Baines no longer cared.
"…No."
The word left him without sound. He shook his head, the motion sharp and desperate, as though he could dislodge the reality pressing down on him.
At the same time, his chest convulsed as his lungs emptied in a single, ragged breath, leaving behind a burning tightness that clawed at his ribs.
An unpleasant pressure surged through him—panic, exhaustion, resignation tangled into one—but he ignored it. He pushed himself upright with trembling limbs.
"I've had enough." Those few words were enough to drain him.
The thought rang louder than any voice ever could.
'I wake up here against my will, struggling just to survive this darkness. I can't see properly, I can't hear properly, I can't speak freely, and I can't even leave. What did I do to deserve this?'
The questions spiraled, sharp and relentless.
'Why am I here?' His lungs betrayed him. The air he'd wasted earlier had not yet returned, and the thoughts remained trapped inside his skull, voiceless and suffocating. He didn't even realize when his legs gave out.
At some point, he was back on the cold stone floor, but the sensation barely registered.
'Cecilia. Are you just going to let me die here?' At this point, the thought of dying didn't sound bad. It felt like a better choice.
No matter what he did, he always ended up almost dead. It wasn't a matter of trying. That's all he had done ever since waking up in this cave.
What hurt more than the thought of death was the loneliness.
Eye's mechanical, impersonal, yet constant, had been the closest thing to companionship in this silent abyss. Now that even that presence was gone, the weight of isolation crashed down on him all at once.
The outburst burned itself out quickly.
And still, nothing changed.
There was no one here to help him. No voice to answer his screams and pleas. Even though his voice could travel, it couldn't go far enough for anyone to hear him.
His helpless situation didn't change.
Tears gathered around his eyes.
He quickly wiped it away with his palm, but the tears came harder, spilling without control down his face.
Through the haze, he suddenly remembered something.
His vows.
Promises made in the aftermath of every loss his family had suffered.
I'll become strong.
I'll protect what's left.
I won't let this happen again.
I will find the rest of my family.
Could he still fulfill those vows?
Could he still become the strongest to protect his family?
'…I can't.' The admission tore through him.
He didn't for once think it would be this difficult to achieve.
'I can't do it.' He sobbed, giving up his vows.
In this cave, he was already utterly powerless, and outside was a world far more cruel and dangerous. If he hadn't even realized that someone close to him for years was a traitor, how could he survive what lay beyond?
What meaning did his vows have now?
Wasn't it easier to abandon them?
He cried until the tears ran dry and his eyes burned.
Eventually, even that stopped.
At this point, what was the point of the vows he took?
Wasn't it better to revoke them?
He sobbed until his eyes dimmed and his tears dried against his face.
…
Time lost its shape.
At first, Baines counted.
He used his breaths to count seconds, a mouthful of grain to count hours.
Then he lost track of those, too, until hours blurred into something longer.
Days followed without announcement, slipping past without morning or night to mark them. Darkness never changed. Hunger came and went in dull waves. Emotion faded from his eyes as they turned into two blank abysses.
His memory began turning into something distant, like an old memory that refused to leave but no longer demanded attention.
He stopped waiting for Eye to return.
At some point—he couldn't remember when—hope became exhausting. Expectation hurts more than despair. So he let it go.
He stopped imagining rescue, he stopped wondering if Cecilia would come back, and stopped asking himself how long he had to remain here.
He had resigned himself to the thought that when the remaining food ran out, he would die.
That was all.
There was no drama left in the thought. No fear, just a quiet certainty, as simple and inevitable as gravity.
Regardless of his regular food intake, his body thinned further. He looked no different than someone whose bones were pressed close to their skin. His face lost expression, features slack and hollowed, eyes open yet unfocused. When he ate, it was only enough to postpone the end by another day. He chewed without taste, swallowed without thought, and returned to stillness as if the act itself had been an inconvenience.
Lack of purpose could also be considered a form of sickness.
Standing felt unnecessary, sitting felt optional, but lying still became the easiest state to maintain. And that was the position he maintained for a long time.
He was no different than a living corpse.
***
Far beyond the cave, atop a steep and jagged mountain shrouded in darkness, a black-cloaked figure faded into existence.
He observed silently. His gaze never wavered as it followed the faint movements within the cavern below.
"…So he had failed." From his observation, the boy had crossed a stage of no return. There was no disappointment in his voice. There was no slight certainty surprise.
Only calm certainty.
"I suppose she was wrong about you."
With that final judgment, the figure turned away and vanished.