Chapter 2: Hospitality
The world felt… different.
Alive.
Waiting.
Orimo Irum — once Patient 32 — had no idea this was the beginning of something new.
He blinked, his body light, his chest strangely free of pain. Instead of the sterile smell of disinfectant or the echo of machines, there was warmth, sunlight… and the soft hum of life. The air tasted like morning dew and soil after rain.
Orimo (murmuring): "What's going on… didn't I die?"
A calm voice answered from behind him.
"Are you okay?"
Orimo turned.
A man stood there — tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a worn brown cloak, a little girl asleep on his back. The man's smile was steady and kind, the kind of smile that could melt fear.
Orimo: "Oh… yeah, I'm fine."
Man: "Haven't seen you here before. Are you an outsider?"
Orimo: "Yeah, you could say that."
The man's grin widened.
Man: "Follow me. Let's have lunch at my house."
Orimo blinked.
Orimo: "I'm a stranger though… you sure about that?"
Man (laughs): "Of course. We welcome outsiders here."
After a short pause, Orimo nodded, still confused but too hungry to argue.
Orimo: "Alright."
They walked together down a winding dirt road lined with wooden homes and flower gardens. Children's laughter echoed between the walls, a woman's voice called someone to dinner, and smoke drifted lazily from chimneys. Everything felt… peaceful. Too peaceful.
Man: "We're here! Come inside!"
The house was small but warm, built of wood and stone. A fire flickered inside, the scent of herbs and soup floating through the air.
A woman turned from a cooking pot as they entered. Her expression softened when she saw the stranger.
Wife: "Who's this young man with you?"
Man: "He's an outsider. Seemed lost — and hungry."
She smiled gently, wiping her hands on her apron.
Wife: "Welcome, young man."
Orimo: "Thanks."
Wife: "What's your name?"
Orimo: "It's Orimo."
Wife (smiling): "Nice to meet you, Orimo. Let's have lunch together."
Orimo: "Thanks… yeah, sure."
They gathered at the wooden table. Orimo noticed someone already sitting there — a girl about his age. She leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes sharp and unblinking. The firelight caught her short black hair and the faint scar beneath her eye.
Girl (staring): "Who are you, huh?"
Her tone wasn't harsh, just curious — the kind of curiosity that hides behind suspicion.
The room fell quiet. The fire cracked. A spoon clinked softly against a bowl.
Orimo met her gaze, calm but uncertain.
For a moment, it felt like even the air in the room stopped moving.