Shimoro suggested in a slightly weakened voice,
"How about… we rest for a bit?"
Ryo glanced at him and replied with enthusiasm,
"Alright, kid just don't expect me to wait for you every time."
Night had fallen heavily, draping the land in a silent darkness pierced only by the soft whispers of the cold wind sweeping through the dry branches. It carried with it a faint scent of ash and falling snow drifting from the distant mountain peaks. Shimoro sat near the trunk of a massive tree, its tangled branches forming a canopy above him. He breathed in slowly, each exhale sending a faint cloud of steam into the air. His body looked still, but inside him raged storms of pain and confusion.
He remembered the fight—the sparks between him and Ryo, their blows that were not just punches and swings of a sword, but the clash of two contradicting destinies. His eyes were half-closed, his mind drifting under the weight of exhaustion. He shut his eyes, but no rest came; his heart pounded like a battle drum, reminding him that the war was far from over. The ache in his chest wasn't from wounds alone… it was something deeper, something breaking and reforming within him.
***
Hours passed. Dawn began creeping in, faint and muted, as thick fog slithered across the ground, wrapping around the trees in solemn silence. Only the rustling leaves under the wind and Shimoro's faint breaths broke the quiet. He sat against the tree, still catching his breath, his eyes distant—as if searching for answers in the shifting sky.
Ryo stood before him, fastening his sword to his waist with a slow, deliberate motion. His eyes gleamed with a lively spark as he studied the horizon, that familiar smirk resting on his lips. He stretched out his arms, inhaling deeply as if tasting the cold wind itself.
"This air… carries nothing but stagnation and boredom, don't you think?"
he said with a challenging tone.
Shimoro looked at him with tired confusion,
"...What do you mean?"
Ryo turned toward him, his smile widening—almost ominous. He nodded toward the west.
"I'm sick of this dull place… I think it's time for a journey—one that fills this air with battles… and blood. Ever heard of the Arabisel Forest?"
Shimoro froze for a moment, as if the name stirred something within him, though he didn't know why.
"A–Arabisel? No… what kind of forest is that?"
he asked quietly.
Ryo chuckled and crouched down before him, excitement gleaming in his eyes.
"It's a forest a few kilometers from here… a place visited only by the truly daring. Or so cowards say."
He leaned in closer.
"They say there are creatures there not just animals, but beasts… things that feed on EIU… or maybe they are EIU made flesh. I'm not exactly sure. But it's… different. Strange."
Then, in a low whisper,
"Just imagine… deep inside that darkness, power waits for the one bold enough to face it. Tell me, Shimoro—do you have the guts? Or will you stay here breathing like everyone else… waiting for boredom to slowly swallow you alive?"
A shiver ran through Shimoro. His blood stirred—something inside him sparked awake. He looked at his hands, at the fading marks of healed wounds—mostly thanks to the potion and the rest—and then at the gray sky above. He still felt tired, his ribs aching, his hands trembling from their earlier battle… but his heart refused to back down.
His voice came out soft, but firm,
"...I won't hide."
Ryo grinned widely, admiration flickering in his eyes. He patted Shimoro's shoulder before rising and picked up his large bag.
"That's more like it… Come on. Let's end this dull silence and set the forest ablaze."
Their journey began in heavy silence. Only the crunch of snow beneath their feet accompanied them, and occasionally the sharp crack of ice breaking apart. The wind played with their hair, swirling around them. Shimoro walked behind Ryo, cautious, alert, scanning the world around him. Meanwhile, Ryo moved lightly, almost as if the ground itself welcomed him—his steps confident, his gaze sharp like a hawk preparing to strike.
Hours passed, and the atmosphere thickened as they drew closer to the forest. The air carried a different taste… something dormant yet alive. It felt like the forest itself watched them, waiting for the right moment to strike.
When they reached Arabisel's edge, Ryo stood still, hands on his hips, staring up at the colossal trees rising like ancient pillars. Their branches intertwined to form a dark ceiling that blocked out the sunlight over the entrance. Strange sounds echoed from within—a mixture of whispers, stifled laughter, and the slow cracking of something breaking.
Shimoro stopped beside him. His heartbeat quickened, breath becoming heavier. The air around him felt thick, as if he were stepping into a sea of shadows. A cold drop of sweat rolled down his forehead.
"This place… it isn't natural,"
he murmured with a trembling voice.
Ryo looked at him from the corner of his eye, smirking.
"This isn't a place for the weak, Shimoro… this is just the gateway."
He stepped forward slowly, as if parting an invisible veil, and spoke in a tone that sounded almost like singing,
"Greetings… you rotten spirits. We came to play."
Shimoro felt his chest tighten, the darkness wrapping around his throat. Yet in his eyes, a strange glint appeared—something like challenge… or madness… or a blend of both.
And thus… the journey began.
To be continued…