Ren stepped forward, the broken dagger hanging at his side.
The creature's massive body trembled. Its claws scraped lightly at the stone beneath it, not with violence now, but the same way a wounded animal reaches for something it will never touch. Eva didn't move, fiddling with her hands as Ren approached closer to the beast.
She only whispered.
"Ren…"
"I know," He said without turning. "But look at it…"
When Ren finally reached its head, he stopped.
And looked.
Its muzzle twitched weakly.
Its yellow-cracked teeth were barely parted, and its lips peeled back in something between a snarl and a sob.
And its eyes—
Its eyes were leaking.
Black liquid spilled from them in slow streams. It wept darkness. The substance hissed faintly as it hit the floor like ink. The fluid pooled into the cracks in the stone, staining the already fractured basin beneath the beast.
Ren knelt by its massive face.
"Why do I care…" He whispered, unable to stop the thought from forming aloud.
He remembered the armored corpse—the broken, unmoving body he'd tried to understand.
He remembered the villagers. Their screaming. Their hollow faces. The way his blade sank into them again and again, and still, he'd pitied them.
Now this.
A monster. A beast. Something that had crawled out of a wound in the world.
And he was standing here, barely breathing, heart aching for it.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" He muttered under his breath. "What kind of idiot walks toward something like this?"
He took another step.
"I should be running," He continued to himself. "I should be dragging her out of here, trying to forget this even exists. But instead...I'm sorry for you?"
The creature made no move to stop him.
He placed one hand on its shoulder, oddly warm for stone.
Eva didn't speak.
She just stood back, unmoving, letting him do whatever it was he needed to do.
Was it trust in Ren's intuition? Or was it fear?
Nonetheless, Ren climbed slowly, one leg at a time, straddling the beast's broad back. The stone plating along its spine was cracked in places, shifting gently with each shallow breath.
And there it was.
Half-buried between the ridges of hardened rock.
A gleam, small and undeniable.
A silvery-blue ore, like crystallized moonlight, wedged deep in the monster's back. It pulsed faintly, the same rhythm as the tree's shadows—like a tether between pain and permanence.
Ren reached for it, trembling.
"This is insane…" He said through clenched teeth. "This is so stupid."
He raised the dagger high over his head.
The creature didn't resist.
Didn't growl. Didn't shudder.
It only breathed—barely.
He hesitated one last moment, staring down at the ore, feeling the pulse echo in his wrist like it was beating through him.
"Forgive me..." Ren said to the beast, driving the dagger down.
Stone cracked.
A blinding pulse of cold shot through the air, freezing the breath in his lungs. The ore shattered under the strike, light erupting like a burst of moonlight through fog.
And then—
Stillness.
Complete and absolute.
He stared down at the creature's form beneath him, at the way the moonlight overhead kissed the contours of its spine, now cracked and unmoving.
It was gone.
Truly gone.
He pulled the dagger back—what remained of it—and the blade clinked softly against the stone. It had splintered further, the edge now dull and warped. Useless. Just like before.
Ren let it fall from his hand, sliding down the creature's hide and landing with a soft tap. He climbed down, knees stiff, his boots hitting the stone with a quiet thud.
Eva hadn't moved. She was staring at the creature, lips parted, eyes still shut.
When Ren reached her, he just stood there, breathing beside her.
The pool of black tears around the creature's eyes had stopped spreading, but the stains in the stone remained. A permanent scar. A memory etched into the floor.
Ren's voice came low, hoarse. "I think it wanted to die."
Eva nodded slowly. "I believe so as well."
Somewhere above them, the tree's twisted branches groaned. The entire chamber exhaled—as if releasing a breath it hadn't realized it was holding.
Ren's gaze drifted to the creature again, and then to the faintly glowing ore shards still wedged between its shoulder blades.
"I wonder if that was its heart," He asked.
Eva looked at him and whispered. "Or its soul..."
Ren sat down on the stone, legs heavy. He rubbed at his face with one hand, trying to stop the sting behind his eyes.
"Are...you okay, Ren?" Eva asked, taking a step over to stand right next to him.
"Yeah...I'm fine," He responded, obviously not by the tone in his voice.
Ren sat still, hunched slightly, his lone hand resting on his knee, the other arm hanging limply at his side. His gaze was locked on the ground directly in front of him.
Eva knelt next to him, pulling her arms around her knees and resting her chin there, side-eying him gently.
"You don't have to hide it..." She said softly. "I can see it, Ren."
Still, he said nothing.
"It hurts," She continued. "When you suffer."
He looked at her then, just a glance, brief and uncertain.
Her fingers twisted in the fabric of her dress. "I don't know why it hurts me, but it does. When you're angry. Or afraid. Or just...tired. I feel it. Like it's mine too."
Ren finally exhaled.
It wasn't much, but it was honest.
"I'm sorry...I didn't know you felt that way." Ren responded in guilt.
Eva shook her head softly. "It's not your fault."
She didn't move closer—just stayed beside him, steady and calm. Looking up at the colossal tree, she began to speak again.
"I always wondered why I could feel things that weren't mine...Even when I was alone, there were always whispers of pain, sadness, desperation."
Ren turned to her slowly, really listening.
"I didn't want to be near them. Because I could feel the suffering of them all..."
"Them all?" Ren questioned her. "You mean the corpses?"
Eva nodded slowly. "I don't know how. Or why. But the closer I got to them, the louder their pain became. The grief...The confusion."
Ren said nothing for a moment.
She shivered slightly and hugged her knees tighter. "That's why I always kept to the edges. It was all too much. I couldn't bear it."
Ren glanced at her again, his expression unreadable, still caught somewhere between guilt and confusion.
Eva's voice softened, nearly lost beneath the hush of the still chamber.
"But with you...it's different. It hurts, yes. Even more than the others, but it doesn't hurt in the same way. It's somewhere...deeper within me."
Ren blinked slowly.
"I don't understand," He said quietly. "How could you stay close to that? To me?"
She finally looked at him. And for a moment, her gaze was steady, anchored in something that even she didn't fully understand.
"I believe it to be because your pain isn't empty...That there is meaning in your torment."
"I don't want to hurt you," Ren said, barely louder than a breath, as he looked away.
"You don't need to worry too much," She replied. "You feel. And that doesn't make you any more dangerous to me. It makes you alive."
Eva reached out, her fingers brushing against his forearm—a small, steadying touch in the hush of the chamber. "All I ask of you is...please, if something is on your mind, talk to me."
Ren's eyes flicked back to her.
"I…I will," He whispered.
Eva gave a small, gentle smile—a flicker of warmth. "And I'll do the same. Whatever I feel, I'll tell you, too."
Ren nodded stiffly at her request.
Then, a sound made them freeze.
In front of them, the corpse began to shift.