"Care to tour our little households?" the old man offered, his voice warm and laced with genuine hospitality.
There was nothing deceptive in his tone, nothing that indicated malice. Just a kind old man extending a simple gesture.
The thought did cross Einar’s mind. A part of him was curious—curious to peer behind those perfectly painted smiles, to see if there was sothing else lurking beneath the surface of these cheerful facades.
But instinct quickly overruled curiosity. He waved his hand casually in dismissal, his expression calm.
"So other ti," he replied with a half-smile. "Right now, I want to explore more of the grasslands."
The old man’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it grew softer, as though he understood sothing Einar didn’t. "If you say so," the elder said with a knowing nod. "Have a safe journey, traveler. May peace walk with you."
Without another word, the man turned around and began to walk away. He didn’t glance back once—not at Einar, not at the village behind him. He simply moved forward, as though he had completed his part in a play that would continue repeating forever.
Einar didn’t waste ti. He turned on his heel and made his way back toward the massive tree—his steps brisk, deliberate, as the sun dipped lazily in the sky above. The grass swayed with the wind, whispering against his boots as he retraced his path.
There, beneath the enormous tree whose trunk was gnarled with age and whose canopy offered generous shade, lay Seren.
Her body was sprawled out comfortably on the grassy earth, silver-white hair fanned out like a veil. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, peaceful and rhythmic, betraying the exhaustion she had fought against for so long.
For a mont, she looked almost childlike—serene in a way that contradicted the harshness of their current reality.
But Einar had no ti for patience.
"Seren!" he barked, his voice echoing across the open field.
Her only response was a twitch of her brow and a soft grumble. One crimson eye cracked open slightly, blinked once, then shut again. She curled further into herself and promptly resud her nap.
A vein throbbed on Einar’s temple.
He pressed his fingers to it, sighing heavily. "Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath.
After a mont of internal debate, he slumped down against the opposite side of the tree. The bark was rough against his back, but it was better than pacing around like an idiot.
With little else to do, and ntal fatigue setting in fast, Einar allowed his body to rest. The tension in his muscles faded, and before long, sleep pulled him under like a tide.
He didn’t know how much ti passed before sothing hard collided with the side of his head.
The impact was jarring, enough to jolt him awake. But thanks to his Symbiote—simpy—the kick didn’t do much damage. It was absorbed like a soft tap against reinforced glass.
Even so, it was enough to rouse him fully.
Einar groaned and opened his eyes, blinking the blur away. He stood up slowly, dusting himself off, and turned to face the culprit.
Seren stood in front of him, arms crossed, her face devoid of apology. She looked at him with mild amusent, as though she hadn’t just kicked him awake like a sack of potatoes.
He glared at her. "Seriously?"
She blinked once, unbothered. "You looked too comfortable. Thought you were dead."
"Right," he muttered. "And a gentle shake wouldn’t have worked?"
She tilted her head, pretending to consider it. Then shrugged. "Probably not."
Einar exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. He bit back the stream of curses bubbling at the edge of his tongue and instead opted for calm—tenuous though it was.
Seren yawned and stretched, crimson eyes now alert. "So?" she asked plainly. "Did you find anything while you were out there?"
His annoyance flared again. "Nothing," he replied shortly. "Just a village."
But that one word—village—was enough.
Seren’s expression shifted subtly. Her casual deanor gave way to silent contemplation.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, mind racing as she pieced it all together. The etched murals on the corridor. The illusion-like mory world. The undead.
She turned toward the horizon. "Then let’s visit that village of yours."
Einar’s jaw clenched. He clicked his tongue in frustration but said nothing. Without waiting for her to follow, he started walking, boots crunching against the dry grass.
Seren trailed behind with quiet steps, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
He didn’t turn to look back, but in his mind, he was already plotting. ’Next ti she falls asleep... I’m kicking her. Twice.’
After so ti walking through the golden expanse of grassland, they finally arrived at the village.
...
What struck them imdiately was the strangeness of the sky. The sun still hung high in the heavens, its golden rays washing the land in a constant noon-like glow.
It hadn’t moved an inch since Einar first found the place. No shadows grew longer, no wind shifted. Ti felt... paused, as though the world was caught within a painted mont of eternal daylight.
As they stepped through the weathered archway of the village’s outer posts, the sa warmth Einar had experienced earlier wrapped around them.
The atmosphere was tranquil, unnaturally serene—every corner of the village buzzed with quiet joy.
Children laughed and chased each other through the narrow dirt paths, kicking up dust without a care.
Adults chatted pleasantly while tending to their gardens, hamring small nails into wooden posts, or selling trinkets in tiny open-front shops.
The soft chi of bells rang from stalls selling handmade jewelry, shimring subtly under the sun’s unending gaze. Flowers blood in windowsills, and the air slled of sweet grass and freshly turned earth.
Einar’s eyes flicked between the peaceful faces, unmoved by the picturesque scene. Seren, however, slowed her pace, visibly caught in the soft hum of village life.
Her crimson eyes took in every detail, from the woven baskets of apples to the laughter of children leaping over puddles.
Then, cutting through the din, ca a voice.
Gentle. Soft. Innocent.
"Hey! You two!"
Both of them turned instinctively.
Standing in front of them was a small boy, no older than nine, his face bright with joy. He had tousled dark hair, sun-kissed cheeks, and a gap-toothed smile that stretched ear to ear.
Without hesitation, he ran up to them and grabbed their hands—tiny fingers wrapping around theirs with surprising strength.
"Co play with !" he bead, eyes sparkling.
Einar’s nose twitched with annoyance. He clicked his tongue and made a show of tugging his arm away. "Tch. Not interested, kid."
But as he turned to walk away, he felt the sharp weight of Seren’s glare. A silent command passed between them, her crimson eyes narrowing in warning.
Naturally, he ignored it.
With a swift yank, he pulled his arm free of the boy’s grip. The kid stumbled, almost falling to the ground.
Einar had already moved several paces away, arms folded as he leaned against a fence, trying to put as much distance between himself and the clingy child as possible.
The boy’s lips trembled. Tears welled in his big, doe-like eyes.
Seren sighed and stepped forward before he could burst into sobs. She knelt beside him and lifted him gently into her arms, cradling him like he weighed nothing.
Her fingers brushed through his hair softly, her voice calm and motherly. "There, there... no harm ant."
The boy clung to her shirt, his face buried in her shoulder, his little hands tightening like he didn’t want to let go.
Einar, watching from the side, rolled his eyes. "Oh, look at her," he muttered under his breath. "The sa girl who kicked awake like a mule five minutes ago is now a gentle saint. How poetic."
It was almost sickening.
But the boy’s tears dried quickly. A smile returned to his face—bright, untainted, as though nothing had happened.
Seren gently set him back on the ground, and as soon as his feet touched the earth, he grabbed her hand again with excitent.
"This way! I want to show you sothing!"
He tugged at her insistently, and without protest, Seren followed.
Einar trailed behind, begrudgingly. His curiosity outweighed his irritation.
Soon they arrived at a small garden nestled between two wooden hos. It was a little oasis, bursting with flowers of every color—petals wide open under the unmoving sun.
Violets and marigolds, lilies and wild roses blood in untad harmony. The scent was sweet and overwhelming, the kind of fragrance that hung thick in the air and stirred distant mories.
The boy clapped his hands. "Let’s play tag!"
Without waiting, he ran off giggling, weaving through the flower beds.
Seren chuckled and gave chase, her usually composed self now laughing freely as she darted after him.
Einar leaned against a wooden post, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold like an outsider at a party he hadn’t wanted to attend.
Seren looked... different. Her usual cool, unshakable deanor was gone, replaced by a genuine light in her eyes.
At one point, she turned to him and called out, "Co on, Einar. Just for a bit."
He scoffed. "Hard pass."
She shrugged and returned to playing with the child, while Einar stayed rooted to his spot.
But sothing shifted in him as he watched them. A thought slipped into his mind, unexpected and sharp. ’Was this what the fur coat guy did?’
Was Seren unknowingly stepping into the role of the kind man from the etched murals—the one who played with the boy, stayed with him?
’Was she solving this mory through empathy? Through genuine interaction?’
He narrowed his eyes. If so, that ant she was just following a script. She wasn’t actually enjoying herself or connecting with the child.
Einar clenched his jaw, a vague discomfort worming in his chest. But It was too genuine.
But before his thoughts could spiral further, a new presence entered the scene.
A towering figure erged from the far end of the garden path. Clad in thick furs, tall and broad-shouldered, with a familiar calmness in his stride.
Einar straightened instantly.
"Well, well," he murmured. "So he’s here too."
The boy’s guardian.
The fur-cloaked figure stepped into the light, his shadow stretching across the flowerbeds.
’So, Seren wasn’t playing a role after all, Einar thought. She was genuinely moved. Genuine affection, not obligation.’
He scoffed and looked away.
"She’s just a little girl after all," he muttered to himself.
Just a little girl trying to act strong....
’But why?’
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