Tick-tock.
Something unseen winds and gathers along the cracks in the stone walls, as if urged by an ancient, relentless magic, never impatient, never slowing.
Tick-tock.
Along the jagged, yet smooth, stone tips worn down by long years, time seems to stretch endlessly, yet the last sound feels as if it just echoed. Those gathered, never late… quietly fell.
Tick-tock.
They landed on the calm water's surface.
Even in this unlit stone cave, the absolute darkness cannot prevent its inhabitants from imagining such a scene: the subtle ripples, born from these drops, expanding until they vanish.
This is the source of the uncontrollable thoughts, the true meaning of this sound—urging something forth.
Is it the urgency of life? Or the hollow echo of death?
In this ever-deepening darkness, terrible fantasies become even more terrifying, for both those still awake and those caught between sleep and waking.
Tick.
Everything felt normal.
"...Su'er..."
The unconscious murmur was weak, yet it was enough to ignite a trace of life in the empty darkness. However, such murmurs held no sweetness or affection; they offered no moment of beautiful delusion. Instead, it was the raw, desperate voice of one unwilling to surrender—like a person falling from a cliff, clutching at the last rope.
"...I can still...can..."
"I'm fine...it's fine..."
"...believe me..."
The voice, so light it was barely a whisper, felt like an indelible spell, lingering repeatedly in the empty stone cave, even eliciting a faint echo. Yet, an uninformed person entering here would feel no fear—only the profound weakness and powerlessness of that voice.
Each sound was filled with lingering prayers and panic, a cry born from the most humble position, a plea uttered under the relentless oppression of the dripping water.
Even in the chaos of half-sleep and half-wakefulness, it felt as if the dripping water was his blood.
Or his life?
Click.
Amidst the maddening sound of dripping water and the nightmare-laden whispers, a new sound finally broke the infinite cycle. Thank God.
Water poured from the mouth of a pottery pot, soaking a dried plate. The accumulated, precious liquid triggered a wondrous reaction from a certain mineral, which had been smashed into pieces and placed on the plate. Orange light flickered and bloomed until the mineral glowed with an internal radiance.
The precious light once again dispelled the cave's darkness, as if banishing the infection of some nameless evil. Though it carried no warmth, the half-conscious man lying on a mottled animal skin seemed to find ease, his tense body gradually relaxing.
"...Su'er..."
He called again, and this time, his endless plea finally met the expected response.
"Ah, Credo," the voice's owner calmly promised, taking the right hand of the man on the animal skin—a hand that had stretched out from beneath the thick furs covering his body. "I'm here, don't worry..."
"You'll be fine."
The voice was filled with irrefutable affirmation. The two hands, hot and pulsing like a heart, tightened and relaxed with each breath.
The man lying down seemed to have heard such a guarantee in a daze, still repeating it unconsciously.
"...Su'er..."
"...Su'er..."
"..."
"...Don't give up on me..."
Huff.
The words suddenly changed.
The orange-glowing stone seemed to flash with those words, but it was merely an illusion; everything else remained normal.
Except that the hand, contracting and expanding like a heart, couldn't help but clench hard.
The sudden force made the person on the animal skin, who had just relaxed and soothed his brows, frown again and groan.
"...You will be fine...", the words were spoken with an unclear recipient. The person sitting beside the stone bed, likely the owner of the name called by the man on the bed, muttered in a low voice. He raised his head, gazing at the cave ceiling above him—a sight he had seen countless times—and fell into silence.
He wore a brown, hooded coat, though it was merely a thin piece of cloth, barely able to block raindrops. At best, it might keep out snowflakes. Fortunately, there was no need to worry about raindrops in the current external environment. Ah, raindrops...
What a familiar word.
Even with his eyes closed, Su'er could clearly reproduce the appearance of the stone pillars above his head in his mind. He wasn't thinking, merely sweeping redundant, useless thoughts from his mind.
His prominent brow bone was raised in a defiant arch, his eyebrows seeming to protest something unspoken. The very definition of "sword eyebrows" might find its ultimate expression in such a sight. However, this striking appearance paused when the gaze fell upon his right forehead: a healed scar spread diagonally from the center of his eyebrow to the front of his skull.
The eyebrow over the scar had long vanished, yet the damage left no room for pity. Even with his eyes closed now, its owner exuded a certain confidence… or perhaps something more.
It was a feeling that just looking at him, one would think: ah, this person is likely the kind of unyielding force who would stubbornly charge forward, even knowing a knife awaits their eyeball.
In fact, at this moment, this was all that could be seen. From the bottom of his nose bridge, two layers of thin cloth stretched tight, a mask covering Su'er's mouth and nose completely. His platinum-colored hair was perhaps the only thing exposed.
At least, if Couronne, the settlement's provisions master, were to evaluate him, she would say this young man, always so tightly wrapped, was truly wasting his beautiful hair. By the way, the term "provisions master" was given to Couronne by Su'er.
Although he didn't know why, Su'er received a strong protest when he called Couronne that for the first time.
Knock knock.
With two gentle knocks, the wooden door at the cave's entrance was gently pushed open. A young woman with red hair, holding a light source identical to the one illuminating the stone cave, walked in carefully.
It was none other than the provisions master named by Su'er—Couronne.
"... Su'er?"