a distant reverberation.
"Have you forgotten your promise to save him this time?"
A promise? Save him? What…?
He pushed himself up from the hard ground with difficulty, his body moving as though it had awakened before his mind.
He wasn't fully aware of where he was, but the dull pain prickling at his limbs quickly dragged him back to reality.
It was a dark forest, where sunlight barely managed to seep through.
His ears caught the sound of a roaring stream somewhere nearby.
As fragments of his recent memories returned, the scene resurfaced with unsettling clarity—
the sensation of hot blood on his face…
Gilbert's pale features at the moment he caught him, when he could barely hold himself upright…
and then the final instant—
that surge of panic welled up in his chest once more.
He turned his head to scan his surroundings—and there Gilbert was, lying beside him, unconscious. His face was deathly pale, dried blood staining his clothes and skin.
"—?!"
For a moment, Raymond felt his heart stop. His breathing faltered under the shock as he quickly knelt beside him, placing his ear against Gilbert's chest.
The heartbeat was slow—weak—but there.
He closed his eyes and exhaled sharply, as if trying to steady his own racing heart.
"He's alive… at least."
Yet an unfamiliar sense of guilt washed over him, one he couldn't even understand the source of.
He had never been in a situation like this before. He never thought he would care about someone's life beyond his only family—so why was he feeling this unrest now?
As he stared at Gilbert's still expression, a thought crossed his mind.
How could someone who looked perfectly fine collapse in an instant?
He looked down at his hands… then at his torn uniform.
"Not even a single scratch… what does that mean?"
he murmured to himself, unease creeping into his voice.
"We fell from that height…
Logically, we should be dead. So why are we still alive?"
But the questions remained unanswered.
There was nothing he could do but wait.
Either help would come… or he would wait for Gilbert to wake up so they could find a way back together.
The air was heavy with the forest's dampness, an unsettling stillness blanketing the place.
Towering trees all but blocked out the sunlight, thick shadows dancing across the moist ground.
In that isolated space—where no voices reached and no familiar signs of life remained—Raymond sat with his back against the rocky wall at the base of the cliff.
His head was lowered, his eyes motionless. He wasn't asleep—he was submerged in a silence heavier than exhaustion.
Beside him, under a dense tree with protruding roots, Gilbert lay unmoving. His pallid face made him seem closer to a corpse, were it not for the faint rise and fall of his breathing that testified to his survival.
Two hours had passed since Raymond woke up, and he hadn't moved from his spot.
It wasn't fear of the place that held him there—but fear for the one beside him.
Having an unconscious person here… wasn't safe.
All he could do was remain cautious—and wait.
Suddenly, Gilbert's body trembled slightly. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
He whispered in a faint voice, more like an inward monologue than speech.
"Again… I knew I'd die someday because of that. But it seems today isn't the day."
He tried to lift himself, only for pain to strike his chest and dizziness to cloud his head.
His vision was still blurred, but he sensed someone nearby.
He slowly raised his head—
to see Raymond Baskerville sitting there, motionless, staring at him without a word.
A cold shiver ran through Gilbert. His heart nearly stopped from the shock before he asked, regaining some awareness,
"How long… have you been there?"
Raymond replied calmly,
"From the beginning. Before you woke up."
"Then… why didn't you say anything?"
"There was nothing I needed to say."
Gilbert let out an audible sigh—a mix of embarrassment and irritation.
"Did I surprise you? Sorry about that."
He lifted his hand and covered his eyes with his palm before continuing in a subdued tone,
"No. That was my fault. I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings."
A brief silence followed. Then he looked upward.
The sky was completely hidden. The cliff was no longer visible.
Everything was dim, blurred, swallowed by shade.
Raymond broke the silence in his flat voice.
"It's been more than two hours since we fell. If we're as lucky as we were when we survived, a search party should be sent."
"I see,"
Gilbert replied curtly—then fell silent once more.
Raymond remained leaning against the rock wall, his right arm resting on his knee. He wasn't looking directly at Gilbert, but rather at the leaf-covered sky above, before asking hesitantly,
"Your illness… is it serious?"
"Excuse me?"
Gilbert froze. The memory of blood—the moment of collapse—flashed through his mind.
He turned his face away.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You vomited blood."
"You're… imagining things."
"Fine. I'll take what you say as the truth."
Another silence settled in—heavier than the last.
Gilbert felt uneasy—not from the pain, but from the cold composure of this person, who showed almost no visible reaction, and who hadn't left him behind despite being able to.
At last, he sighed and spoke in a low voice.
"It's not a fatal illness.
If it were, I would've died almost a decade ago."
He didn't look at Raymond as he spoke; his gaze remained fixed on the canopy of leaves above.
He never expected to admit it—much less talk about it so casually.
And yet… he did.
Without understanding why.
I had no clear reason to answer him.
No real intention to confess anything.
And yet… when he opened his mouth and asked, I realized that silence wouldn't be the right choice this time.
Raymond's eyes widened slightly at that strange realization. He glanced at Gilbert with a bewildered look, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
"All that time?"
Gilbert didn't answer, so Raymond added hesitantly,
"You must have… suffered a lot."
"That's not really important… They're just episodes. Sometimes I even forget they exist."
Gilbert replied in a calm tone, bordering on indifference.
Raymond sighed in quiet resignation.
"I understand."
That final word was nothing more than a veil over an even greater silence—
and something akin to an unspoken beginning.
Despite both of their reservations, this was the first acknowledgment of imperfection…
or perhaps the first thin thread binding together two people who had long lived in isolation.