The forest hadn't yet decided whether to wake or keep dreaming. The air hung heavy, painted in that uncertain hue between night and morning—where shadows no longer belong to the dark, yet the light still refuses to claim them. Smoke drifted low, clinging to the ground like memory refusing to fade. Each wisp carried the scent of burnt resin and blood, weaving through the trees like half-forgotten whispers.

Shimi stood motionless for what felt like a lifetime. The world seemed to breathe differently now—slower, quieter, heavier—as if time itself was afraid to move. Her eyes remained fixed on the path Veythor and the little boy had taken, the last traces of their silhouettes swallowed by the forest's dim grey mouth. It almost felt unreal, like a dream she had failed to wake from—a dream too gentle in its cruelty, too silent in its horror.

Her fingers trembled as she raised them to her chest; the faint pulse of her heart was the only reminder that she still lived. "He's gone…" she murmured, though the words never truly left her lips. Beneath her feet, the soil was damp, as if mourning. Above, the first birds began to stir, their movements faint and uncertain—as though the sky itself hesitated to dawn upon this place.

A gust of cold wind brushed through the clearing, carrying the faint echo of laughter—a child's laughter—so light, so pure that it might have been beautiful if not for the dread it carried. Shimi's shoulders tightened; her breath quivered. For a fleeting second, she thought she saw the shape of a small figure in the fog ahead, holding the hand of a taller shadow… but when she blinked, they were gone.

Reality wavered like water disturbed.

Her gaze turned to Raika, lying a few steps away, his face pale beneath the veil of faint light. The world around him seemed to bend inward, as though darkness itself was kneeling to listen. Shimi stepped closer, her knees weak, every sound—the crackling of dying embers, the murmur of leaves—stretching longer than it should, unreal in rhythm and depth.

She crouched beside him, her hair falling like a curtain over her face. For a moment she simply watched him, unsure whether she hoped he was alive or not. Her fingers brushed his cheek—cold, but not lifeless. A fragile relief unfurled inside her chest, brittle as old glass.

"Raika…" she whispered, her voice a trembling breath that vanished into the haze. "Wake up… please…"

Her hand lingered against his skin.

And slowly, as if surfacing from the bottom of a deep, endless dream, Raika's eyelids began to stir. But Raika still didn't wake. His body trembled violently, trapped inside a dream... a dream woven from one of his deepest nightmares.

When his eyes finally opened, he was no longer in the tribe. The world had changed around him a colorless garden stretched endlessly, where dead trees reached toward a sky the color of rust. He sat on a cold steel chair, its surface biting into his back, the air thick with the smell of ash and metal.

What is going on? Where am I?

The words echoed in his head, but there was no answer only silence, vast and hollow. He turned left, then right, his pulse rising until he froze. Veythor stood a few steps away. Smirking, eyes half-lidded, gleaming with quiet amusement.

"Yo, partner," Veythor said, his tone carrying that easy arrogance that always made Raika's skin crawl. He took a slow step closer, his voice soft but soaked in mockery. "Or should I say… my love rival, huh?"

Raika's breath caught, his body tensed as he tried to stand, but it was useless his limbs refused to move, as if glued to the chair.

"What do you mean? What love rival?" Raika demanded, though the tremor in his voice betrayed that he already knew the answer.

"Don't play dumb with me," Veythor said, tilting his head, grin stretching wider. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

To Raika, that grin looked less like a smile and more like a hyena's sneer. His cheeks burned with a deep, furious red.

Veythor leaned down, close enough that Raika could feel his breath.

"Raika…" he whispered. "If you don't do something soon, Shimi will be taken away by me. Your one-sided love will fade into nothing. Your beloved—she'll smile for someone else. She'll bear another man's child. She'll call another man her husband. Tell me, Raika… what will you feel then? Rage? Hate? Despair?"

He straightened up, his smirk cruel and knowing.

"But you know what the truth is?" he said, his voice turning sharp. "It doesn't matter what you feel. If you don't act… she'll be mine or some else's."

Raika's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding until blood touched his tongue. His body strained against invisible chains, trembling with fury.

"Then what do you want me to do?" he roared. "Tell me, Veythor! What do you want!? God damn it!"

His shout shattered the silence, echoing through the dead garden. Veythor merely smiled and lifted a hand, resting it thoughtfully against his chin.

"What I want?" he murmured... his grin widened. "Kill me."

Raika's eyes widened fully. "What?"

Behind Veythor, a murder of ravens burst into the air, their cries splitting the sky. The once-clear horizon darkened suddenly, thick clouds coiling like ink. Veythor's face vanished beneath shadow.

"If you truly want to have Shimi—the one you love," his voice thundered through the darkness, "then at the right time… kill me. Take what you desire. Otherwise…"

His voice deepened, twisting into something inhuman.

"Watch your fears come true."

Raika trembled violently, his lips parting soundlessly. "You… but how…?"

He looked down for a brief second—and when he raised his eyes again, Veythor was gone. Only the faint echo of laughter remained, a hyena's laughter that slithered between the trees.

The garden was alive now. The dead trees began to laugh.... dry, creaking laughter that sounded like bones grinding. Among them, black roses bloomed and died the instant he looked their way.

And then he saw Shimi for two fleeting seconds, she stood there… smiling in Veythor's arms. Her expression was peaceful, almost loving.

Raika's breath quickened. His chest burned... his heart screamed inside his ribs.

He couldn't bear it anymore. He screamed, a raw, broken cry tearing through the dying garden.... his voice echoing until the whole dream bled into darkness.

Raika woke with a violent gasp... for a moment, he didn't know if he was awake or still trapped in that place the garden of dead trees, the echo of laughter still coiling in his ears. His breath came fast, ragged. The world around him was blurred, dripping with shadow and pale light. The forest's edge was dim, dawn not yet strong enough to chase the night away.

Shimi still knelt beside him, shaked his shoulders. "Raika! Raika—wake up!" Her voice trembled as if she'd been calling him for hours.

His eyes darted to her, wide and hollow. For a heartbeat he didn't recognize her; her face seemed both near and impossibly distant, like something half-remembered from another life.

"...Shimi?" His voice was dry, almost broken.

Relief washed over her face, her eyes wet from fear. "You were… trembling," she whispered. "I thought... you weren't breathing."

Raika blinked hard, the remnants of the dream clawing at his thoughts. He could still hear Veythor's voice, curling like smoke through his mind. Kill me… or watch your fears come true. His hands shook as he reached up, pressing his palms against his forehead. It was burning hot.

"I saw… something," he murmured, eyes unfocused. "Something that felt too real to be a dream."

Shimi frowned, worry deepening the lines of her face. "You're still half-asleep try to breathe. It's over now."

But Raika didn't answer. His gaze had gone distant again through her, beyond her to the faint orange shimmer crawling at the edge of the horizon. It wasn't sunlight. It was the reflection of something else. Veythor was Infront of rice fields... through the dawn Bantam was fully covered in oil, black liquid clung to his skin. Veythor was looking at the dawn, a faint smirk stretched on his lips.

And Raika's heart, though he didn't understand why, began to twist with a feeling he'd never known before... half hatred, half fear, and something darker that didn't have a name yet.

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