In a space without color, without sound, stood a man whose features were blurred, as if his face were veiled by smoky fingers. His eyes were different: one a pale green, as if it had watched forests die, and the other black, devoid of all life.
In the man's hand, a white dove. It did not fly, but bled from its wing.
"Take it," said the man.
But his voice was not a voice. It was an echo within, as if the words came from inside Oryn's bones.
When he reached out, the man threw the dove into the air.
It flew toward a distant light—but it was not light, it was a red glow\... war? fire? no one knew.
Before the dove vanished into the flame, the man turned and looked at Oryn.
Only then did something tear inside him.
A silent scream escaped... then pain.
Oryn awoke, breathing hard. His heart pounding—not just in his chest, but throughout his whole body.
He tried to get up, but pain held him down. Not pain of muscle or bone—but as if every cell in him was screaming.
His body trembled, and tears streamed down without permission.
"Th...Theodore?" he whispered with difficulty.
The door burst open.
Theodore entered, panic in his eyes rivaling the flames of the fireplace behind him.
"Oryn! What's wrong?!"
He tried to approach, but the moment he touched Oryn's forehead, he was thrown back, as if by an invisible force.
Theodore fell to the ground.
Oryn gasped.
"I... I didn't do anything!"
But the room was trembling.
Titi, in the corner, squawked: "WAAK! WAAK! WAAK!"
Oryn jumped from the bed and ran out of the cabin.
The cold was unlike anything he knew.
This time, he felt he was fleeing not from a nightmare, but from himself.
He ran without direction, stumbling over roots, branches slashing his bare chest. His heart pounded in his ears, louder than his breath.
The more he tried to stop, the more his fear grew.
The more he tried to think, the more his mind clouded.
After an unknown amount of time, he collapsed to his knees in a patch of wet mud, near a massive tree whose cracked bark seemed to swallow time.
He sat there, soaked, exhausted, feverish.
He hugged himself with his arms, whispering deliriously:
"I'm not normal... I didn't ask for this... what's happening to me?"
Voices echoed in his head, thoughts from nowhere:
"You are incomplete... you are not one of them... you are not from here."
Then, a whisper closer to a breath:
"He who has no name... has no place."
He shivered. Raised his eyes to the fog-covered sky.
"If you're out there... whoever you are... just tell me: Am I a monster? Or just a scared child?"
He remained like that for hours.
Sometimes he stood, took a few steps, then sat again. Sometimes he lay on the ground as if the forest were a mother's lap whose face he couldn't recall.
He spoke to himself—sometimes aloud, sometimes in whispers:
"Should I run? Or go back? Am I sick? Or special? What if... I'm nothing at all?"
Then, amid the confusion, a familiar sound cut through the silence.
"WAAK!"
Oryn looked up.
Titi.
The gray crow appeared through the fog, as if from the fabric of a dream.
It stood on a nearby rock, tilting its head left and right.
"WAAK! WAAK!"
Oryn raised an eyebrow and said hoarsely:
"Come to mock me?"
Titi didn't answer, only hopped forward.
Oryn said:
"You know nothing... just a foolish bird."
Titi turned, walked in one direction, then came back.
Oryn shook his head:
"Are you lost too? Or is this forest misleading us all?"
Titi came closer, raised a wing as if swearing.
Oryn said sarcastically:
"Swearing by God? Who taught you that?"
Then silence.
Titi tapped his foot, then sat beside him in silence.
Oryn smiled—a cracked, small smile.
"Maybe... maybe I'm not completely alone."
He murmured:
"Let's go back... but don't laugh at me."
The cabin looked strange when they returned.
As if its color had changed.
The fire was burning, and Theodore sat on the ground, holding his head.
When he saw Oryn, he trembled.
He said, "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to hurt you."
Theodore said nothing.
He stood, walked toward him, then... embraced him.
Not an apology. A confession.
Oryn cried again.
But not tears of pain—tears of fear.
"I'm scared... of myself."
Theodore said nothing.
Just held him tighter.
They sat by the fire.
The flames danced in a strange color—not red, but a soft violet.
Oryn said:
"Could there be something inside me I don't know?"
Theodore lit his pipe, stared at the flame, and said:
"Anyone who has lived long... has lived with a stranger inside."
Titi tapped the wood.
Then let out a strange sound.
Laughter? A cough? No one could tell.
But Oryn smiled.
He said:
"At night, don't seek shelter in names... but in what survived them."
Theodore looked at him.
Smiled.
Then said:
"A mighty line... from a child who doesn't know his name."
Oryn replied:
"Maybe because I haven't chosen it yet."
The next morning, Oryn woke calmly.
It wasn't a dream. It wasn't a nightmare.
It was something in between.
The forest was still there.
But it no longer frightened him the same way.
He stepped out of the cabin.
Sunlight passed through the branches, as if trying to slip into his heart.
He found Theodore chopping wood.
He was singing.
A soft voice, as if whispering to time.
Oryn stood watching him.
Then said:
"I'll chop wood today... but only with half my anger."
Theodore laughed.
He said:
"If you do, at least one tree might survive."
Then tossed him the axe.
Oryn caught it with trembling hands.
But this time... he wasn't afraid of the wood.
He was afraid of himself.
And for that... he smiled.
That afternoon, Oryn sat on the cabin's roof, watching the horizon where the sun slowly disappeared, leaving its color on the sky.
He whispered: "Was that really... me?"
The forest sounds around him, and Titi beside him, raising his wing to the west.
Oryn said: "Sometimes I feel like I'm just an echo... of something I've yet to see."
Titi: "WAAK."
"Do you believe I'm not afraid of you? I'm afraid of my silence when I see you."
Silence.
Then he added: "The forest listens. The mountain sees. And I... I just breathe."
After a short while, Theodore entered, holding something covered in cloth.
"This has been yours for a long time," he said.
He lifted the cloth... it was a small wooden box, carved with strange runes.
"I opened it once... and it was empty," Oryn said.
Theodore: "Today it's not."
Oryn opened it slowly.
Inside... a small mirror, cracked at the corner.
He looked at his reflection... and shivered.
He did not see himself as he thought.
It was as if he saw another layer, another face... a shadow behind the features.
In the mirror, an engraved phrase seemed directed at Oryn:
"He who has no name, has no limits."
Before night ended, Theodore said:
"Tomorrow, I'll go to Water Village. We have too much wood, and I'll sell it to bring some things."
He looked at Oryn, half smiling, half serious:
"The cabin is in your care. Don't go far from the nearby forest, understood?"
Oryn replied, with a childlike complaint:
"Why can't I come? I want to see something other than this wood and Titi."
Theodore laughed:
"And who will protect the house in my absence? There's no other man here but you."
Then ruffled his hair.
Oryn muttered:
"Seems like I'll die under this cabin without ever seeing the world."
Theodore replied sarcastically:
"The world? It's just a mountain drowning in water. Three tribes, and a long silence. Trust me, you don't want to see what humans have become."
Then he extinguished the lamp and said:
"Sleep... on something unlike dreams."
As for Oryn, he stared at the cabin ceiling, wondering whether the night hides more than it reveals.