He did not raise his hand.
He did not utter a command.
The air itself was what changed.
As if the distance between Nir and the world
lost its meaning.
Nir felt the cold first.
Not physical cold…
but a strange sensation,
as if his skin no longer knew
why it existed.
He looked at his hands.
They were there.
But the feeling of them…
lagged behind.
As if signals needed permission to arrive.
He said in a broken voice,
"Kim…?"
The voice was not weak.
It was incomplete.
A word came out,
but found nowhere to settle.
Kim turned slowly.
And the moment he looked at Nir,
he saw what no one else could see.
The name.
Nir's name
was hanging above him
like a thin, trembling thread.
And the thread…
was being cut.
Kim said with lethal calm,
"Stop."
The Hunter did not turn.
He spoke as if explaining a routine procedure:
"We began with the world."
"Now… the individual."
He extended his finger.
Not toward Nir…
but toward the distance
that allowed Nir to be perceived.
And suddenly—
Nir screamed.
Not from pain.
But from slipping.
He felt the ground no longer acknowledged his feet.
That the air did not know
whether it should enter his lungs.
That his memory…
was leaking from his head
like water from a broken vessel.
He saw images fall apart:
His mother's face — without features.
His siblings' names — without sound.
His childhood — without time.
He collapsed to his knees and said,
"Kim… I… I don't remember why I'm here…"
He looked at Kim with eyes full of terror.
"Did I really exist…?"
And here—
something broke.
Not in Kim.
But in the silence.
He stepped forward.
The thing born of chaos
did not scream.
Did not explode.
It canceled distance.
Kim was no longer standing before the Hunter.
He was inside the procedure itself.
He said in a low voice—
yet it made the thread tremble:
"You did not receive permission."
The Hunter finally turned.
He looked at Kim differently this time.
Not with evaluation…
but with caution.
He said,
"You do not have the right to interfere."
Kim smiled.
The smile of someone
who no longer recognizes the word "right."
"And Nir does not have the right to disappear."
Kim reached out
and touched Nir's shoulder.
The moment he touched him—
weight returned.
Pain returned.
Crying returned.
Nir collapsed, gasping,
like someone pulled back from drowning.
But the thread…
was not repaired.
It merely stopped being cut.
The Hunter said coldly,
"Unauthorized interference."
"It will be recorded."
Kim lifted his head.
His eyes were no longer fully human.
He said,
"Record this too."
Then he pressed.
Not on the Hunter—
but on the idea that allowed erasure.
The air shook.
For the first time,
the Hunter felt something
he did not expect.
Failure.
Not complete.
But enough
to be considered an error.
The Hunter said,
"You are… a defect."
Kim replied,
"And you are late."
Kim lifted Nir in his arms.
He looked at the sky.
Not in defiance.
But in promise.
"If you want to erase him…
I will erase the meaning of your records first."
Go and tell the one who sent you:
do not tamper with those I love.
And here, we return to the curse—
a future curse for Kim.
Until now, everyone Kim loved
either died
or suffered.
This curse will be realized by Kim in the future:
he is cursed.
Everyone he loves
is cursed…
or dies.
Why is he not allowed
to stand beside anyone?
It has been written—
his fate decreed—
that he will be alone forever.
And forever
is a very long time.
The Hunter vanished.
But his trace did not.
The thread above Nir
was faded.
Cracked.
Waiting for the next round.
Nir whispered weakly,
"Kim… I'm afraid…"
Kim closed his eyes.
And for the first time, said honestly:
"And I am angry."
And the anger…
was not human.
"Do not be afraid. I am here."
Those were the cursed words.
But the words in his head were different:
He would bring hell upon anyone
who stood in the way of those he protects.