"You won't… not until you feel this same agony yourself," the older Vern muttered, his voice trembling, words broken apart by sobs. His shoulders quivered as tears streamed down his hollowed cheeks, the sound of his crying raw and unrestrained, echoing in the heavy silence between them. His eyes, red and swollen, carried the weight of countless regrets.
"Haa…" Vern exhaled slowly, his sigh heavy with exhaustion. His hand ran across his face as if trying to wipe away an invisible burden. His gaze hardened, though there was a flicker of sorrow in his eyes. "I've already experienced that period… and I've grown out of it," he said firmly, though his tone wavered ever so slightly, betraying the faint ache that lingered beneath his words.
He lowered his head for a moment, fingers curling into fists. "The thing is… I don't even know why, or for what reason, I'm here." His voice softened, laced with quiet confusion, as if speaking more to himself than to the sobbing figure before him.
His eyes narrowed, scanning the vague emptiness around them. "But I can say this much…" He paused, his lips tightening, "this isn't reality. And from the fragments I can recall…" His gaze lifted, meeting the older Vern's tear-stained face. "I think this place—whatever it is—wants to test me. Don't you think so?"
"And what do you think it wants me to do?" Vern asked, his voice low, strained, as though dragging the words out of a place he didn't want to touch. He drew in a deep breath, his chest rising slowly before he released it in a long exhale. His eyes flickered with a sharp, unsettling gleam as he finally said, almost whispering yet with frightening clarity, "It wants me to kill you."
He raised his hand slightly, then gestured downward toward his body. "Look," he muttered. His gaze hardened as he motioned to his lower half—what had once been absent, fading like smoke, now slowly taking shape. Veins of light traced themselves across his thighs, flesh and bone knitting together in grotesque harmony. Muscles formed, then skin, as though reality itself was piecing him back together.
The older Vern's sobs cut short. His face drained of color, eyes widening with dread. "Wh-what do you mean?" he stammered, his voice cracking, each word trembling with disbelief. His hands instinctively curled close to his chest, as if to protect himself from an unseen blade. "Why… why is your body generating like that?"
Vern's expression remained calm, too calm, his tone almost detached. "I'm you… and you are me," he said, each word deliberate, as if trying to convince not just the older Vern, but himself. His voice dipped, sharp with quiet resentment. "So why is there such a difference between us? Why do I stand… while you crumble?" His eyes narrowed, filled with a mix of disdain and pity. "Why do I feel alive… while you drown in agony?"
The older Vern's lips quivered. He shook his head rapidly, unable to make sense of the words, his entire body trembling as though the ground itself were betraying him. "Are… are you not me?" he whispered hoarsely, eyes clouded with fear and desperation.
"Yes," Vern replied, pausing—his silence louder than any cry. He tilted his head slightly, almost sorrowfully, before his voice hardened again. "I am you." His gaze grew sharp, piercing, as though his words carried a blade's edge. "However… you are not me."
"You lack what I've gained," Vern said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. His eyes burned with a strange, almost sorrowful intensity. "You lack the understanding I carry. You lack the meaning I have clawed from the depths of despair. You do not pursue what I pursue… and you do not know what life truly is."
The older Vern's breathing quickened, his body trembling, his eyes darting back and forth as though searching for an escape that did not exist. His lips parted, but no words came—only the faint sound of his ragged breaths filled the space.
"But you will know," Vern continued, his tone calm, resolute, almost compassionate yet terrifying in its conviction. "If you follow the right path…"
He took a step forward. Then another. His movements were slow, deliberate—each footfall echoing unnaturally loud, as if the very ground trembled at his approach. Shadows seemed to stretch behind him, and his half-regenerated body glowed faintly with an eerie light, casting distorted shapes across the void.
The older Vern stumbled backward, clutching his chest as his knees shook. "N-no… stay away," he whispered, his voice hoarse with fear. His tear-streaked face twisted with confusion and dread as he watched the younger version of himself draw closer, every step like a verdict being passed.
Vern's expression didn't waver. His gaze locked onto his broken self with unwavering intensity, carrying both pity and judgment. "You will know," he repeated, his voice now little more than a whisper, yet heavy enough to crush the air around them.
"You will know me," Vern declared, his voice deepening, resonating with an authority that seemed to shake the very air. His eyes glimmered with a quiet fire as he drew closer. "You will know yourself… and above all else, you will find what you could not find."
The older Vern's lips trembled. His tear-stained eyes widened, wavering between fear and the faint flicker of hope that threatened to spark.
"Do not think," Vern continued, his tone sharp yet steady, "that just because you lost someone dear to you, it means you must sink into despair." His gaze softened for a brief instant, sorrow flashing in his eyes—then hardened again, like steel being forged in flame.
"If you want," Vern said, his words heavy, deliberate, as though carving themselves into the other's soul, "make resurrecting them your meaning. Make that your pursuit." His footsteps echoed as he drew even closer, the space between them shrinking. "Put everything you have into it. Every breath, every drop of strength, every ounce of your will. So that even if you fail…"
He stopped, standing directly in front of the older Vern, towering over his crumbling form. His voice dropped to a whisper, almost tender yet unyielding.
"…someday, regret cannot touch you."
Meeting Vern's gaze, the older Vern slowly pushed himself to his feet. His knees wavered, but his eyes—once clouded with tears and despair—now held a faint clarity. He drew in a long breath.
Haa… there isn't anything clouding him, the older Vern thought as he studied the younger one's sharp, unwavering eyes. Am I… going to be like him in the future? Or… am I just going to remain as pitiful as I am right now? A weary sigh escaped his lips, but this time it carried less despair, more resignation.
He straightened his back, forcing his voice steady. "So… what is the meaning you found?" he asked, his words carrying both challenge and desperation. His gaze didn't waver as he added, "What is it that you pursue?"
For a moment, silence stretched between them.
"Hm?" Vern tilted his head slightly, curiosity flickering across his features. Then, as if amused by the question, he let out a soft chuckle, one that was neither mocking nor kind—it was somewhere in between, the laugh of someone who stood above yet still understood.
"So, you want to know what I've gained throughout life?" he said, his tone smooth but edged with weight. "Then it wouldn't be hard to tell you."
As the words left his lips, light shimmered faintly in his hand. In the next breath, a sword manifested—its form sleek and sharp, humming with quiet power, as though born directly from his conviction. Vern lifted it effortlessly, the steel glinting coldly in the dim light.
But this time… the older Vern did not flinch. His eyes, still weary yet steady, locked onto the weapon and then back onto Vern himself. His breathing slowed, his stance firmed, and though his body trembled faintly, his gaze did not falter.
He simply stared into Vern's eyes—accepting, waiting.
"In this world, everyone pursues something to enjoy life," Vern said, his voice low but carrying an undeniable weight. His eyes gleamed faintly as the sword in his hand pulsed with a soft light. "Some pursue love… some pursue revenge… some pursue greatness."
He raised his head, his gaze fixed on the older Vern. "So, what did I pursue?"
Drawing in a slow, steady breath, he closed his eyes for a heartbeat—then opened them again, fire burning within. His voice resonated through the void as he began to recite, every word heavy, deliberate, echoing as though etched into the very air:
"Born in this world, I endured its suffering.
Seventy years of endless wandering.
Life revealed itself—thrilling, unyielding."
The sword vibrated faintly in his hand, resonating with his words. His tone deepened as he continued, stepping closer with each verse:
"The mountain I tried to climb revealed no ending.
The joy I felt while climbing—was that the meaning?
As I heaved my last breath, fate granted me a chance…
To keep pursuing."
His voice sharpened, steady and resolute:
"As I soared above the clouds, existing.
Through storms and shadows, I kept on walking,
Each scar a mark, each wound enlightening.
I sought meaning, yet silence kept mocking,
The strength I lack, the truth still hiding."
The older Vern's body trembled as the words pressed into his very being, each line striking deeper than a blade.
Vern's eyes narrowed, his presence towering, his voice rising like a storm:
"They gather, whispering—what am I?
A man? A beast? A spirit passing by?
No—beyond their grasp, beyond their knowing,
I am a true human, eternal, unbowing."
The sword blazed with light as Vern's voice thundered in the stillness.
"I am Vern Kael—forever pursuing."
The silence that followed Vern's declaration weighed heavier than steel. The older Vern stood frozen, his eyes wide, reflecting the brilliance of the manifested sword. For a fleeting moment, he seemed almost calm—as if some part of him understood, even accepted, what was about to happen.
Vern exhaled slowly, the faintest trace of pity flickering in his eyes. "You asked what I pursue," he said quietly. "Now… you will witness it."
In one smooth, deliberate motion, the blade flashed. A line of crimson bloomed across the void as steel tore through flesh.
The older Vern's throat split open—yet no scream escaped him. Not a single sound, not even a gasp. Only silence. His body trembled once, twice… then crumpled, falling lifelessly into the abyss.
Vern lowered the sword, his expression unreadable. Shadows curled faintly around him, as though the void itself bent to his will.
Without another word, he turned away.