The morning fog had not yet lifted when Dio descended the small slope again. The slippery ground made his steps short and careful to avoid slipping. He held onto a tree trunk for balance, then continued downward. Dew seeped into his skin, cold like a thin sheet of metal.
Down below—under the large tree roots that grew like curved ribs—the body lay.
He had found it earlier when the fog was still thick and light had not yet pierced the trees. Its silhouette looked like someone who had collapsed from exhaustion. Dio had seen a faint movement in the chest, gentle like steady breathing. Now, as he approached again after searching for dry wood, the body looked exactly the same as before.
Too much the same.
He crouched beside it and lowered his shield.
"Still… not waking up."
His voice was soft, half aimed at himself. The forest was too silent for loud words.
He touched the body's shoulder. Stiff. Not piercing cold, but like a stone that hadn't seen sunlight in a long time. He pulled his hand back, staring at the thin moss at the edge of the root that had shifted earlier.
"I need to move him," he thought. "Can't leave him on wet ground."
He slipped his hands under the person's arms and lifted slowly—movement he expected would trigger a small groan or reflex. Nothing.
The body remained still.
The head tilted forward a little, hair covering part of the face.
Dio didn't want to look more closely. Something about the face felt wrong to see up close. Not because of wounds… not because of blood… but because the face was the same as when he'd first found it—with no changes at all.
Like a picture pasted on a wall.
He swallowed and adjusted his grip. The body wasn't overly heavy—normal for an adult human—but there was no response in the muscles. No tension. No instinctive discomfort. Just… complete limpness.
Dio tightened his hold.
"I have to be quick."
He said it while steadying his breath.
As he dragged the body to a drier spot, leaves rustled in the opposite direction. Dio reflexively turned, but the forest remained empty. No movement except fog breaking when a thin breeze passed through.
He refocused.
Minutes passed before he managed to bring the body to a slightly higher patch of ground. He set it down under a large tree whose roots formed a shallow hollow, keeping the body from lying directly on the soil.
Dio sat for a moment. His lower back ached. His left hand trembled slightly—not from fear, just exhaustion.
He looked at the body.
Morning light slipped in, revealing pale skin… too pale. Dio blinked.
"He must have lost a lot of blood."
But there were no open wounds. No fresh red spots. Dio tilted his head, looking at the neck. No visible pulse. But he looked away, refusing to think about it.
"I need to find water… cloth… something."
Dio stood. His legs felt heavy but stable.
When he had gone about twenty steps, a fleeting thought slipped into his mind—not doubt, just a wrongness he hadn't phrased yet.
When he returned five minutes later, something had changed.
The body hadn't moved at all, yet its position was different. The head that had leaned right was now falling more to the left. Dio froze.
The forest held its silence.
He swallowed.
Not out of fear—but because his mind was trying to match two images that didn't match.
Earlier, he was sure the body's left hand was covering its abdomen. Now the hand lay stretched slightly to the side.
"I… must be remembering wrong."
He adjusted the position again.
As his fingers touched the wrist, something froze along his neck.
Cold.
Not morning dew.
Not foggy air.
Deeper than that.
Cold that didn't flow, didn't change, didn't respond to touch.
"Why…?"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Dio felt the arm—slowly, afraid of damaging it—and found a faint stiffness. Muscles that gave no resistance, like something that had lost human pliability.
He stopped moving.
His eyes shifted to the chest of the body, waiting for the tiniest rise or fall. Five seconds. Ten. Twenty.
Nothing.
Only the fog moving up and down before them.
Dio held his breath.
"…No."
Not denial, not refusal.
More like someone trying to fit the world into a shape he could understand.
He touched the body's cheek with the back of his fingers.
The skin was… firm.
Not frozen.
Not flexible.
"Why did I… see him breathing earlier?"
He forced himself to remember.
Thick fog. Minimal light. Silhouette. Shadow.
And his own heartbeat—
not someone else's breath.
His hand slid down, touching the clothing.
Dry.
Like something left out in the air for too long.
Dio closed his eyes.
The forest made no sound.
Only his own body felt full of something—not fear, but a quiet sense of loss that had no clear reason.
"I wasn't saving anyone…"
The words fell softly, almost inaudible.
"…I just wanted… someone."
He opened his eyes slowly and looked at the body again—this time without illusion.
No breath.
No pulse.
No response.
The body was dead.
Had been dead for a long time.
What he'd seen earlier—
the faint chest movement, the soft breathing, the face that seemed alive—
all came from hope he had held too tightly.
The body belonged to someone who had been lost in this forest long before Dio arrived.
Who knows how many days.
Under what conditions.
Whether alone or not.
One thing was clear:
this body was not a survivor.
It was the last trace of a human who had passed through here.
Dio inhaled slowly.
For a few seconds, he didn't move.
His expression was not angry, not afraid, not sad.
Just empty.
Like someone who had discovered a truth that didn't hurt… but took something away from him.
He sat down slowly, leaning against the tree root, staring at the body without a word.
The forest moved again—wind dropping leaves, insects making faint sounds. The world functioned as usual.
Only Dio paused briefly.
In that silence, he wiped his face once, took a long breath, and stood.
"I…"
He steadied his shoulders.
"…I need to go."
Not from fear.
Not from disgust.
Not from discomfort.
But because he realized:
If he stayed here, he would keep talking to the body.
As if someone were still inside it.
As if this forest wasn't truly empty.
And that was more dangerous than any creature.
Before leaving, he covered the body's face with a thin cloth he found nearby—either belonging to the body or part of a long-ruined pack.
A small action.
But enough.
Dio stood.
Looked once more.
Then walked away.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Just steps ensuring he would not get lost among the things he wanted to believe.
As he passed through the thin fog, something tightened behind his ribs—
not from fear…
but from realizing just how silent this world truly was.
And he continued his journey.
Alone.
This time without illusions.