Eon of Damnation Part I
Please read the Author's Thoughts on the end of this episode. Thank you.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Warning
The following novel contains material that may be harmful or traumatic to some readers.It contains graphic descriptions of murder, violence, and other unpleasant text.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
* images in "Characters" section are AI Generated Images and serve as inspiration and may not fully represent the author's vision. *
For a better experience, I recommend opening the Characters section so you can visualize the character as accurately as possible. The descriptions here will not be very detailed.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Empire of Jeremiah, Kingdom of Taro
Ekpesu, Ekpesu Ghetto
Celestis Calendar : Day 8, Month of Raphaelis (3/9)
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The light of three planets casts a pale glow upon the streets of the Ghetto, illuminating the footsteps of those who dare to venture outside. The Ekpesu Ghetto is one of the worst places in the kingdom, yet Duke Alandr Ulbridge does nothing about it. Ever since the time of Cedric Ulbridge, the great-great-grandfather of the current duke, this place has existed—a consequence of a decision that reshaped the fate of thousands.
Over 728 years ago, the "Establishment of the Ghetto" was unanimously voted into effect, and more than three thousand people, accused of sins, were sent beyond its walls. That era came to be known as the Eon of Damnation, marking the birth of the first streets of the Ghetto for those who did not align with the ideal of "virtues."
The true reasons behind this decision have been lost to history. Was it fear of something unspoken? A religious decree? A means of maintaining order? Whatever the cause, the fate of the Ghetto was sealed.
Today, its streets have transformed—not just by time but by those who inhabit them. What was once a place of people has become a place of shadows. Thieves, murderers, Vulturis, and occultists. What began as a decree centuries ago endures still—but its original purpose has long since faded into obscurity.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
A group of drunken men staggers through the nighttime streets of the Ghetto. With each step, a strange crunching sound echoes beneath their feet. The streets are filthy with all manner of refuse—from scattered garbage to bones of unknown origin. Animal, human... even those of a child.
The rotting stench that lingers in the alleys of the Ghetto makes a passing, emaciated woman in tattered clothes gag violently. She stops beside the group of drunkards and vomits onto one of their legs. The sound of her retching is swallowed by the darkness that cloaks the streets. Her choking sobs fill the silence, serving as a warning to others—stay away. After vomiting, she coughs up blood, then merely wipes her hand, smearing it with a mixture of bile and crimson.
In the Ghetto, where famine reigns, anything that breathes is consumed. At times, it borders on cannibalism, and the vast majority of food here is likely contaminated with disease. The sickness spreads through intercourse, through coughs, and sometimes—through vomit itself.
The drunkard glares at her, his eyes widening with malice.
"You filthy whore!"
He grabs her by the hair. The woman, shocked, instinctively grabs his wrist and shoves him away with her free hand. He, drunk on cheap liquor, stumbles and collapses onto the ground.
For the others, this is the signal to strike.
Knives are drawn in an instant.
One of them shouts, "COME HERE!" and they charge at her like hunters closing in on their prey.
Fear flashes in the woman's eyes as she bolts toward her house—just across the street. The men, though clumsy in their drunken state, advance steadily. She pounds on the door with all her strength.
"GREG! OPEN UP, NOW!" she screams, desperation thick in her voice. She slams her fists against the door, her cries echoing through the empty street.
"GREG!!"
The door flies open.
"Hurry, get inside!"
But before she can step in, one of the attackers grabs her by the hair. Her screams tear through the night.
Her husband lunges forward, seizing the man's wrist—the one clutching her so violently. But the attacker kicks her inside before driving a knife into her husband's forearm. The blade cuts through flesh like a hot wire through butter.
Blood sprays. It streams down his arm, dripping onto the floor.
He howls in pain.
More of the assailants rush in—wielding dull knives still caked in the dried blood of their previous victims. Their hands tremble, but not with fear. It is excitement. Anticipation.
They grab the bleeding man, yanking him inside. The string of curses hurled at them only fuels their twisted amusement. The first drunkard—the one who struck first—grins darkly.
"Finally, some fun."
He tosses his knife aside, cracks his knuckles, and steps into the house.
With a heavy slam, the door shuts behind them.
And the bloody spectacle behind the curtain begins.
At first, sounds of struggle fill the air—thuds, screams, the chaotic symphony of violence. A woman's desperate pleas for help ring out.
But soon, her voice is the only one left.
"NO! PLEASE! PLEASE!!!"
The last words she will ever speak.
And then—silence.
That silence, thick and suffocating, blankets the streets once more.
I watch it happen, night after night. And I am always grateful that I am not the one living through it.
Disgusting, isn't it?
Yet I do nothing but stare at this filth through a broken window, cursing this wretched place—this damned corner of the world.
From the moment I was born, my worthless, irresponsible mother condemned me to this hell—this pit with no future, no hope. The only thing I can thank her for is the name she gave me.
Timothee
The only thing that still makes me feel human, in a place where beasts reign.
I rarely mention my last name, but I will carry it with me until my dying breath. A name that binds me to her. A name that, to me, is synonymous with being the son of a whore.
Redson
It seems this scene has come to an end.
How long had they lived here? A week?
Tragic... They seemed like decent people.
But there is no place for them here.
I suppose it's time to sleep.
Yet when I look at my so-called bed—that rotting, stinking thing, where insects share my company—I want to cry.
I yawn, rub my tired eyes. Yeah... It's time to shut down for the night.
But then—I hear it.
Crying?
A child's voice.
I glance out the window.
Yes.
It's coming from that house.
The slaughterhouse.
They had a child?
How did I not notice?
Screams give way to sobs, and something inside me stirs—memories of my own childhood.
Children suffer the most here. And now, this?
"SHUT UP!"
A voice bellows from inside.
The child's wails grow louder.
And the moment I hear those words—those words directed at that helpless, innocent child—I freeze.
Panic grips me. My breathing grows shallow.
I can't take this.
I have to sleep. I can't hear this. I don't want to.
I turn away, head for my bed, and collapse onto it. I cover my ears.
I have to focus on the one thing that still comforts me in this hell.
The crack above my bed—the tiny tear in the ceiling that reveals a glimpse of the night sky.
And that one star—the only one that soothes me.
Maybe, over the years, I've grown used to the brutality, the bloodshed, the rapes, the killings.
But when it comes to children—no.
I can never stomach it.
I want to vomit.
Children are the only ones that make me want to be a hero.
But there is no place for heroes here.
I am a coward.
No...
This is not cowardice.
This is survival.
Somewhere inside me, a shred of hope still lingers—that one day, this will end.
And though the thought of suicide is a constant presence in my mind, whispering to me ever since I realized that this nightmare will not end on its own—I refuse to give in.
I refuse to let those bastards win.
The screaming intensifies.
I don't want to hear it.
I start to hum.
A melody.
The only piece of my childhood that remains untainted.
The only thing that pulls me away from the present.
You see, adults can endure pain—up to a certain point.
Until they break. Until they lose hope. Until they surrender to the violence.
But a child?
A child will scream and scream and scream until their very last breath, because they still believe—still hope—that their mother or father will come to save them.
And the saddest part?
No one is coming for this child.
I don't want to hear a single sound from them anymore.
I need to replace the melody.
Replace it with words.
Words of comfort.
Words of escape.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
♪ Star shine... ♪
♪ Star warm me forever ♪
♪ Your warmth is my joy ♪
♪ Star shine... ♪
♪ Star, you are such a beautiful star ♪
♪ But your beautiful light, falling into the darkness of horrors ♪
♪ (Timothee continues the melody) ♪
♪ HMM... HMM... HMM.. ♪
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Celestis Calendar : Day 9, Month of Raphaelis (3/9)
(A few hours later)
(Morning)
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
I open my eyes again. Is it over? Are my dreams over? Do I have to wake up to this fucking life again—to survive? I sit up, rub my eyes, and glance around once more at this filthy hole, crawling with disgusting, insignificant little lives. The sight always fills me with sorrow. I always want to cry. Cry until my tears drain this wretched, miserable vessel that barely clings to life. My soul.
I start thinking about last night again... Why does my mind always drag me back to the past? Why does my fucking mind keep replaying these fucking disgusting memories... when I don't want it to? I sigh. The horror, the fear, the helplessness—I feel it all over again. And then—A fucking cockroach crawls over my hand!
I kill it instantly. Thoughtlessly. I crush it, snuffing out its life as meaninglessly as those bastards did to that child last night. The dead insect falls to the floor, leaving behind that nasty black filth on my hand. My face twitches with rage. I try to wipe the stain away, but I only smear it further. It's starting to piss me off... My mind is so fucked up that, for a moment, the black insect's blood turns into human red.
I rub harder and harder, but my fury only intensifies. My body tenses, my thoughts spiral. I start shaking with anger, growling through gritted teeth. All because of a FUCKING BUG! And then—an explosion of rage. I stomp on it. Over and over. I don't stop. I pour all my fury into something that's already dead. For that moment, all my anger is fixated on the cockroach.
I scream like a madman, like a rabid animal fighting for survival. As the rage slowly drains from me, I let out one final burst—slamming my fist into the mattress as if I could despise it, too. I grab my head, inhaling the filthy air around me, forcing myself to calm down. But then, the tears come. And I can't stop them.
I cry. Cry like a little girl.
I hear faint laughter outside. Probably from the street. I don't care. I have enough to deal with—enough with the tears running down my hands, with my own helplessness. After a while, I finally calm down. I wipe my wet palms on my filthy clothes, then dry my face. A new urge rises in me—I need to take a piss.
I get up and head toward the bucket. Fortunately, it's not full yet, so I don't have to touch it. After that, I'll have to deal with my next problem. Food. Otherwise, I'll starve to death.
(12 minutes later)
I open the door, and the first thing that greets me is the morning light. A pleasant warmth—the one thing the night always lacks. At night, when I lie in bed, shivering from the cold, sleep rarely comes easy. Maybe this is one of the few things I look forward to when I step outside.
I walk out, my feet once again touching the streets of suffering. And then, an irresistible urge strikes me. I have to look at that house. The house I watched last night.
The thought of those animals sprawled on the floor inside, their stomachs full of my former neighbors, reveling in what they've done—it sickens me.
Even their Bal- Nothing. Fuck it.
At first glance, it was clear that they were unintelligent drunks. Violent animals without a shred of thought. When I heard them beating that child... I immediately knew they had no intention of kidnapping him and selling him to the Vulturists without a single scratch. Instead, unfortunately... or fortunately? He is no longer among us.
If I had even a sliver of courage, I'd light a rag on fire and toss it at their doorstep. Let the flames swallow them whole. Let them feel the agony that poor child endured last night.
Others emerge from their homes, too. It looks like they feel the same urge to stare. Maybe they even share my thoughts.
...
Or maybe right now, they just envy the fact that those bastards got to eat.
Who knows.
Why do I even care about anyone else here?
I've got my own shit to deal with, and I think I've already wasted enough energy and attention on this filth. It's time to move—I need to get to Scarlet Square fast. I have to find food before half the city flocks there and devours it right in front of you. Like starving animals.
No more delays—I'm going.
"HEY, YOU LITTLE SHIT!"
A voice calls out to me.
Raspy. Old.
Oh great, it's that old bastard again.
I turn around, and sure enough, there he is—my landlord, the man who lives right below me. Saul.
One of the few old geezers you have the privilege of encountering here. Bent, emaciated, bald, and perpetually pissed off. That's Saul.
"What?" I ask. What does he want now?
His face twists in irritation before he immediately snaps back at me.
"WHAT?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT?!" His voice rises.
"You owe me rent for two fucking months, and you have the audacity to say what?! Don't piss me off first thing in the morning!"
Oh fuck. Rent.
Shit...
I completely forgot I even had to pay for something like that. When you're starving every damn day, the only thing on your mind is sinking your teeth into a nicely roasted rat and finally satisfying your hunger.
This is bad.
Two months' rent... that's almost a quarter tolar.
"Two months already?!" I say in surprise. "Mr. Saul, I'm sorry. Really, I am..."
I hate apologizing.
But I don't have a choice.
Living in the Ghetto is already the lowest of the low... but ending up on the streets? That's even worse. And there's no fucking way I'm letting that happen.
"I don't give a shit about your apologies. Where's my money?" Saul leans slightly against the doorframe, waiting.
I have to convince him. I have to.
"Look... It's been rough lately. Could you at least give me two more days? I'll try to gather exactly what I owe you, and after that, I'll do my best to keep up with the payments."
Hopefully, he'll show at least some sympathy toward a young, poor guy like me.
I see him thinking.
A good sign.
After all, I do try to pay. That's a rarity here.
"Listen, I know things are shit," Saul mutters. "I don't like these sappy little sob stories, but fine... I'll cut you some slack this one time. Just one. I don't like being made a fool of. Pay what you owe, and we're square. But this is the last time I'm giving you extra time. I need to eat too, and I'm not about to starve just because of my good... old heart helping out punks like you. SO TWO DAYS! That's it!"
His voice is calm, surprisingly so.
I didn't expect that.
Could he also have lost sleep over what happened last night across the street?
No one can ever truly get used to shit like that... not even someone as old as Saul.
He might be a grumpy old bastard, but right now, I'm kind of grateful.
I bow my head slightly, give him a small smile, and thank him.
He just shuts the door behind him and goes back to sleep—like always.
Wish I could do that too. Just lie down and not give a fuck about anything.
But unfortunately, I haven't been blessed with that kind of luck yet.
I've already wasted enough time.
I need to get food.
And I need to find money.
Otherwise, I'm truly fucked.
(Scarlet Square)
(16 minutes later)
I can already see the large, half-destroyed gate ahead.
The entrance to Scarlet Square.
If you imagine that, a thousand years ago, this place was a bustling hub full of merchants, you might actually want to laugh.
Now, it's the center of beggars—pleading for food that will either turn your stomach inside out, poison you, or make you shit yourself from some disease.
Or... in a rare few cases, it might actually taste somewhat decent, and you'll manage to fill your belly.
I keep walking, passing through the gate.
The square is massive. Hundreds of stalls.
Little food.
The key is to search the far end. There might still be something left.
People keep pouring in. The stench thickens, soaks into the food, making everything taste like shit before you even take a bite.
In the center of the square stands a fountain.
Once, it held the statue of Archangel Jeremiah.
Torn down—another symbol of defiance.
Who could blame them?
The fountain is the best landmark to navigate by, and—
"Timothee!"
A familiar voice cuts through the noise.
Could it be... Tira?
Before I even get the chance to turn around, I feel a hand on my shoulder from the other side.
I turn.
And there she is.
Tira Garana.
A friend since childhood.
"Tira? What are you doing here?" I ask, genuinely surprised.
It hasn't been long since she found a hole in the wall—a passage into Night's Steps. Just an ordinary district for ordinary people. She goes there often to steal, and she's good at it. She's always been braver than me.
I see that beautiful face looking at me. Those chestnut-colored eyes have always been a source of comfort in so many ways. Understanding. Trust. Joy. Her smile gives me confidence. Her presence brings me happiness. Just from those feelings alone, I can't help but smile—something I rarely do in the Ghetto.
"Same as everyone here... hunger." Tira says with a grin. "Anyway, today's on me. Follow me."
She speaks with enthusiasm, immediately heading toward a specific stall.
I follow without hesitation. Refusing free food is a sin for survivors.
As I walk behind her, a question lingers in my mind. Is she still the same Tira as before? She's so much more independent now. Fearless. When she wants something... she just takes it.
Was it fear that shaped her into what she is now?
Or was it envy?
A dream?
A goal?
Or just pure luck...?
Ah, those brown, curly locks of hers. They always smelled so... normal. Not foul, not perfumed. Just... normal.
"Amira!" Tira suddenly calls out to a woman at the stall.
Amira tenses up.
She isn't that old—her eyesight should be just fine. So that little hesitation... maybe it means she doesn't really want to see her?
Who knows.
"Tira. You know I don't give out free food," Amira says, scratching her neck. "So don't try your little games on me."
Her tone is cold. Very cold.
Tira can be a little clumsy in the way she talks—sometimes she pisses people off without even meaning to.
Still, she stops in front of the stall. I step up beside her, and then it hits me—the smell of roasted meat.
Roasted rat.
And fuck... even just the scent tells me this is a good one.
My mouth is practically watering out of my damn soul.
"Why so grumpy, Amira? I thought you'd be happy to see me. We're friends, aren't we?" Tira says with a slight, teasing irony.
She glances at me with a smirk, as if saying—You'll eat soon, just let me make this bitch sweat a little.
Or maybe—She's an idiot, just wait and let me handle it.
Or, more likely—Could you for once actually help me out, you pathetic sack of flesh?
"I thought that when you came to me last time, ass clenched in fear, begging me to get you something from beyond the wall—"
Tira tilts her head, setting up the perfect punchline.
But before she can finish, Amira slaps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with shock.
She looks around frantically, paranoia creeping into her every motion.
Yeah. Tira's reckless when it comes to topics like this.
If word got out? If people found out she had a way past the wall?
They'd spread it like wildfire.
And then?
Everyone would want a way out.
Everyone except me... It's not that I don't want to... But I'm just not built for things like this. Neither mentally nor physically. Above all, I lack the courage. If, for fuck's sake, they caught Tira... She'd be completely screwed, and what they'd do to her... I don't even want to think about it. Especially not when it would be her involved.
I should probably have a word with her about that later.
"Shut your mouth..." Amira mutters as she lets go of Tira's face.
Tira rubs her lips before speaking again. "I want two roasted rats. And I want them fresh, not that shit you give everyone else. Give us the good ones."
She then places a small pouch on the stall's counter—its contents unknown.
I don't care what she just gave her.
She mentioned the rat, and that's all I care about.
I just want that damn rat!
"Then give me the rest of the money you owe me, and we'll be square!" Tira says with a satisfied grin, and suddenly, warmth spreads through my chest.
The thought of finally eating after so long...
I feel like laughing.
Funny how, just an hour ago, I was crying like a little girl, and now I'm happy over something so simple...
Wait... Simple?
Food here isn't something simple.
It's a fucking luxury.
Amira doesn't hesitate. She does exactly as Tira demands—pulling two fresh, perfectly roasted rats from the fire. She hands them to Tira, who then passes one to me before confidently taking her money.
I look down at it...
Ah...
I'm holding food.
Food.
FOOD!
I take a bite immediately, and that taste! It's unforgettable.
Finally... finally, I get to eat.
I feel like singing. I feel like dancing!
My joyful expression definitely doesn't go unnoticed by Tira, who watches me with those eyes.
Happy eyes?
I can't read people very well... but maybe.
Tira confidently walks out first... That proud smile of hers. Victory... I truly admire her.
Just as I'm about to follow, Amira gently grabs my shoulder. I immediately turn to look at her, and with a very serious expression, she says, "Watch what she lets slip from that mouth of hers. Free advice..."
She lets go of my shoulder, and with an even sharper gaze, she etches those words into my memory.
Yeah... That advice wasn't necessary. I know that even without you, you greedy bitch.
I head straight after Tira.
(A few minutes later)
I sit on a crumbling wall, not far from the main road that connects Scarlet Square to the Southern Wall.
Tira sits on the ground in front of me.
We both eat—though I'm definitely more enthusiastic about it.
But honestly, I also feel like talking.
I take another bite, swallow, then tear off the rat's tail before glancing at her.
But I feel the urge to talk some sense into her.
Amira—despite looking like someone you just can't trust—was right.
"Tira... You shouldn't talk about that... hole so loudly. I'd hate for something to happen to you."
She looks at me with a smile. "Are you that worried about me?" she chuckles.
Before I can say anything, she beats me to it.
"You've got nothing to worry about... I know what to say and when to say it. What could these desperate fools possibly do to me?"
She gestures obviously toward the passing people.
I sigh and don't respond. Saying anything more could just make things worse.
She really doesn't know when to shut up.
...
Now that we're talking about that hole, a thought immediately crosses my mind—life beyond the wall...
...
"What's it like... walking in the world of normal life?" I ask curiously, watching her from the corner of my eye.
She pauses for a moment, thinking, then looks around.
At the ground.
At the buildings.
"Much cleaner," she says with a smile.
And somehow, that makes me smile too.
"Anyone from this side of the wall would think that life beyond it must be... happier. Maybe even easier."
Tira pulls her head away from the rat.
"But it's not."
"Honestly? They deal with more bullshit than we do here." She pauses before smirking. "But if you heard them talk, Timothee... it's always— 'I tripped over that fucking rock!' or 'The sun's too damn bright today. Fuck this city.'"
She mimics them perfectly, and I take another bite of my rat.
"OH! OR EVEN BETTER— 'She left me... HOW COULD SHE?!'"
She throws herself into the dramatic reenactment so well that we both burst into laughter.
I laugh so hard I nearly choke on a piece of rat meat—fuck—
Which only makes her laugh harder.
At least this time, I was the one who made her smile.
She's done it for me plenty of times without even trying.
"Seriously?" I ask, genuinely surprised.
Who wouldn't be?
If I had the luxury of worrying about stupid shit like that, I'd lie on my back, belly out, and say fuck it all.
"I thought that if people knew... or at least, I hope they know what's happening here... they'd actually appreciate what they have. Are you telling me they're just a bunch of spoiled brats?" I ask, my tone more serious now.
I don't know why, but it actually pisses me off. Maybe more than I expected.
Tira nods and shrugs slightly, as if it frustrates her too.
"That's how it is. Now they've even cried their way into getting more guards on the wall. The bastards are scared we'll start another revolution—just like years ago... I don't get it."
That catches me off guard.
I have to ask.
"And... is anyone planning to?"
Tira looks at me, lets out a short, ironic laugh.
"Look around at these people. Do you really think anyone would even consider it?"
She's got a point.
But you never know. I wouldn't want to get caught up in that kind of shit. As much as I hate this life, as much as I hate this place—
You either adapt, or you die.
The hatred toward those beyond the wall? Yeah, it's justified.
But it won't put food in your stomach. And it sure as hell won't put coins in your pocket.
"Tomorrow, that bunch of idiot soldiers will march in again and pick a few people they find useful. Do you think life beyond the wall is any better for them?" I ask before taking another bite of my rat.
Tira just shakes her head. "Even life without a home or money beyond the wall is better than life with a home here. What do you think?" She looks at me with those eyes, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Don't tell me you're hoping to be picked."
I look at her.
And yeah...
That thought has been on my mind for a long time.
I don't have the courage to sneak past the wall like Tira, through that passage.
For me, the only chance to get the hell out of here is ironically this one.
"Maybe?" I say hesitantly, though inside... I already know the answer.
Tira studies me, the smile fading from her face.
"You know, Timothee... I care about you a lot. And you know I don't sugarcoat things."
She tosses the last scraps of her rat onto the ground and locks eyes with me before continuing.
"I really, really wish they'd pick you. I do. But the chances are slim. Really slim. And besides... the people they take from here? They're either thrown into the army or into slavery. So think about it—what skills do you have that would make you useful to them?"
Her words hit me like a knife to the gut. Or maybe an arrow straight to the heart.
She's right.
And the worst part?
I don't have an answer.
"Even I'm not on their level to get past the wall this way, so I don't bother thinking about it." She gestures around us. "Look around... do you think they are thinking about it?"
I look at the people around us.
Their faces are empty.
Nothing.
She's right... but what, am I just supposed to focus only on surviving another day?
"You're probably thinking—Am I just supposed to keep thinking about surviving another day?" Tira says, reading my thoughts perfectly.
I stare at her, completely stunned.
She lets out a slow sigh.
"Some people are just meant for this life. Believe it or not... I accepted that long before you even started thinking about this shit."
Her words hit something deep inside me.
They piss me off.
A lot.
So much that I lose my appetite and throw the rest of my rat onto the filthy ground.
I stand up, glaring at her.
"MEANT FOR THIS?!"
"So you're telling me that just because my mother was a whore, I was born to live like this?!"
"Or that I was meant to spend my whole life terrified of those fucking Vulturis, always watching my back?!"
"OR THAT I WAS MEANT TO EAT THIS FILTH—THE SAME FILTH THAT MATCHES MY FUCKING LIFE?!"
I start yelling, kicking the scraps of rat I had thrown away.
Again, I hear that faint, mocking laughter in the background.
Darker this time.
It makes my blood boil.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS SO FUNNY?!"
I grab what's left of my rat and hurl it into the crowd.
Tira just stares at me, disbelief in her eyes.
She's never seen me like this before.
But that's just how it is.
She crushed my hope.
And tell me—who wouldn't be pissed?
"Fuck this. Thanks for the rat. Have a nice life."
I sigh, then storm off.
In that moment of rage, I might have lost the little hope I had left.
No. No, no, no.
I need to find it again.
Because otherwise...
"Timothee!"
Tira calls out my name.
And then—
She hugs me from behind.
I freeze.
She's never done that before.
Maybe when we were kids, but now?
I can smell her hair.
Neutral.
Normal.
Like always.
And it calms me.
Like always.
"I'm sorry, Timothee... I really made you mad. But... it's the truth. I get it. Hope is rare in this place... and yeah, hold onto it if you want."
She leans closer, her breath warm against my ear.
"But just do me one favor... Have hope. But don't hold onto it too tightly."
Her last words linger in the air as she lets go of me and walks away.
Her voice keeps replaying in my head.
I watch her leave... and regret how I snapped at her.
She's always been there for me.
Always showed up on my worst days.
And this is how I treat her?
I can't take this anymore.
Not today.
Not now.
I don't have time for this.
I need money.
To be continued...
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━