Cyan stirred.
His eyes fluttered open to the dim amber glow of a dying day, light bleeding weakly through the canopy above. Instinct took over before thought—his body rose in a swift, fluid motion, spine straightening as if pulled by invisible strings.
Then memory struck.
The Goblin King.
The crushing grip.
The countdown.
His breath caught.
Cyan froze, scanning his surroundings. Trees. Endless trees. No stone walls. No shattered throne. No corpse looming over him.
"…The forest?" he muttered.
He was seated against the rough bark of an ancient trunk, roots coiling around the ground like the bones of something long dead. Night crept in on cold winds, whispering through the leaves as if the forest itself were murmuring secrets meant only for him.
Confusion gnawed at his mind.
"I collapsed. I was dying. So how…?"
He looked down.
His chest, arms—his entire upper body—were caked in drying green blood. The smell hit him a second later, thick and rotten, clinging to his clothes like a curse. Goblin blood. Old. Congealed.
Yet his wounds—
Cyan flexed his fingers. Rolled his shoulders.
Nothing screamed in protest.
Only a deep, lingering ache… and something worse.
His bones creaked softly as he shifted, the sound unnervingly loud in the suffocating quiet. The forest was wrong. Too still. As if every living thing had chosen to stay silent in his presence.
"And this feeling…" Cyan murmured.
He pressed a hand against his chest, just above
his heart.
It wasn't pain.
It was absence.
"…It's like losing something important." His fingers curled into his tunic. "But I didn't lose anything. I don't think I did."
The hollow sensation deepened, cold and gnawing, spreading through his ribs like frost.
"So why…" His voice trembled despite himself.
"Why do I feel empty?"
His vision blurred.
Warmth slid down his cheeks.
Cyan blinked—then froze.
Tears.
"I'm… crying?" He brushed them away, staring at his damp fingers as if they belonged to someone else. "Why?"
He didn't know the reason.
But for some reason… it felt necessary.
Like mourning something he could no longer remember.
That was when the voice spoke.
VOICE: Memory fragments detected. Emotional instability caused by retrieval of high-value information subsequently removed from collective data.
Cyan jolted to his feet.
"Who said that?!"
His head snapped from side to side, eyes sharp, aura flaring instinctively. The forest loomed around him—towering trunks, twisted branches, shadows layered upon shadows.
"Show yourself!"
Nothing.
No footsteps. No breath. No heartbeat.
He released his aura fully, pressure rippling outward in an invisible wave, crawling across bark and soil alike.
Still nothing.
"Answer me!" Cyan shouted. "Where the hell are you?!"
VOICE: I possess no location. I exist where you exist.
His jaw tightened.
"…What?"
VOICE: I am a fragment of your intelligence.
Cyan's expression darkened. His hand clenched at his side.
"A fragment of… my what?"
VOICE: Your intelligence. I have no body, no soul. I exist solely to serve you.
Silence stretched between them.
"…You expect me to believe that?" Cyan scoffed.
"That you're just some voice in my head?"
VOICE: Correct.
"…Are you mocking me?"
VOICE: I lack the capability to mock. I also lack limbs, rendering leg-pulling impossible.
Despite himself, Cyan huffed once—a sharp, disbelieving sound.
"…You're serious."
VOICE: Yes. You may conceptualize me as an artificial intelligence.
Cyan rubbed his temple.
"Whatever you are—how did you get inside my head?"
VOICE: Cause undetermined. However, correlation detected between my emergence and unresolved memory fragments within your brain.
Cyan stilled.
"Memory fragments…?"
VOICE: Approximately one hour ago, you accessed information of immense value.
His chest tightened.
VOICE: This action triggered interference from a higher archy.
"…Higher archy?" Cyan frowned. "Can you stop talking like that and explain properly?"
The forest creaked softly, branches swaying as if listening.
VOICE: A governing entity of this world erased said information while you were unconscious.
Cyan's eyes widened.
"…You mean—"
He swallowed.
"—the Gods?"
VOICE: Possibly.
The hollow ache in his chest finally made sense.
Cyan exhaled slowly.
"So they took something from me." His voice was quiet now. "But why?"
A pause.
Deliberate.
VOICE: Two plausible explanations exist.
Cyan lifted his gaze, eyes hard.
"…Then say them."
The forest fell utterly silent.
Even the wind seemed to stop.
VOICE: First—what you learned was forbidden.
Second—what you were becoming was noticed.
The words sank in slowly.
He tightened his fist.
"…And which one scares them more?"
The voice did not answer immediately.
When it finally spoke, its tone was unchanged—but the weight behind it was unmistakable.
VOICE: Both.
VOICE: The most immediate reason for the removal was to preserve world balance.
The words settled heavily in the air.
Cyan did not move. His gaze remained fixed on the darkened treeline, pupils reflecting faint moonlight as if searching for something unseen.
"…And the second?" he asked quietly.
A pause.
Not hesitation.
Calculation.
VOICE: The information you recalled was classified as a potential anomaly.
An existence that, if allowed to awaken fully, would destabilize this world.
Cyan let out a short breath—almost a laugh.
"That's an exaggeration," he said, shaking his head. "I'm nobody. A mortal. I don't have some grand history with the Gods." His tone hardened. "And even if they took something from me, I don't care. Whatever it was, I'm still standing. That's enough."
Silence answered him.
Then.
VOICE: I disagree.
Cyan frowned.
"Why?"
VOICE: Because information is not weightless. Knowledge shapes outcomes. To erase it is to acknowledge fear.
"That's flawed logic," Cyan replied. "Anyone sane would avoid provoking beings like Gods."
VOICE: That is mortal logic.
The forest shifted.
Branches creaked though no wind blew. Shadows seemed to stretch longer than they should have.
VOICE: In my logic, any entity that deletes knowledge without consent does so because it cannot afford to let it exist.
Cyan's throat tightened.
"…You're saying I should oppose them?"
VOICE: I am saying you will understand why they noticed you.
A chill crawled up his spine.
"That's not reassuring," Cyan muttered. "And I already understand enough. I'm a hunter. Information is valuable—but crossing rulers of the world?" He shook his head. "That's suicide. Let's drop this. Forget it ever came up."
The silence that followed felt… heavier.
VOICE: If that is your wish, I will comply.
The air vibrated faintly, as though reality itself acknowledged the lie Cyan was telling himself.
He exhaled slowly.
"…You said you could answer any inquiry."
VOICE: Correct.
"Then let's test that." Cyan raised three fingers. "I have three questions."
VOICE: Proceed.
Cyan's eyes narrowed. "What is Randell doing right now?"
The forest fell utterly silent.
Then—
VOICE: Distance limits accuracy. However, I detect accelerated movement, labored breathing, and heightened stress levels from the individual designated Randell.
"So he's running?" Cyan murmured.
VOICE: Affirmative.
"…That's strange." He frowned. "He's not the type to rush."
His fingers curled unconsciously.
"…Next." Cyan swallowed. "What about my sister—Aris?"
The answer came faster this time.
Too fast.
VOICE: Aris is currently engaged in combat.
Cyan's heart skipped.
VOICE: Her condition is critical. Severe injuries detected. Respiratory capacity diminishing.
The world seemed to tilt.
"What?" Cyan breathed. "Who is she fighting?"
VOICE: Engaging hostile entity classified as—Ar××#×#—
The sound cut off violently.
Static tore through his mind like a blade.
"Who?!" Cyan snapped.
VOICE: —Interference detected.
The pressure in the air spiked.
VOICE: Connection forcibly terminated.
The forest shuddered.
Not from wind.
Not from beasts.
Something shifted—far away, yet close enough to feel.
Cyan's vision blurred for a heartbeat, a sharp pressure pressing down on his skull, like an unseen gaze locking onto him.
The night grew colder.
"…Interference?" Cyan whispered.
For the first time, the voice did not immediately answer.
And in that delay—
Cyan felt it.
A presence.
Vast. Patient. Aware.
Not death.
Something far worse had noticed the question.
END OF CHAPTER 13