Your Name Is...

In the Caravan of Dreams, many things happened—things that could be considered normal, routine, or semi-routine among its members. Quarrels, arguments, and even fights were quite natural occurrences. Despite them, the caravan never fell apart or grew tense because of what happened. But what occurred between Mary and Erik was exceptional.

In what way? Well, not because Mary effortlessly crushed Erik—although it was certainly a one-sided effort—but because it was Mary herself who did it.

Mary was known in the caravan as a calm, resilient woman who was hard to provoke. She had joined the caravan four years ago, after Master Jabelin personally approved her membership. Since then, she had continued to prove herself, to the point where Jabelin considered her one of the caravan's top leaders—of whom there were four, including Mary.

And what happened today—what she did to Erik—was something no one had ever witnessed before. A wild and violently intense side of Mary, the calm and disciplined one, had come to light. And for whom? For a slave who held no real value in the caravan to begin with.

Speaking of that worthless slave—after what happened to him, he was in rather bad physical shape... "Rather bad"? No, extremely bad!

His body was visibly trembling, and pain pulsed with every small shiver that passed through his worn-out frame. His breaths were heavy, struggling in and out as if his body no longer functioned as a human body should—working in reverse? Or not working at all? His condition was truly complicated.

He kept fighting to survive, and yet that feeling came over him... a feeling of weakness that touched his very core and forced him to stop. To stop resisting. He closed his eyes, which had barely been half open to begin with. Perhaps he had decided to surrender and let things take their course. The pain in his arm remained, even with the magical ointment Mary had applied before he was carried and placed inside the carriage.

As soon as he closed his eyes, the pain remained, as if stubbornly refusing to leave. But the change came quickly—pain began to fade, like morning fog under the rising sun. With time, every trace of pain vanished from his body. It was likely he had simply lost consciousness, but to the young man, he was convinced he had died. And truth be told... he had wished for that before. And now, it seemed his wish had come true... maybe.

In any case, the young man sank into darkness—a quiet, empty place, with no whisper and no breeze, only absolute silence. Yet he was still aware, conscious of drifting in an unknown space, empty like eternity. He thought it was over, that he had died, and there was nothing left to fear: no pain, no hunger, no humiliation. Just a life far removed from the cruelty of mankind.

But soon, something happened that shook him—he felt his body touch the ground… a soft, gentle ground, unlike anything he had ever lain upon before.

He opened his eyes slowly, heavily, only to be met with the piercing light of the sun. It took him a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness, until his half-lidded eyes caught a glimpse of the sky—blue and painted with patches of beautiful clouds.

At that moment, confusion overtook him. He tried to lift himself to get a better view of his surroundings, and surprisingly—unusually—his body rose with strange ease. As if he had become lighter. But that wasn't the real shock...

"Where… am I?" the young man muttered, his voice unsteady, eyes wide in genuine astonishment as he stared at the scene before him—a sight he had never imagined being a part of.

A vast green meadow, adorned with beautiful flowers of all kinds and shapes. A clear river stretched out, dividing the meadow as if by design. Forests filled with vividly colored trees, untouched by the harshness of heat or the bitterness of winter—trees that seemed to have grown in a land that knew only spring and gentle nature. Even the leaves were perfect—large, broad, and vibrant.

The young man shook his head vigorously, as if trying to determine whether he was still conscious or not, suspecting it was all just a hallucination—a figment of something unreal. But the only thing that happened was that his face became covered in his long hair, which now seemed softer than ever before. He brushed a few strands away from his face, and his eyes caught sight of his fingers. Once, his hand had been something grotesque, something no one could bear to look at, let alone touch. But now… his fingers were whole, and even the nails that had once been torn out had grown back, just as they were before.

The young man was struck by a wave of shock. He quickly reached down and pulled one of his legs toward him. Just like his hands, his feet had returned to normal… completely healed. For a moment, he thought this was some cruel joke, not the kind that inspires laughter. He could still clearly remember the moment when his nails were torn out with brutality and savagery. That pain had stayed with him for an entire month—its memory still etched deep in his mind. And now? Everything was back the way it was, as if nothing had ever happened.

He was confused, amazed, full of questions. Then he said, "Am I awake, or is this just a dream?" And that's when he noticed—his voice was gone.

The young man reached for his throat, feeling around nervously, anxiously. He tried again to speak, to say anything... but nothing came out. His voice had vanished. He raised his hands to touch his face and noticed something—his skin felt different... not like before. Since there was a river nearby, he decided to go to it, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face and understand what had happened to him.

He stood lightly on his feet and walked forward, his steps weightless. It was a wonderful feeling—and yet, not quite. Losing his voice alone was enough to drive him insane, or at the very least, deeply unsettled.

When he reached the river, he noticed how unbelievably clear and pure the water was. He dipped his hand in, scooped some of it up, washed his face, then drank a little. The freshness he felt was indescribable.

"This water is amazing… refreshing," the young man said, filled with a sense of contentment—then was shocked to realize his voice had returned. But the surprise was incomplete; his voice hadn't changed at all. It was still the same—rough and dry.

In his confusion, he scratched his head and said, "I don't know what's going on here… this place is incredible, my body is in the best shape it's ever been, and my voice disappeared then came back… Honestly, I don't understand anything." Then he sighed and settled down on his knees.

After a moment, he decided to lean forward and take a look at his reflection. He brushed his long hair back and bent over the now-still water. What he saw was... himself. His face hadn't changed at all. It was still dry, with skin clinging tightly to the bone. It wasn't a pleasant sight, but it wasn't horrifying either… he was simply thankful he hadn't lost his face the way he had lost his voice earlier.

He then looked around, scanning his surroundings carefully—this place he was in for the first time. A place that felt like paradise, untouched, unspoiled, untrodden by human actions or cruelty. A place no human hand had corrupted.

In that moment, the young man came to a conclusion that seemed to make sense: he really had died, and this was his final resting place—the place where his soul had arrived after leaving his body. It was something he had learned from the slave, Aidi, who was the reason the young man had any knowledge at all, even if it was limited.

The young man smiled as he gazed around, his eyes relaxed, content. He had finally escaped that life of suffering, of hatred, of endless torture. But that moment of quiet contemplation was cut short when he turned his head to the right—and saw a small child standing there, staring at him, a tiny finger in his mouth.

"Huh?!" the young man jolted backward, nearly falling into the flowing river. The appearance of the child was eerie, shocking… and completely unexpected.

The young man took a moment to process the situation, then said in a low voice, barely above a whisper, "A... child? What is a child doing... here?"

The child was short, appearing no older than five.

His body looked soft, as if he had lived a life of unmatched comfort. His long white hair touched the grassy ground, and a white silk cloth wrapped gently around his small frame. His facial features were striking—remarkably adorable, incredibly innocent, as though he had never seen cruelty or evil in his life. Upon his head sat a golden crown, uniquely shaped and seemingly light, for there was no way a child like him could bear a heavy crown.

His eyes were mesmerizing—sky blue, bright and vivid, full of life and light, as if they saw the world in a way no one else could.

"Hey there, little one... what are you doing here? And... when did you get beside me?" The young man spoke with a gentle tone, careful not to startle the child with his rough, harsh voice.

But the child said nothing. He stood still, finger in his mouth, quietly staring at the young man, as if observing something fascinating.

The young man didn't understand. Why was the child silent? Did he not understand what was said? Was he too shy to reply to a stranger? But what strangers? Was this a new world he entered after death? Was this child the first person he had met here? Did the child speak a different language and simply not understand a word? .

Questions flooded his mind all at once, in a desperate attempt to make sense of the situation. But he wasn't particularly sharp—he had just enough intelligence and reasoning skills, mostly thanks to Aidi, who had taught him.

Then finally, after a long silence, the child spoke. His voice was soft and pure, carrying a calmness that felt comforting to the ears: "Welcome to my Paradise. My name is Bigarius, and this place belongs to me."

In that instant, the young man felt as if the ground had vanished beneath his feet. He was struck by three overwhelming realizations:

First, the child could speak—and not just a random word or sound, but a full, confident sentence. It didn't sound like a child speaking at all. It carried a depth that didn't match his appearance.

Second, his name—Bigarius. A name the young man had never heard before, yet it stirred something deep within him, as if it held a hidden meaning or history he couldn't yet grasp. And third, the most shocking of all: "My Paradise."

This place belonged to him? What did that even mean? Was it just a child's imagination? Or was there a deeper truth behind it all?.

All the questions that had once crowded his mind vanished like smoke in the air. Only a deep silence remained, along with a stunned expression frozen on his face, while the child continued to gaze at him with an unreadable calm.

"Your Paradise? What do you mean by that?" the young man asked, confusion tightening in his chest.

The child stepped forward with footsteps so light they were nearly silent. He stopped just in front of the young man and replied in the same calm tone: "I live here. I play here. I eat and sleep here... This place is wonderful. You'll love it."

The child's tone was gentle, but there was something unusual about the way he spoke. He didn't sound like a typical child—instead, he came across like an adult who carefully chose his words and delivered them with calm confidence.

In that moment, the young man's doubts about this child only grew stronger. He didn't know what to say, but the child did.Bigarius walked over and sat beside him, then began to speak...

"Just a little while ago, I found a rabbit," Bigarius said cheerfully. "It was running all over the place—white fur, long ears. I chased it until I caught it. Do you know why?" He turned his question toward the young man, who still seemed confused by everything.

It took the young man a few seconds to process the scene before sighing and replying, "Why?"

The child smiled, and with a joyful tone said, "Because I love the game of chasing!" Then he burst into playful laughter.

There was nothing particularly funny about what he had said—it was an ordinary thing to say. But the young man saw something pure in the child's expression. It was as if the boy lived in a world of his own, free to do as he pleased, untouched by commands or control.

At that moment, the young man felt more at ease than before, and smiled at the child, who was gently kicking his feet back and forth through the soft grass.

"Your name is Bigarius, right? You have a kind way of speaking and acting—I'll give you that," said the young man, as his hand reached out to lightly stroke a few strands of the child's long hair.

Then, in a low voice just above a whisper, he added,

"You have freedom... you can move and play without restraints. And most importantly, you have a name—you know who you are. Unlike me. I don't even have a name to call myself by."

A faint smile appeared on the young man's lips, but it didn't seem real. It felt forced.

"You don't have a name? That's strange... but I already know your name," Bigarius said suddenly, with an unchanged, calm expression—free from any hint of teasing or mischief.

"Huh?"

The young man hadn't expected that.

The child claimed to know his name—the name the young man himself had never known throughout his entire life.

He hesitated for a moment, then smiled and responded softly: "My name? But I don't have a name, Bigarius... I've lived my whole life without one, right up to the moment I died and ended up here."

He said it hoping the child would understand.

But Bigarius didn't react at first. His expression stayed still and unreadable. Then, suddenly, he smiled and asked,

"Could it be... that you forgot who really you are?"

He took a breath and continued, but his tone now carried a completely different weight—no longer the voice of an innocent child: "Your name is Darken. You must have forgotten... And also—who ever told you were dead?"

The child's words hit the young man like a slap to the face—a sudden shock that shattered his inner balance. Darken? Did Bigarius really say that name... and claim it belonged to him? . The young man wanted to ask, to understand what was happening. But suddenly, his vision began to blur and ripple. A wave of dizziness struck him like a storm, and the world around him started to spin. He tried to speak, but no words came out. His right hand lifted into the air aimlessly… and then, he collapsed onto the grass.

"Oh? You're leaving now? That's not fair! I wanted to play!" said Bigarius in a slightly frustrated tone. But deep in his voice, it was clear that he had expected this moment.

He sighed, then added with childlike excitement : "Anyway, since you made it here once, that means you'll come back later. Then we can chase rabbits together—or chase each other! Or play hide-and-seek! I can't wait!"

In those final moments, the young man struggled to stay conscious. His head throbbed with pain, like a heavy stone had fallen onto it from above. He lay there, helpless on the ground, while the child danced happily through his own little world. The young man's eyes were half-closed, his awareness fading slowly, his body feeling like it was breaking apart and drifting with the wind.

"Oh, you really are leaving… Just don't forget, Darken. I'll be waiting for you so we can play again! See you later, Darken!" said the child cheerfully, standing over the young man's head as he spoke his name once more.

The young man—Darken—heard every word Bigarius said before his body vanished completely from that place.

And the child was left standing there, alone. He looked around—right, then left—until a small rabbit appeared nearby. With a spark in his eyes, he ran after it, chasing it through the grass...As if nothing had happened at all.