There was silence.
There was no hum filling his ears. No friction of the wind, no sharp buzzing of insects, no unsettling rustling echoing from deep within the forest… None of it existed. There was only a heavy, dense silence. The kind that pressed down on the chest, that slowed thought itself.
It was as if Ashmere was holding its breath, waiting for him to wake.
Kaien opened his eyes.
But this was not an awakening. It felt more like being slowly dragged up from the depths of darkness. His eyelids were heavy. Even when they parted, his vision did not sharpen right away. At first, there were only blurred shapes. He could not tell where the light was coming from. For a while, despite his eyes being open, he saw nothing at all.
For a time, he did nothing.
He did not turn his head. He did not try to steady his breathing. He did not even move on instinct. It took time for him to realize that his consciousness had returned. It was as if his mind was hesitant to come back to his body. He remembered being in the forest. The smell of wet soil still seemed to linger in his nose. He remembered questioning who he was… realizing that something was missing…
After that—there was nothing.
A long, dark, uninterrupted void. No dreams. No thoughts. No sense of time. Only absence.
Now, he was in a room.
That realization did not come all at once. It formed slowly in his mind. First, he noticed the ceiling. When his gaze drifted upward, his vision was still unclear, but the shapes could be distinguished.
He stared at the ceiling.
The wooden beams were old. Thick logs that carried the weight of many years. Fine cracks ran between them. In some places, resin stains had frozen in place—once flowing, then hardened where they were. Depending on the angle of the light, they glimmered faintly, then dulled again. It felt as if time itself had stopped there, refusing to move forward. The room was heavy with what it had witnessed.
He wanted to move.
The desire was not conscious. It was simply the body testing its own existence. But movement did not come. His body felt heavy. There was no sharp pain in his muscles—nothing screaming or burning outright—but each one felt as though it were smoldering from within. A dull ache, like muscles that had been overused, abandoned, and left to cool.
He tried to move his fingers.
Only a slight twitch followed. Nothing more. But even that was something.
Then he felt a dull pressure beneath wrapped skin. There was tension around his hands; his fingers were not free. Something was holding them in place. Firm, yet flexible. Restricting movement without fully locking it.
Like bandages.
But the word did not come to him. Words were not fully settled yet. He only knew that his movement was being restrained—not why, only that it was.
His throat was dry. He tried to swallow. Even that simple reflex came late. His chest rose and fell slowly; he was breathing, yet it felt as though the breath did not belong to him. As if someone else were breathing in his place, and he was merely watching.
There was movement at his side.
"He's waking up…"
A woman's voice. Low, cautious, fragile. As if raising it might cause him to slip away again.
Kaien shifted his eyes. Even that required effort. He saw a woman sitting at the edge of the bed. Her face was tired. The area beneath her eyes was swollen and red, as if she hadn't slept properly in a long time. Her lips were pressed tight, as though she were consciously holding them still to stop them from trembling. Her hands clutched Kaien's blanket, fingers pale with tension, as if letting go would make everything fall apart.
Behind her stood two more figures.
One was middle-aged. His shoulders were broad, but his back sloped slightly—not from age, but from burdens carried too long. His sharp facial features seemed softened, though only temporarily. His eyes were alert. Watchful. Missing nothing.
The other was younger. He could not stand still. His breathing was uneven. His fists opened and closed repeatedly. His jaw was clenched. There was something in his gaze that wavered between impatience and fear.
All three of them were looking at him.
Kaien's mind was slow. Questions existed, but he could not grasp any of them. He wanted to ask Who? He should have wondered Where am I? But his thoughts scattered before they could take shape. What he saw in their eyes should have felt familiar. It should have meant something.
But it didn't.
The woman's eyes filled with tears.
"Thank the gods…" she whispered.
The relief in her voice did not echo within Kaien. The response that should have been there was missing.
The middle-aged man stepped forward.
"Kaien," he said, his voice controlled. "Can you hear me?"
Kaien could hear him. He knew that much. The sound reached his ears. But the words did not fully connect with meaning. It was as if there were a thin veil between them.
He opened his mouth.
Only a dry breath escaped.
"Stop," the man said immediately. "Don't strain yourself."
The woman quickly brought water and dabbed it against his lips. The coolness registered. Kaien swallowed instinctively. His throat eased slightly.
His gaze lingered on the woman's face.
The tear caught between her lashes. The tremble of her lips. All of it told a story—fear, worry, hope.
But none of it reached him.
The man took a deep breath.
"That's enough."
"He looks empty," the younger one said, unable to hold back.
"More like incomplete," the man corrected.
The word echoed inside Kaien.
Incomplete.
It was true. Something was missing. He didn't know what, but the absence was heavy. Cold. Solid. Not a void—but a loss.
The woman took Kaien's hand. Her touch was cautious, as if she were holding something fragile. Her fingers trembled.
Kaien did not react.
Time passed slowly.
At some point, the room emptied. Voices faded. Footsteps moved away. The door closed.
Kaien closed his eyes, but he did not sleep. His consciousness pulled back, then drifted closer again. Each time, his body seemed to allow a little more… to remember itself.
His fingers twitched again.
This time, the movement was clear. Small, but deliberate.
He tried to rotate his wrist. His muscles protested; a dull pain rose from within. But they did not fully refuse. Like a rusted mechanism beginning to turn under force.
He felt his legs.
They were weak. Heavy.
But they were there.
He grabbed the edge of the bed. His fingers closed around the fabric. Feeling the texture beneath his hand was enough to tighten something inside his chest. It was real.
He did not stand.
Not yet.
When his feet touched the cold floor, his face tightened instinctively. His palms pressed down against the bed.
Wrong.
A muted ache spread upward from his wrists. It was not sharp. More like a warning—his body reminding him of its limits.
He lowered himself onto his knees.
The stone floor was hard. Cold. It transmitted pain without delay.
It was real.
Kaien began to crawl.
Each movement felt like a test of whether his body still belonged to him. His arms trembled. His shoulders burned. But he did not stop.
The door was close.
But like this… it was far.
When he reached the wall, he paused. He pressed his hand against the stone and breathed for a while. The surface beneath his palm was cold and solid.
He saw faint light seeping from beneath the door.
He covered the last steps on his knees.
His hand touched the door.
There were footsteps on the other side.
He stopped.
The metallic click of a lock sounded.
The door opened slightly.
Zakaryon's face emerged from the darkness. At first, he didn't see Kaien. When his gaze dropped, his brow creased faintly. He took a step back.
Kaien was right at the threshold.
On his knees. One hand braced against the door, the other on the floor. His shoulders slumped, his head bowed slightly. His face was pale. Dark circles hollowed his eyes.
Zakaryon's lips parted, but he didn't speak.
His gaze traveled over Kaien—his feet, his knees, his chest. He watched his breathing. Noticed his trembling arms.
Thick bandages ran from Kaien's fingers to his elbows. Some parts were darkened. Not fresh blood—old.
Zakaryon clenched his jaw.
"You shouldn't have done this," he said.
His voice was firm, but not angry.
Silence stretched.
Kaien slowly lifted his head. It took effort. His neck felt heavy. But his eyes were clear.
Zakaryon's gaze locked onto him. There was no surprise. No relief. It was as if he had been expecting this moment.
"Can't sleep?" he asked.
His tone was calm. Firm, but not raised.
Kaien looked at him.
He didn't look away. He could make out the details of the man's face now—uneven stubble, old scars. A thin, faded cut beneath his chin. A thicker mark above his brow. His eyes were a shade of hazel, the kind seen in people who had survived too long.
Kaien opened his mouth.
He wanted to say something.
But the word didn't come.
Or rather—it did, but shattered before it reached his lips.
Zakaryon waited.
Kaien's lips parted slightly. His breath caught.
"Fa—" he said.
Stopped.
His brows knit faintly, as if surprised by his own voice.
"Fa… ther…"
The sound fell apart.
Zakaryon did not move.
"Don't force it," he said.
"There's no need."
Kaien swallowed. His throat was still dry, but it no longer hurt. He looked away, up at the ceiling. The wooden beams. The cracks. The frozen resin.
"Th—" he tried again.
The word dissolved.
"…there."
Zakaryon's gaze sharpened, deepening rather than hardening.
"Where?" he asked.
Kaien's fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket. The texture was clear in his mind. But the feeling—still distant.
"Ou—"
He stopped.
"Ou-tsi—"
His breath faltered.
Zakaryon inclined his head slightly—the only sign of his attention.
"Outside," he said quietly, completing the word.
"A sound?"
Kaien nodded faintly.
"Wa—"
His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
"…lking."
Walking.
Zakaryon's hand tensed briefly on his knee, then relaxed.
"Alright," he said.
He didn't stand, but his posture straightened.
"Don't talk," he added.
"I understand."
Kaien looked back at him, holding his gaze longer this time. His face was blank, but there was something searching in his eyes—as if he wanted to ask something but didn't know what.
"Fa…" he said.
Stopped.
The word didn't come.
Zakaryon spoke instead.
"Your name is Kaien," he said.
"This is your home."
"I'm Zakaryon."
He hesitated.
"I'm your father."
The word echoed in Kaien's mind.
Father.
Something should have happened. A feeling. Warmth. A connection.
But nothing came.
There was only the word itself.
Kaien tilted his head slightly. He didn't know what the gesture meant, only that he made it.
"Tir—" he said.
"…ed."
Tired.
The word came out whole.
For the first time, the hardness in Zakaryon's face cracked—just slightly. Barely noticeable.
"Yes," he said.
"You're tired."
He stood and approached slowly, sitting beside Kaien. He placed his hand on the boy's head. The motion was controlled. Not pressing. Not stroking.
Just there.
"You need to rest," he said.
"We'll talk tomorrow."
He dimmed the lamp. The room darkened, but not completely.
Kaien lay back down.
As his eyes closed, one thought lingered in his mind.
In the forest… it felt like he had forgotten someone.
He didn't know who.
He didn't know what.
But the absence was there.