As Veythor looked down at the water, his own reflection wavered on its surface, blurred by the rippling current. This time, fate had cast him into the body of a good-looking youth... something utterly unexpected. In his first life he had been ugly, in the second merely average, but now... it was different. Almost cruelly so.
A dull ache pulsed in his shoulder, reminding him of pain even in this moment of stillness. Yet everything else seemed peaceful... almost dreamlike. The chirping of birds, the steady roar of the waterfall, the silence unbroken by human voices. No chaos. No pursuit.
If only time could stop here... if only I could see this scene again and again without ever growing weary.
The thought drew a faint chuckle from his lips. dry, hollow and mocking. As though he were laughing at his own foolishness for daring to wish for peace.
Now as I look back, everything is nothing but burned memories, carved into my brain and written in blood. My heart is filled with hatred not towards others, but myself. I had eyes, yet I was blind. I had a brain, yet I was mindless. I had legs, yet I was crippled. I hate every past version of me.
He touched the cold water. His body shivered, his torn palm burned like fire yet at the same time, it was oddly comforting. Veythor gritted his teeth through the pain, then splashed the water on his face.
He murmured. Thirst gnawed at him after all the running, without food, his body had grown weak. He scooped water into his hands and drank deeply. The cold stream slid down his throat, leaving behind a rare feeling of satisfaction. Googlᴇ search N()velFire.net
As he glanced at his palm, Veythor’s eyes widened in disbelief.
He muttered. The torn flesh was gone... completely healed, without even a hint of injury. Jaw slack with shock, he quickly checked his shoulder. Fine... Whole. As if nothing had ever happened.
His gaze shifted back to the water, narrowing.
Could it be... this is what those masked men wanted us to find? Then this water... it could also be the antidote to Shimi’s poison.
Turning around, he saw Raika sitting beside Shimi. The boy looked exhausted, head drooping, nearly asleep. On the right side, a wooden boat rested on the water’s edge. Veythor walked toward them.
Raika jolted awake, gasping. He checked Shimi frantically, then looked up at Veythor.
"Carry her and Follow me."
Raika’s pupils shrank, his brows furrowed.
"I’m... gonna carry her?"
Veythor turned back, staring at him as if he had never heard a stupider question.
"Yeah... you’re gonna carry her. You got a problem?"
Raika shook his head quickly.
"No, it’s just... you’ve been carrying her the whole time. I thought you’d want to keep carrying her."
Veythor’s blank stare cut through him.
"Why the hell would I willingly carry a burden on my back? I carried her because if you did, you wouldn’t be able to keep up. Even with me carrying her, you were still outpaced."
Raika rolled his eyes in irritation. He hated the way Veythor put it, but he didn’t argue. He lifted Shimi onto his back... her weight pressed down hard, legs trembling under the strain.
He trailed behind Veythor, step by step, until they reached the base of the waterfall.
Veythor’s command was flat, unquestionable. Raika knelt and laid Shimi gently on the ground. His chest heaved, his arms trembling, sweat dripping as though he’d run a thousand miles. He nearly collapsed forward, bowing to the ground.
I got exhausted just from this... how the hell was he carrying her while running this long?
"You can’t even do such a simple task. What a piece of useless junk you are."
Veythor shook his head in open disappointment.
Raika’s jaw tightened. He wanted to argue, but his lungs were burning, his words choked by exhaustion. A sudden kick struck his side. He fell flat onto the ground, face flushing red with anger.
"We don’t have time for this." Veythor’s voice cut through him, sharp and merciless. "We can’t stay in one place for long, and this isn’t over yet. What are you panting for? Help me."
What do you need me to do?
Raika swallowed down the anger boiling in his chest and asked, voice tense,
Raika blinked in shock.
"Just do it. You can Question later. We don’t have time."
Still frowning, Raika obeyed. Veythor cupped his palm into the stream, scooped up water, and returned. He tilted Shimi’s head, poured it into her mouth.
Raika’s eyes widened.
"The hell are you doing?"
Raika hesitated, but Veythor’s glare left no room for debate. He pressed her mouth shut until the water slid down her throat.
Veythor spoke flatly, almost as if it were nothing.
"This water might heal her."
Raika’s face twisted with disbelief.
"This? It’s just water. What makes you think—"
"It healed my wounds," Veythor cut in, his tone calm, absolute. "So it’s likely to cure poison too."
Raika still looked doubtful, but said nothing. Veythor lifted Shimi again with practiced ease.
"Where are we going?" Raika asked.
"No clue... but we need to find a way out of this cursed forest."
Without hesitation, Veythor stepped onto the wooden boat, laying Shimi down carefully inside.
Raika’s brow furrowed.
"Why the hell are you boarding a boat when we don’t even know where it leads?"
Veythor didn’t even glance at him.
Raika gritted his teeth but obeyed, stepping aboard. Veythor untied the rope binding the boat to shore, gave it a hard kick to push off, then leapt back inside. The boat drifted forward, rocking gently... before slowing, hovering in uneasy stillness.
Veythor picked up the oar and pushed the boat forward. Each stroke cut through the water with a crisp, satisfying splash. The boat glided steadily, moving forward, and forward, into the unknown.
"You know how to handle a boat?"
"You can see that already," Veythor replied, his tone flat, cold as steel.
Raika went silent, watching as Veythor scanned their surroundings. Towering trees loomed on either side older and darker, and far larger than any he had ever seen on Earth. Some were dead, skeletal and twisted; others still thrived, their thick branches swaying gently. The forest was strangely peaceful, yet heavy with unspoken threats.
He glanced toward Shimi. She was still unconscious, her soft features almost serene... yet utterly useless in this moment. In the prison, her usefulness had been in control; now, she was a liability, chaos trailing behind her like a shadow.
As Veythor’s gaze swept over the landscape, a chill ran down his spine. A sudden white mist rose from the river, curling upward like a living thing. His eyes widened.
Everything... was disappearing into the fog.
Raika, exhausted, had already drifted back into sleep.
"What the fuck..." he murmured, half to himself, half to the mist that swallowed the world around them.