We didn't look back after the mother's house.
The road ahead grew colder. The trees are taller.
Eight days passed—each one quieter than the last.
The forest changed, too.
Birds stopped singing. The fog turned grey.
We started seeing signs of decay—melted weapons, broken armor, and claw marks on bark.
Something had happened here.
Something not human.
And then… we found him.
Or rather, he found us—by accident.
He staggered out from behind a fallen trunk, blood soaking his side, a bent blade in one hand. He was older than you. Maybe 30. Sharp eyes. Messy hair. A scarred past and a tired grin.
He didn't scream when he saw you.
He just collapsed.
"You're not a monster," he mumbled, breathing heavily.
"Or if you are… thanks for being late."
You helped him up without hesitation.
He laughed, wincing.
"Name's Kairen. I was heading to Lioria City before those freaks found me."
"Are you heading that way too?"
You didn't answer at first. But then you nodded.
So we began walking—three souls, only two alive.
He was a wanderer like you once… but with people waiting for him.
He talked about his daughter—Lyelle, age 9, loved making toy drones and hated brushing her hair.
"She thinks I'm a superhero.
I'm not. I just fight so she doesn't have to."
He showed you a photo of her blurry smile frozen on a cracked screen.
"Promise you won't tell her I cry at the sound of thunder?"
You said nothing. Just smiled softly.
We both listened. Quietly.
I felt you becoming… warm again.
But on the sixth day…
The forest turned black.
Twisted trees. Silence.
The air felt like it was breathing—watching.
And then… they came.
Insect-like. Bone claws. Six-legged.
Eyes glowing orange.
The kind of thing nightmares have nightmares about.
Kairen drew his sword with shaking hands.
"Go," he hissed. "Now. They're tracking movement."
You stayed. You wanted to help.
He pushed you back—bleeding worse than before.
"RUN!"
You hesitated.
But I pulled you. Just this once.
Because I knew what was coming.
You didn't look back until the screams stopped.
Not human screams.
His.
And then… silence again.
Minutes later, you returned to where he fell.
But there was nobody.
Only his bag, torn and bloodied.
Inside it, wrapped in cloth, was the photo… and a letter.
Scrawled with shaking hands:
"To my Lyelle—if someone brings this to you, it means I didn't make it.
But I want you to smile anyway. Because I did everything thinking of your laugh.
And if they tell you I was brave… tell them I was scared too. But I never stopped running toward you."
You folded the letter. Gently.
"I'll bring it to her," you whispered.
Before the monsters could find us again, we stumbled into patrol lights—neon, buzzing, strange.
Three figures in black-gray armor appeared from behind the trees.
Weapons raised.
"Identify yourself! Civilian or a threat?"
You raised your hands.
I hid behind your shoulder. They couldn't see me, of course.
Then one of them stepped forward, a girl barely older than you.
Helmet off. Pale skin. Sharp eyes, like she hadn't slept in days.
She studied you. Then the blood on your clothes. The torn bag.
"You're not from around here."
You shook your head.
"But I have a letter… for someone in Lioria."
She paused. Then nodded slowly.
"We'll take you there."
We followed them.
And for once… you weren't walking alone.
Not just with me—but with people who could still bleed.
They didn't trust you right away.
The soldier who found us—Corporal Mireya—led you into a checkpoint on the city's border.
Inside metal walls, scanner lights, and the smell of disinfectant and sweat.
A place where survivors became suspects.
You sat on a cold steel bench.
Helmeted officers paced.
Mireya leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"We picked up your heat signature near monster territory. No city pass. No ID chip. No known faction."
"Are you part of the Rifts or a wanderer cult?"
"Are you infected with a parasite?"
"Are you here to sabotage our perimeter tech?"
"Do you understand the law in Lioria about unauthorized traversal of dangerous zones?"
You blinked.
"...I was just walking."
"With whose permission?"
"His. But he's gone now."
They paused.
You were clearly tired.
Clearly not a soldier.
And clearly… hiding something.
Mireya sighed.
"Protocol. We test everyone. Blood, nerves, DNA scans."
For 72 hours, you were kept under medical observation.
Doctors checked for alien pathogens.
Psych teams watched your behavior.
Nurses asked questions like:
"Do you feel disoriented or possess an abnormal awareness of time?"
"Do you experience voices that don't come from comm devices?"
"Can you feel pain?" (They pinched. You didn't react.)
You answered honestly.
Or didn't answer at all.
Eui (that's me) floated nearby, invisible to everyone.
I counted 52 questions.
Not once did they ask if you felt lonely.
After the tests…
You were cleared.
Not a threat.
Not a monster.
Just... strange.
Before release, Mireya asked one last time.
"What's your name?"
You paused.
"...I don't remember."
She stared at you for a while.
Then let you go.
The city was small—full of survivors, junk tech, solar panels, and rooftop gardens.
Children sold scrap on corners.
Drones flew overhead.
Billboards blinked half-dead ads no one watched.
And yet, somehow… it felt alive.
You wandered. Slowly.
Clutching the letter.
Asking quietly at bakeries and gear shops:
"Do you know someone named Lyelle?"
"She's nine. Her dad was… Kairen."
Most people shook their heads.
Some ignored you.
Until...
You passed a small market stall—old radio parts, stickers, and weird-shaped screws.
Behind it: a girl crouched with oil-stained hands, goggles on her head, fixing a toy drone.
The drone buzzed. Sparked. Smacked her in the face.
"Ow—stupid thing!"
She muttered to herself.
You paused.
"...Lyelle?"
She looked up sharply. Narrowed her eyes.
"Who wants to know?"
You said nothing at first.
You felt… awkward.
So did she.
Two seconds.
Four.
Ten.
Then she reached into her bag, clearly ready to throw a wrench at your head.
And you—
"Okay—LOOK, I'm not here to kidnap you or explode or tell you about your destiny, okay?!"
"I just came to deliver a sad letter from your dad, who died because he was way too heroic and wouldn't let me get eaten first, okay?!"
She stared.
You gasped for breath.
"…Are you done?" she asked.
You nodded.
She sighed, wiped her hands, and stood up.
"Fine. Come with me. You talk too much to be a monster."
It was a tiny apartment with walls covered in drawings and scrap-metal butterflies.
She poured you water.
You sat in silence.
Then, you gave her the letter.
She opened it. Slowly.
Read it once.
Then again.
And again.
Her hand trembled.
Her jaw clenched.
And finally… her breath broke.
She cried.
Hard.
Shoulders shaking, face hidden in her palms.
You didn't move.
You couldn't.
She held the letter to her chest like it could bring him back.
"...He said he was scared," she whispered.
"He never told me that."
You stood.
"I have to go now."
She looked up.
"Why?"
"Because I don't belong anywhere.
I only carry pieces of people.
I leave before they start missing me, too."
You smiled gently.
She wiped her eyes.
"...Thanks."
You left.
And I—Eui—whispered behind you.
She cried.
Because the letter was the version of her father she always wanted.
And he only became that version after death.
"That's the cruel thing about goodbye, isn't it?
Let me tell you a short story…"
Before monsters, before cities fell —
They lived in a place where windmills still turned and schools still had morning flags.
Lyelle was five when her father first left.
Not forever. Not by death.
But by choice.
Kairen loved her.
That was never the problem.
But he didn't know how to love her gently.
Not when his own father raised him with bruises for breakfast and silence for dinner.
So he stayed away.
He signed up for security rotations, border runs, and scavenging missions.
"To feed her," he told others.
"To protect her future."
But Lyelle didn't understand.
All she knew was.
Dad always leaves.
Mom stopped waiting.
And I'm the one who stays alone.
Her mother passed when she was seven, from illness, fast and cruel.
No one told Kairen in time.
By the time he returned, Lyelle was cold to him.
Quiet. Standoffish. Smarter than her age.
"You only show up when it's convenient."
"I don't need you."
He didn't argue.
He tried. He fumbled. He fixed her broken lamp. Cooked awful soup.
Once, he made a butterfly out of scrap metal. She threw it across the room.
They lived in the same house but in separate seasons.
She was a winter.
He kept trying to be spring.
But there were moments…
Tiny ones.
When she'd leave a biscuit near his workshop.
When he'd brush her hair while she "accidentally" fell asleep on the couch.
When they'd argue over radio stations on rainy days.
"I know you love me," she said once.
"But you're always too late to prove it."
He wanted to say more.
But he just nodded.
He always nodded.
Because Kairen… had no words when it mattered most.
Before his final trip, they fought.
"I don't need you going off to die again!"
"It's just a patrol, Lyelle—"
"You always say that! You always promise! But I—I don't want another goodbye!"
He paused.
"...Do you hate me?"
She didn't answer.
She just slammed the door.
That was the last time she saw him.
And then…
The letter arrived.
Wrapped in cloth. Delivered by a stranger.
It was written after he left her again.
It said everything he never did in person.
It said he was scared.
It said he was proud.
It said he loved her—not just in the quiet ways… but loud, even if it was too late.