Aisen took a sip of liquor. There was little expression on his cold, gray face, only the slight movement of his throat, as if he were trying to swallow that poisonous, burning liquid slowly and cautiously.
A breeze swept by, making the surface of the lake before them ripple faintly, reflecting the swords thrust into the ground like makeshift gravestones for the fallen.
Aisen's gaze drifted across the water, past the scratches on the blade's edge, and stopped where Ren sat on the other side of the campfire. Silence for a few beats.
"You look…" He hesitated, speaking slowly as if weighing each word. "…a little lonely."
Ren tilted his head slightly, his expression more skeptical than puzzled. "Why would you think that?"
Aisen paused, no longer raising the wineskin to his lips. The moonlight reflected in his eyes, casting a faint blue hue.
"I'm not really sure…" he murmured, sounding more like he was speaking to himself than answering Ren. "It's just… a very clear feeling."
Ren stayed silent for a moment, as if debating whether to share something.
"I have friends…" he said quietly. "Not many, but… at least I still believe I do."
Aisen gave a slight nod, his gaze never leaving Ren. "You mean the two who travel with the knight Kizmel, right?"
He took another sip, this time smaller, almost as if only to wet his throat. "But even so, I've always seen you alone."
A brief stillness passed between them, broken only by the faint crackle of the firewood. Aisen lifted his eyes slightly.
"From the first time we met… it was already like that. You've always kept your distance."
Ren pressed his lips together, his hand unconsciously tightening on the hilt of the sword beside him. "That's not true."
"It is." Aisen replied, not harshly, but firmly. "Instead of taking on a quest with your companions, you chose to travel with someone like me...someone you'd only met less than three days ago."
Ren frowned, leaning forward slightly. "Weren't you the one who asked me to come along?"
Aisen shrugged, swirling the wineskin lightly in his hand. "I merely suggested it. You could've refused… and I wouldn't have stopped you."
He paused briefly before continuing, his tone now deeper, tinged with something like regret.
"Those who truly want to be with someone… don't need an invitation."
Ren fell silent.
He didn't respond right away...just stared at the quiet lake for a long moment, where the moonlight swayed with each passing breeze, breaking apart into countless silver shards like a memory about to fade.
Then he spoke softly, his voice low and dry like pebbles at the bottom of a dry streambed.
"I don't know how to…"
A pause, long enough to seem as though the next words might never come. But in the end, they did, halting and hesitant, as if pulled from somewhere deep in his chest.
"I don't know how to hold onto a relationship without breaking it… No one ever taught me. No one ever told me where the boundaries are, what should or shouldn't be said…"
Ren inhaled faintly. It wasn't long, but it was heavy, as if he were swallowing the night mist into his chest, letting the cold seep into every fiber of his being.
He went on, this time slower, his voice roughened as if it had scraped against an old wound in his mind.
"I'm really afraid. Afraid that if I grow close to someone again… then one day, it'll all fall apart."
"Afraid that… I'll be the one to push it all away, no matter how hard I try."
He lowered his head, his eyes never leaving the water, where the moonlight had begun to fade beneath a thin veil of mist. "I've seen it happen too many times… And I'm not sure I can take it again."
Aisen looked at Ren, his gaze flat and still as a lake without ripples, a quietness so deep that no one could tell what he was thinking.
"You're running away."
His voice wasn't heavy, nor accusing. It was just a truth released into the night, so light it seemed it might dissolve into the fog.
Ren didn't answer.
Aisen sighed, then reached out to pat the hilt of the sword planted beside him, right where a certain Dark Elf had once sat.
"Do you know… who the fool that used to sit here was?"
Ren tilted his head slightly to glance at it. It was a fine sword, at least at first glance.
But on closer look, he noticed the dense network of scratches along the blade, the worn-smooth grip, and the frayed leather wrapping weathered by time.
"I'd say its owner… was a hard worker," Ren murmured.
Aisen chuckled faintly, but it wasn't a happy laugh, it leaned toward a bitter, weary smile.
"Hard worker? That bastard was just plain stubborn."
He pulled out the wineskin, tilted his head back for a short drink, then continued, his gaze now fixed on some far-off point, where the past still lingered and refused to leave.
"A few months ago, before this pointless chase began, he was grinning like an idiot, bragging to me… that he'd just gotten married. His fiancée… she truly loved him."
Aisen stopped, his hand tightening slightly around the sword's sheath, as if what was playing out in his mind hurt more than any wound he'd ever taken.
"Then it happened. The holy relic was stolen. They struck in the middle of the night. And the one who stayed behind to protect it… was his wife. Kizmel's younger sister."
His voice sank, as though those last words carried twice their weight. Ren frowned, not because of the story, but because Aisen's eyes now held something very close to pain… yet far from resentment.
"My friend…" Aisen murmured. "He left me too. Just a few days ago, during an ambush while we were hunting the traitors… he didn't wait for me, didn't say a word...just charged into the crowd like a madman. Why didn't he take me with him?"
Aisen took a long drag, then let out a faint, weary smile, the kind of look that seemed meant for the sword in his hand, not for Ren.
"That selfish bastard… and now I have to drink at his funeral. Alone."
"And you lot, too…" Aisen glanced at the other swords driven into the ground along the lake's edge, the moonlight glinting off them until they looked like silent markers of each person's final stand. "Just sitting there, smiling?"
Of course, there was no reply. Only the wind stirring, brushing past the wild grass, and rippling the lake's surface, like the slow, quiet sigh of the earth itself.
Aisen tipped back another sip. Not hurried, not eager... just the sort of habitual, dreary ritual that came whenever memories rose unbidden.
Then, in a voice that sounded like he was talking to himself, he murmured, "But no matter what… we still have to live."
He gave a short, dry laugh, light, but devoid of joy. "Sounds pointless, doesn't it? Just empty words… like we're actors in some play nobody even wants to watch."
His gaze returned to Ren. This time, there was no scrutiny, no pity, only raw, unvarnished understanding.
"You said you're afraid everything will fall apart…"
"Yeah, I get it. When a tear appears, even if it heals… it still leaves a scar. Scars don't vanish, they just fade over time. And sometimes, all it takes is the slightest touch… and the pain comes rushing back."
He paused, lips curling faintly.
"But you know," Aisen's voice dropped lower, carrying a faint trace of mockery without malice, "there are some surgeries, some special medicines… strong enough to make those scars disappear entirely."
Ren let out a quiet chuckle. It wasn't clear why.... maybe it was the strange tone, maybe just the way Aisen seemed to use both alcohol and pain as a kind of medicine for others.
Aisen tilted his head, lips curling.
"You said you only bring misfortune to others, right?"
He tapped his own chest, the worn armor of a Dark Elf, scarred from countless battles. "Then what does that make me?"
"My squad… now it's just me, the useless captain." He thumped his chest lightly, a self-mocking gesture.
"So, Ren," Aisen looked up, voice slower but each word sharp and clear, "with all this mess… you still want to stick with me?"
"No." Ren's voice was flat as the lake under a windless sky. No hesitation, no hint of emotion.
Aisen raised an eyebrow. A short silence passed before he leaned forward, elbow on his knee, staring at the boy across the fire.
"Really?" He squinted, lips twitching in faint amusement. "Where'd you learn to answer with that stone-cold face? You look like a lost angel, but you talk like you just got thrown out of hell."
Ren stretched, letting out a small yawn, and replied with a tone that was more biting than funny.
"Stay near ink, and you'll get stained." He shot Aisen a sidelong glance, half-joking, half-serious and offered no further explanation.
Aisen suddenly burst into laughter. Not loud, but real, the kind of laugh that seemed to lift, if only for a moment, the weight and grief of old stories from his shoulders.
"Not bad, Ren," he said, shaking his head, the wine in his flask sloshing gently with the motion. "You're the kind of guy who makes people think you'll die from being too serious… then stabs them with lines like that."
Ren didn't answer, just smirked faintly, his gaze drifting toward the lake, where the moon had just slipped out from behind the clouds, shining on the swords and the two survivors still trading stories.
"But honestly…" Ren spoke so softly it seemed the night wind might carry his words away. He kept his eyes on the lake, where the moonlight shimmered like a fragile road leading toward something never reached.
"…I want to step out of this isolated circle I built for myself."
This time, his voice had lost its earlier cold edge. It was slower, softer... as if each word had been picked up from deep within, trembling and weighed down.
"I'm tired of pretending I'm fine, of keeping my distance, of watching every word… like one small mistake will make everything shatter again."
He stopped, hands clasped loosely over his knees, his gaze sinking deeper into the darkness spreading across the lake.
"I want to trust someone. To be near someone without always thinking about the ending… without always bracing myself to walk away."
He turned, not quite meeting Aisen's eyes, but close enough for the firelight to glint in both of theirs.
"It's just… I still don't know how to do that."