Chapter Eight

Dawn called out to Joki.

No answer.

Only silence greeted him—heavy and absolute.

The cabin was no longer familiar. Where once it was clean and warm, it now reeked of decay, of something left behind to rot for decades.

(This... what is this? It smells like death... and I feel... strange.)

His heart began to pound. Not just in his chest, but in his ears—every beat a hammer crashing against his ribs.

His eyes darted toward his bedroom. A single light glowed from beneath the door.

He approached, unease coiling in his gut.

(Nothing's there. You know that.)

Trying to calm himself, Dawn reached for the knob and turned it.

The door creaked open—not to his bedroom, but to an endless expanse of snow.

Confused, disoriented, he stepped out.

Flurries danced through the air, soft and relentless. Each snowflake felt like a whisper, a regret carried on the wind.

The cold cut through his jacket. His fingers numbed instantly.

(It's cold... but this trembling—this hollow numbness—it doesn't come from the snow. This isn't frostbite. It's fear. Raw and unspoken. The kind that seeps into your bones, like a memory you never wanted but can't forget.)

His boots sank deep into the snow with every step, as if the ground itself was trying to pull him under.

"Do you understand what you turned into?"

The voice echoed across the field.

Dawn froze.

A silhouette stood in the distance, but the swirling snow kept it blurred.

"You're an embarrassment compared to the person you once wanted to be."

That voice—it wasn't imagination. It wasn't the wind. It cut straight through him.

"Who... are you? What are you saying?"

"You had so much hope as a child. So much ambition. Now? You're just an empty shell, clinging to anything around you."

Dawn's frustration surged.

"Don't you hear what I'm saying?!"

The figure stepped forward—its form pitch black, featureless.

Dawn's breath hitched. He stumbled, crashing to one knee. Pain spiked through his leg.

"I hear you. But do you deserve a response? That tough tone, that hard exterior—it's nothing but a brittle mask stretched over failure. You've lost your compass. Lost your cause. And yet you still bark like a soldier with something left to fight for? That's not strength. It's a performance. And frankly... it's pathetic."

The words hit him hard.

But he didn't cry.

Tears were a luxury he felt he didn't deserve.

"...What do you want? Even if what you're saying is true... how does this change anything? You're just repeating things I already know."

He clenched his fists into the snow until his knuckles turned white. The wind howled louder, mocking him.

He tried to rise—but his legs wouldn't respond.

"Is this feeling familiar? Do you remember what it was like? To be paralyzed when it mattered most? To be too weak?"

The voice dug deeper.

Flashes of his brother's death tore through his mind.

The helplessness. The failure. The guilt.

"You knew you were weak then. And now, after all the lives you've taken—so many of them just as weak—you still know it. So why? Why keep going? Was it just to outrun the anxiety? The guilt? The depression you drown in every single day?"

Dawn didn't respond.

He couldn't.

Each word twisted inside him, like ice piercing through skin.

He lowered his head.

Waiting for something. Anything.

"I killed because I thought it was right. Even now... I've always been weak. I just wanted to feel strong. Is that so wrong? Maybe my choices will catch up to me. Maybe one day I'll meet the family of someone I killed. When that time comes, I don't want to defend myself—I just want to be ready to apologize. I'm not a monster. I swear."

Suddenly, the snow vanished.

The field was gone. Replaced by darkness. Pitch black.

Dawn looked around, unable to see anything.

His skin crawled. Joki's warning echoed in his mind.

(Did I fail? Maybe this is it... maybe this is hell.)

He clenched his fists, tears burning his eyes. He tried to hold it back feeling he was undeserving, but he failed.

"I was afraid. I just didn't want to die. I fought. I killed. Not out of hate... but because I wanted a chance to live. I still want to see this world... the parts I've only dreamed about."

In the distance—a figure appeared.

It looked like him.

Same jacket. Same boots. Same posture.

But its face... was a void.

And yet, Dawn didn't feel fear.

His heart didn't race. His hands didn't tremble.

"Why... don't I fear you? Why don't I feel anything? No panic. No shaking. Why?!"

Tears streamed down the figure's face, even though there were no eyes to cry from.

The tears never hit the ground—they evaporated mid-air.

(Is this... is this me? Is this what I'll become—or what I already am? No... no, I couldn't be something so hollow... could I?)

The figure stepped closer.

Still, no fear came. Only warmth.

A breeze passed through the pitch black—a rare comfort.

The figure placed a hand on Dawn's chest.

"I'm... wrong. That horrifying face... that terrifying silence... this is what I have become—and what I will become."

The figure lifted its hand and nodded.

Dawn's eyes widened. A tear fell.

"You have no mouth... because of me. Because I stopped speaking from my soul a long time ago. Those tears… they're mine. You're me. But you can't even express it. I'm... so sorry."

He sank to the ground, overwhelmed.

"This isn't how it's supposed to be. Why do my actions always hurt others? I don't want to be this way. I don't want to be a monster. I want to understand more. I want to live differently. I want to be happy."

The figure knelt beside him and gently placed a hand on his head.

Dawn looked up, confused—but calm.

The figure trembled, twitching violently.

"H-Hey... are you—"

Suddenly, the twitching stopped. The figure looked at Dawn.

And smiled.

"...You... are kind... friend. So... I won't let you... be alone. I... will protect... you."

It kept its hand on Dawn's head.

Dawn smiled. Then laughed.

For the first time in his life—he felt free. No fear. No anxiety. No shame.

"Thank you. I can't explain how much that means to me. Just hearing you call me friend... it means everything. But now I must go. Will I ever see you again?"

The figure stood, removing its hand.

"...From this day forward... we will... always be together..."

They both looked into the vast nothing ahead.

"Maybe you're just a figment of my imagination. Maybe I've gone mad. Maybe this is the afterlife. But one thing's certain... we'll always be together."

The figure raised its hand as if to snap.

"I... will see... you soon. But... you must... go. Not... safe... here."

Dawn turned.

"What do you—"

Snap.

Dawn shot upright.

Back in the cabin.

To his left, Joki sat, eyes wide, face pale.

"Joki...?"

Joki let out a breath.

Dawn's skin was ghostly white. His eyes were bloodshot.

[Dawn's Reiki Percentage: 28%]

[Emotional Quota: Splintered Veil]

"I almost had to put you down. You were fine, then out of nowhere, your Emotional Quota dropped. I thought... I thought I had no choice."

Dawn stood slowly and stumbled into the kitchen. He grabbed a water bottle.

"Thanks. But a deal's a deal. I survived. I proved I accepted myself. I'm ready, Joki."

Joki nodded.

"You definitely are. But take the rest of the day off. Tomorrow, I'll give you some rules—to keep you safe."

Dawn frowned.

Joki placed a hand on his shoulder.

"But seriously. I'm proud of you. You're a remarkable kid, Dawn."

Dawn smiled. He thought of the figure. The peace he felt.

The same peace he now felt standing here.

He reached for the doorknob—

A sudden gust of wind blew through the cabin.

They turned.

A whisper echoed in the air.

"Friend... see... I told you... I would... see you soon..."

Dawn and Joki's faces twisted in horror.

Both screamed—

"WHAT THE HELL?!"