Worn and Weary

Soren lay on the ground, gasping for air, his body aching from the brutal encounter. He considered dismissing the annoying dagger but hesitated—there could still be more monsters lurking nearby.

His body was battered, beaten, and far from unscathed, yet he had managed to kill the Ironfang. The battle had been rougher than expected, and if this was the weakest tier of awakened beasts, then facing anything stronger would be suicide.

I can't afford to fight these things head-on.

I need to move. The longer I stay, the more likely I'll run into something I can't handle.

Yet, despite knowing that, he didn't move. His limbs felt like dead weight, his breath ragged, and his mind still reeling from the fight. Aeternis' mocking tone certainly didn't improve the situation.

"A winner shouldn't lay on his back like he'd lost," Aeternis remarked. "Unless, of course, you're waiting for the next beast to finish you off."

Soren gritted his teeth.

"Shut up"

He forced his aching body to move, pushing himself upright. His posture wasn't the best—his back slouched, his head hung low—but at least he was standing. The dead Ironfang lay beside him, its massive form nearly twice his size.

If it had been anything but a mindless beast, he would have died.

Predators driven by instinct were dangerous, but predictable. A cunning creature, one with reason and restraint, would have been a true threat.

Soren exhaled sharply, refusing to check how many fragments he had gained from the kill. Opening the abyss now would leave his body vulnerable—a mistake he couldn't afford.

Instead, he muttered a curse under his breath, gaze hardening.

"The damn old man could come and help me right about now"

But there was no answer.

There never was.

The old man was the one who forced him onto this path, and now it seemed like he had disappeared. No matter how hard Soren tried to recall his face, his mind came up blank. Like he had never existed at all.

Had he been abandoned?

Or was this some twisted lesson meant to push him further?

Whatever the answer, it didn't change the fact that Soren was alone.

Aeternis hummed in amusement.

"The blood calls out for others lusting for it". 

Soren didn't need the reminder.

If there were more monsters in the area, they would be drawn by the scent of blood. He had no time to harvest the corpse—not that he had the luxury of wondering if the meat was even edible.

Then—a rustle.

Soren's breath caught. His fingers tightened around the dagger, body tensing before his mind even processed it.

He whipped around—eyes locked on the underbrush.

The wind whispered through the leaves.Branches swayed.The forest remained empty.

…Nothing.

Yet, his heart still hammered in his chest.

It didn't matter that he saw nothing. The last time he heard that exact sound, a monster had lunged at him from the darkness.

His body refused to accept it as just the wind.

For a moment, he stayed rigid, waiting—bracing for something to strike.

But nothing came.

Only after several heartbeats did his grip on the dagger ease.

I need to move.

Without another word, Soren turned and headed for the trail. He moved carefully, distancing himself from the scent of blood before something truly dangerous arrived.

His training hadn't done him much good.

He still couldn't wield the dagger efficiently.He still had no proper combat experience.The only thing he had gained was the ability to manifest essence.

And right now, that wasn't enough.

Soren exhaled, exhaustion dragging down his limbs.

No real food.

No shelter.

No safety.

Just a lone path stretching ahead, leading him deeper into the unknown.

Soren walked along the path, the dagger at his disposal. He didn't dare dismiss it in case a monster appeared. His breathing was ragged, and his legs threatened to give out beneath him. But collapsing in the middle of the road would be as good as signing his own death sentence.

Every few minutes, his ears caught strange sounds. His marble-black eyes widened, his body tensing. Each time, he jumped off the trail, hiding and waiting until the sounds passed. If a monster appeared in his current state, he had no chance of fighting back—his only option was to remain unnoticed.

The evening winds began to pick up. There was nothing unusual about them, but Soren had taken too many breaks during his walk. His slow pace meant he hadn't progressed as far as he wanted.

Finally, he found a place where he could stay the night. A hollow tree.

Soren eyed the opening warily, hoping it wasn't already occupied by something worse than the cold. Slowly, he approached, dagger in hand, ready to strike—even if he doubted he had enough strength left to do any real damage.

His body was too exhausted for extra precautions. Without checking further, he slipped inside. The moment his back hit the rough inner bark, the tension drained from his body, and exhaustion pulled him under.

Soren let out a slow breath.

"I guess this is my limit for the day."

The hollow tree shielded him from the cold winds, its thick bark muffling the distant sounds of the forest. Inside, it was dark, cramped, but secure. For now, it was enough.

His body refused to move any further. Whether he was unable or simply unwilling, it didn't matter. Sleep was inevitable.

His eyelids fell shut.

"Sorr! What are you doing?"

The warmth hit first.

The sun bathed the world in golden light, the breeze carrying the lingering heat of summer. The air smelled of grass, soil, and something faintly sweet. The cicadas hummed lazily in the distance, their song blending into the familiar stillness of a slow afternoon.

A familiar voice cut through the warmth—a voice that sent a ripple through Soren's chest.

He blinked, finding himself seated on the grass in their backyard. A worn notebook rested in his lap, his fingers absently tracing the edges of the paper.

Footsteps approached from behind. Light. Casual. Full of energy.

Auren.

"Come on, Sorr." Auren's voice carried a playful edge, teasing yet never forceful. "My friends wanted you to come out too."

Soren hesitated, the words catching in his throat.

"I— I'm busy."

Auren sighed, exasperated but amused. "You can't be that busy." He nudged Soren's shoulder lightly. "Your notebook can wait. You can't just stay cooped up at home every day."

Soren tightened his grip on it. "You can go have fun with your friends. I'm fine here," he muttered, eyes still locked on the pages.

Auren's hand loosened on his shoulder. A small sigh escaped his lips—quiet, thoughtful.

"…You know, they're actually kind of lame. And there's six of them, so I bet they can manage without me."

Soren glanced up, eyebrows furrowing. Auren was scratching the top of his head, wearing that familiar mischievous smile.

"Huh?" Soren blinked.

Auren grinned wider, shrugging. "Yeah. Last time they didn't even invite you, so I guess I should uninvite myself."

Soren blinked again. Once. Twice.

By the third time, Auren let out a small chuckle.

"So…" he said, flopping down beside him. "What are you up to?"

Soren hesitated. The shift was so natural, so easy. Auren had always been like this—fluid, adaptable, effortlessly turning a refusal into something else entirely.

"Uh… nothing. Just sketching."

Auren perked up immediately. "Sounds interesting. What are you sketching?"

Soren flipped the notebook slightly, revealing rough lines and scattered doodles. "I was looking at the ants and bugs and drawing them."

Auren leaned over, studying the page.

"Weird fetish, but okay."

Soren froze. Then, slowly, he turned his head toward Auren, eyes narrowing.

His expression was one of pure betrayal—as if Auren had just mocked a sacred text from the gods themselves.

Auren burst into laughter.

That was just how Auren was. Always joking. Always lightening the mood.

There was never a room he didn't brighten by simply being in it.

Auren could have been anywhere.

He could have gone with his friends—messing around downtown, playing soccer, wasting hours at the arcade. But no. He chose to stay.

Soren was never sure if it was out of brotherly duty or if Auren genuinely enjoyed his company. Maybe it didn't matter. Because somehow, Auren always found a reason to stay behind.

Soren watched as Auren wiped away tears of laughter, still holding his stomach. The way his shoulders shook, the way his eyes crinkled with amusement—it was so purely Auren.

Then, without warning, Auren reached out, ruffling Soren's already messy black hair.

A light, familiar touch.

Before Soren could swat him away, Auren threw an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in.

"Yeah, my bad," Auren said, grinning. "Can I try sketching one too?"

This time, there was no teasing in his voice. No mockery. Just curiosity.

And just like that, he had settled in beside Soren, as if he had been meant to be there all along.

Soren's eyes flickered open.

The warmth vanished instantly.

The sound of cicadas faded into silence. The golden light of summer was gone, replaced by the dim, cold interior of the hollow tree.

His body still ached, stiff from exhaustion—but there was something else.

A weight.

His hand was resting atop his head.

Right where Auren always used to place his.

Soren swallowed, his throat tight. A whisper escaped his lips, so quiet it was almost lost in the wind.

"…Dummy."

His fingers curled slightly, pressing against his scalp.

"I'll save you…" His voice barely carried past his breath.

"Maybe then… things will go back to how they were."

But there was no answer.

Only the wind, slipping through the cracks of the hollow tree.

And just like that, the dream was over.