A faint breeze brushed against him, carrying the quiet rustle of distant leaves. The sunlight of late afternoon poured down in soft, golden streaks, touching the earth that stretched endlessly before him. His shadow extended long across the ground, a silent companion to his solitary form. Behind him, only the wind whispered — a hollow sound that drifted between the cliffs and tangled branches, weaving through the silence. His robe, blue and calm like a fading sky, fluttered slightly with each movement. His long hair, tied neatly, shimmered faintly in the light, and the dark umbrella floated quietly behind him, suspended as though it were a reflection of his unseen soul.
Every place he passed seemed to still itself, as if the world held its breath in his presence. Nothing reflected him — no sound of greeting, no sign of awareness. He was like a ghost walking through the living world, unseen and untouched.
He crossed a vast desert, where the horizon melted into pale waves of gold and gray. The wind dragged ribbons of sand into spiraling patterns that shimmered under the merciless sun. Dunes stretched endlessly, their curves and shadows resembling frozen tides upon an ocean of dust. The sky above was washed with pale light, nearly white from the heat, and the air quivered, distorting the ground as if the world itself were dissolving. Yet he walked forward, his steps steady, untouched by fatigue, untouched by time.
Beyond the desert lay the ocean. The sound of waves crashing upon unseen shores echoed like the pulse of the earth itself — rhythmic, eternal, profound. The water shone like liquid silver, stretching far beyond the limits of vision. The horizon was a blur, a seamless line between sea and sky. The air was filled with salt, with mist, and the distant scent of rain. His robe rippled as the wind pressed against it; his long hair swayed like ribbons of blue mist. The umbrella behind him floated still, unshaken by the restless air. For a moment, he stood, watching the undulating water that mirrored the heavens — then continued walking, as if even the ocean could not confine him.
At times, he passed through villages built by distant tribes — small clusters of homes surrounded by vast grasslands that rippled beneath the sky. Drums sounded faintly from the center of the settlement; white smoke drifted upward from a communal fire. People moved about — laughing, speaking, living — yet not a single one noticed him. He walked slowly through their midst, between wooden huts and cloth canopies. The voices, the laughter, the colors — all flowed around him like waves around a stone. He was present, yet absent, an unseen figure in a world too alive to sense his silence. It was as though he walked upon a stage where every actor followed their script, unaware of the invisible watcher standing between them.
Later, he entered a deep forest, where moisture clung to every leaf and the air smelled of rich, damp earth. Each step sank slightly into the soft ground, leaving shallow impressions that were quickly hidden again by fallen leaves. Insects hummed, birds called faintly from somewhere unseen, and the world seemed to breathe with quiet rhythm. Shafts of light slipped through the canopy, tracing pale lines across his blue kimono — like reflections of flowing water. His long hair grew damp from the drifting fog, droplets clinging to its strands. Every footfall echoed softly beneath the canopy, blending with the sighs of wind and the rustle of unseen creatures. He was moving through a world that was both alive and unaware of him, a space between existence and absence.
There were moments when he walked above the clouds themselves. The sky stretched endlessly, filled with white vapors that floated like threads of silk. Sunlight refracted through them, scattering into prisms that gleamed faintly across the horizon. The wind was strong, tugging at his robe and hair, yet the umbrella remained still — as though gravity itself had no command over it. Beneath him, the earth unfolded in miniature: mountains, seas, and rivers woven together in tranquil silence. The horizon appeared as a thin silver line, separating dream from reality. He felt neither cold nor warmth, only the profound quiet that filled the space around him — an endless calm that neither time nor motion could disturb.
At last, he reached that familiar place — the field of blue grass. The blades shimmered faintly, glowing with their own light, each one like a tiny crystal breathing under the sky. The faint haze that hovered above the ground glowed with soft radiance, as though the earth itself exhaled light. This was the place born from his power, the first to welcome him when he had entered this dimension. The sound of wind here was unlike any other — gentle, slow, carrying a tone that almost felt alive, as if the world itself was greeting its creator.
He stood there for a moment. Though he had no face, his stillness conveyed the weight of thought. Nothing around him had changed. The grass still danced in the same rhythm, the wind still came from the same direction, and the air still smelled clean and new — untouched by time. Yet within him, something was different. A memory began to surface, faint at first, like a whisper from another life. He remembered why he had come here. That purpose, buried beneath two months of wandering silence, began to emerge again — fragile but undeniable.
For those two months, he had let himself drift — through deserts, skies, and seas — not seeking, not searching, merely existing. The passage of time had lost meaning, replaced by the quiet rhythm of his endless walk. But now, standing again where it had all begun, he felt that buried memory stir. It rose like light through deep water — slow, soft, inevitable.
He stood motionless in the center of the blue field. The glow of the grass bathed him in gentle radiance, illuminating the folds of his robe, the strands of his hair, the smooth emptiness of where a face should be. The umbrella floated silently behind him, its shadow stretching faintly across the glowing ground. The wind brushed against him again — this time softer, warmer — like a voice that could not speak, yet somehow understood. He said nothing. He only listened to the silence, letting it speak for both himself and the world.
Then, without a word, he began to walk again. He did not turn to look back at the field, though it was the first place that had ever known his presence. He left it behind, his figure fading slowly into the pale horizon. The blue glow dimmed behind him until it was swallowed by distance. With every step forward, the light and sound of that sacred place disappeared — replaced by the faint rhythm of his own footsteps and the steady movement of the shadow that followed him.
He was walking toward the greatest kingdom — one so vast that it could not be seen from here, but its presence was undeniable, as if it called to him from beyond the horizon. The path stretched endlessly ahead — across hills, through forests, over rivers and barren plains. Though the world seemed still, there was a quiet energy within the air, a vibration that felt alive. The silence was no longer empty; it was full — filled with something unseen, something waiting.
The umbrella behind him drifted like a dark moon, unshaken by the shifting winds. Its shadow rippled across the grass, long and steady. The last gust of wind from the blue field carried tiny motes of glowing light into the air, scattering them behind him like fragments of starlight. He did not look back. He did not need to. Whatever awaited him ahead — named or nameless, real or unreal — he would continue forward.
Each step echoed faintly, a hollow sound swallowed by the vastness. The rhythm of his walk blended with the sigh of the wind, the rustle of unseen grass, and the distant hum of the world itself. The sun was gone now, swallowed by dusk. Shadows stretched across the ground, long and thin, painting the world in tones of violet and gray. A pale mist rose from the grass, wrapping around his form until he seemed to merge with it — a shape of blue fading into twilight.
When he finally crossed beyond the field of blue grass, something within him fell silent. It was as though a song had ended — not abruptly, but gently, leaving only the echo of its final note. Above, the first stars began to appear, trembling faintly in the cooling sky. Their light shimmered softly, like distant eyes watching from another realm. He did not know if they marked an ending or a beginning. Perhaps they were both.
But one truth remained — he continued walking.
Forward, endlessly, through silence and light, across the border between being and not being.
He walked because he must.
He walked because he existed.
And in that endless motion, the world breathed with him — a quiet, invisible rhythm between creation and void.
After he stood before the grand gate of the kingdom — the vast dominion stretching endlessly to the horizon — a gentle northern wind swept across the dry earth, brushing against his form as though testing whether he truly existed in that moment. The scent of aged dust mingled faintly with the metallic tang of the massive iron gates, carried softly by the moving air. The sound of iron vibrating with the touch of the wind rang out faintly, like an ancient bell tolling far away in a desolate temple.
He remained still for a long while, his motionless figure casting a long, wavering shadow across the uneven stone ground. The midmorning sun poured down softly through a thin veil of mist that drifted lazily over the earth, painting everything with a pale golden hue. The shadow he cast shimmered gently as if merging with the very stillness surrounding the kingdom before him — a place filled not with life or sound, but with silence that seemed alive on its own.
It was at that quiet moment that memory returned to him — slow, deliberate, and clear. The blurred fragments of his purpose came together like ripples forming on still water. He suddenly remembered why he had come to this dimension in the first place. His journey had not been one of aimless wandering, but one bound by intent. His true purpose was to find — two beings of great significance, two presences whose existence intertwined with the foundation of creation itself. He was searching for Lensin and Sentrie.
As the realization dawned upon him, the wind subtly changed. The once-cool air turned faintly warm, brushing against the long blue strands of his tied hair. Under the sun's light, those strands shimmered faintly like silver threads glinting through the mist. The light blue folds of his kimono rippled gently with each movement of the air, the fabric whispering softly against itself. The dark-colored umbrella he held leaned slightly with the wind but never wavered from his grasp. It seemed less a tool and more an extension of himself — a silent, constant companion bound to his being. Each of his steps stirred the dust beneath his feet, sending it fluttering into the light before falling again like grains of quiet sand in an unseen hourglass.
While he lingered there, the world seemed to still. Then — faint, barely audible — came the sound of footsteps. They were light, delicate, yet steady, brushing softly against the stone path. He turned his unseen gaze toward the sound, and although his face bore no features, that simple motion felt like it carried the weight of timeless observation.
And there — only a short distance away — he saw her.
A young woman, walking slowly along the cobblestone path near the kingdom's gate. Sunlight spilled over her, glinting on her long black hair streaked subtly with shades of gray. Each strand caught the light and shimmered faintly, as if silver had been woven among them. Her clothes were simple, the plain garb of an ordinary villager — soft fabric, pale in color, worn but clean. There was nothing about her attire that stood out, yet to him, she was anything but ordinary.
He recognized her instantly. Even though time had passed, even though her clothing was different and the setting entirely changed, the memory of her presence came to him as vividly as if no moment had passed at all. She was Serin — the same woman he had once met, the same woman to whom he had shown the way.
A faint, almost imperceptible stillness settled over the air as if the world itself recognized their reunion. The wind softened, carrying only the sound of distant leaves rustling like a whisper between realities. The space between them felt heavy yet peaceful, bound by something neither of them could name.
He looked at her silently, and the air between them seemed to shimmer faintly. Then, he began to walk toward her — slowly, purposefully, his steps silent but steady. Each movement stirred only the faintest sound, like glass fracturing beneath a breath. The air seemed to listen to him; even the sound of the world quieted as he approached.
Realizing something — perhaps sensing his presence — she startled. Her body tensed, and she turned her head sharply, scanning the surroundings. In a small motion of fear, she moved quickly to hide behind a nearby tree. But the tree was slender, unable to conceal her completely. The sunlight filtering through the leaves fell in dappled patterns across her form, revealing the curve of her shoulder and the nervous tremble of her hands. It was a futile kind of hiding — one that revealed more than it concealed.
He watched her quietly, his posture calm and unthreatening. The soft wind tugged at his sleeves and at the folds of his kimono. His stillness felt like a weight pressing upon time itself. Step by step, he moved closer to her — the sound of his approach almost inaudible, as though he were walking upon air rather than earth. The faint flutter of his umbrella echoed lightly behind him, in rhythm with the quiet rhythm of the breeze.
When he reached her, he lifted one hand. His long, pale fingers brushed against her shoulder with the gentleness of drifting air. The contact was so light that it could have been mistaken for imagination — yet it was enough to make her flinch ever so slightly.
Serin turned around instantly. The sunlight filtering through the branches illuminated her face — her wide gray eyes gleaming with a mix of surprise and recognition. For a moment, time seemed to halt. Her breath caught in her throat, and her lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Her expression softened as she realized who stood before her.
She looked at him for a long moment, her gaze filled with unspoken questions. Yet he did not speak. He did not utter a single sound. Around them, the air remained calm, broken only by the whisper of leaves brushing together above. It was as if even the wind held its breath, waiting.
He simply raised his hand once more and pointed — toward the open lands beyond the kingdom walls. His gesture was slow, deliberate, as if the motion itself carried meaning beyond words. Beyond the gates lay the forest — vast, quiet, and deep, a sea of green stretching endlessly into the unknown.
Serin blinked, her brows furrowing slightly. Confusion flickered in her eyes, but something else followed — something softer. It was a trace of trust, perhaps, or an inexplicable sense of recognition. She did not ask. She did not resist. Instead, she turned her gaze toward the direction he indicated and began to walk.
He stood there, watching as she moved away. His blue hair swayed gently with the wind, glimmering faintly under the pale sun. The dark umbrella in his hand tilted slightly, catching the last strands of light. Her shadow stretched before her, and his stretched beside it — until both shadows slowly overlapped, merging together into one long streak cast upon the ground.
When she had gone far enough that her figure grew faint, he finally lifted his head. His faceless gaze turned toward the sky. The last light of day had begun to fade; golden rays slid across the towering walls of the kingdom, painting them with fleeting warmth before sinking into dusk.
He did not move. He did not speak. But a quiet smile seemed to form — unseen, yet somehow tangible, felt rather than seen. It was a smile heavy with both tenderness and sorrow, like the final expression of a being who has seen the cycles of countless worlds and learned the beauty of letting go.
Then, without warning, his form began to dissolve.
It was subtle at first — a shimmer around his silhouette, then the slow dispersal of his edges into fine motes of blue light. His entire being seemed to melt into the air, fading piece by piece until he resembled the reflection of the moon on rippling water. The umbrella drifted upward slightly, turning lazily in the air before it too began to fade, the last trace of darkness slipping quietly into the wind.
Only the sound of the breeze remained — soft, melodic, whispering through the leaves like a farewell spoken without words.
The forest beyond the gates stirred faintly, alive with the pulse of unseen life. The moment held its breath, then slowly exhaled.
Serin kept walking forward, unaware that the one who had found her again had already vanished behind her. She did not look back. She moved toward the deep shade of the forest, her figure swallowed slowly by the shifting veil of trees, guided only by the dim light of the setting sun that lingered at the edge of the world.
When her silhouette disappeared into the forest's embrace, the faint shimmer of blue that had hovered for a heartbeat longer finally dimmed, like the last sigh of twilight. Silence returned once more — not empty, but serene.
It was as though the world had exhaled, settling again into the endless rhythm of time.