This world looks too bright for the suffering that has just begun. The sky reflects a soft blue, as if nature has yet to realize that it will bear witness to something unforgivable.
He woke up in the middle of a field of white flowers—an expanse of velvet-shaped petals swaying slowly, dancing like living creatures trying to speak in a language he could not understand. No wounds. No blood. No pain. But the most terrifying thing… was the absence of any feeling in his chest.
He sat up slowly. The morning wind touched his cheeks, gently caressing the petals beneath him. The breeze seemed to call his name, yet he did not know his own name. This world was beautiful—too beautiful. And because of that, his instincts screamed: this is not a beginning. This is a repetition.
His hand moved to his face—touching the black blindfold wrapped tightly across it. An old piece of cloth, soft, but felt important. He did not know why he had to wear it, only that he must not take it off. As if something inside him would unravel if he saw the world with both eyes open.
He stood slowly. His muscles moved like an old machine that still remembered how to fight, even though the mind had forgotten. Each step he took on the field of flower shoulders made a soft sound, as if the flowers groaned under the weight of the sorrow to come.
And in the distance, other footsteps approached—light, unthreatening, as if sharing the same purpose. The sound of sandals on grass was muffled by the hum of bees and the rustle of petals. A small girl appeared at the edge of the field, her hair silvery white, her eyes pink like moonstone. She carried a small basket of fruit. She was no more than ten years old, but her steps were sure, her gaze sharp.
"Eh?" she said, her voice cheerful with a hint of curiosity. "I thought you were a lost corpse…"
There was no reply. The man's lips moved, but no sound came out—not because he wished to hide his words, but because… he didn't know what to say. A void had swallowed every memory. He could only stare at the girl, his blindfold emphasizing the silence that surrounded him.
The girl squinted, tilting her head. "I'm Hina," she said slowly. "Hina Arluna. Who are you?"
He was silent. His mind blank, like the surface of a lake called out to but unresponsive. A name like a shadow behind glass—he felt he once had it, but could no longer find it.
In the golden-gaping sky, a white bird slowly appeared, its wingbeats silent, cutting through the air without friction. It circled above the flower field before landing right on his hand—the man was startled, but unable to shoo away the sacred creature. The bird bowed its head, its slender beak holding a piece of worn paper with blackened edges as if it had been burned, though the paper remained intact.
He did not move—the world seemed to hold its breath. The moment felt eternal: the bird, the warmth of the flower valley, the cloth on his face, and Hina's distant figure frozen in observation.
With a slow motion, he opened the paper. The writing on it spread confusion, but his eyes, bound by cloth, could still read the words one by one.
[Name: [???]
Dimension: Saluria–1
Role: Silent NPC
Mission:
Find and kill the Wielder of Time before they awaken the Chronos Fracture.
Penalty if failed:
Return to the first year in this dimension.
(An endless cycle awaits you.)
Goddess's Note:
"No matter how many times you must repeat to realize. This world does not need you. You are no one. Enjoy your minor role, NPC."]
Once read, the paper hissed softly—as if stirred by the regret of the world—then burned itself from the edges. Purple ash floated slowly in the afternoon light, vanishing with the breeze.
Hina's eyes widened, her small steps retreating. "Eh? The letter… just burned? Are you a wizard? Or—"
"I'm… just passing through," he murmured briefly, the words leaving without thought, yet felt right. Maybe that's what he did: passing through, world after world, yet still not knowing why.
The little girl looked confused, lowering her head, then set down her fruit basket on the grass. She reached for a white flower, plucked it slowly, then said, "If that's the case… don't let me wait for you. This world… is waiting for your answer too."
He stared at Hina expressionlessly—two beings equally lost in silence. Then he turned away, stepping through the sea of flowers, leaving behind purple dust slowly swept away by mist.
Silence returned. Hina still stood, watching the spot where the man walked away—his footsteps swallowed by the shimmer of the evening sun. The little girl picked up the fruit basket, opened its lid, and took out a green apple. She bit into it slowly, her eyes still watching the path where the man had vanished.
And for the man, the world stared back.
Silence merged with the darkness of approaching night: an inner battle, a sacred task he did not yet understand, and a blindfold that held more secrets than any words ever could.