"Got you!"
Meow! Meow!
"Wow, wait! Stay still!"
The teenage boy spoke in a low, sweet voice, his hands gentle as he started petting the cat's dark fur. The creature was weak, barely responsive—just like the boy himself. His clothes were ragged, his face smudged with soot, his body thin from too many empty stomachs.
I wonder if animals can also talk like us humans.
The thought drifted through his mind as he continued stroking the cat's back, feeling each rib beneath his palm.
"Hey, look, it's the weird kid!"
"Let's steal money from him!"
"Yeah!"
Three boys his age—but larger, stronger, faster—ran toward him. Their faces were twisted with the casual cruelty of those who had learned that hurting others was easier than being hurt themselves.
Oh no.
"I don't have any money." Ballio waved a dismissive hand, already knowing it wouldn't matter.
"Oh! Shut up!"
He tried to run, but a fist landed square on his face before he could take two steps. The world blurred. Pain bloomed behind his eyes.
"Let's beat him up!"
The three boys descended on him in the shade of the alley, where even the sun's rays didn't reach. They beat him with fists and feet, with laughter and contempt, with the particular joy of those who had found someone smaller.
"And from where do you get these coins?" One of them held up a small pouch—Ballio's savings, meant for animal food.
"Those are for the—ah!"
A foot stomped on his back. The air left his lungs.
"Oh, for some stray animal, you have money. But not for us?" The bully's voice dripped with mockery. "Fucking weird and stupid."
Meow. Meow.
The cat meowed weakly from where it had been pushed aside.
"Hehe!" Ballio forced a smile through the pain, cupping his hands around the cat's trembling body. "I'm fine."
"What are you going to do? Kill stray animals?"
One of the bullies caught the cat by the neck, lifting it into the air. Its legs kicked, its cries grew frantic.
"Hey, stop! Don't hurt it! Ah!" Another foot stomped on his back.
"Don't shout. Answer us." The bully's grip tightened around the cat's neck.
"I don't kill them." Ballio's words came out between ragged breaths. "They just die. I'm just trying to understand them."
"Hey, you two, we should run now. The soldiers' patrol will start soon."
"Yeah, you're right."
"Do you think we should go to another village?"
"Nirvasin aren't welcome anywhere. We can only live in slums. And we can only beg in low-restriction villages—and finding those is hard. You know that."
The three bullies left, still arguing, their footsteps fading into the distance. They didn't look back.
Ballio lay on the ground, gasping. "Ah... ah... it hurts."
Meow.
The cat started licking his bruised hand, its tongue rough and small.
"Oh, thank you."
The alley stank of blood, dust, and everything dirty—the accumulated rot of a place where nothing clean had ever been. Ballio's light brown eyes sparkled with something that might have been wonder or might have been hunger.
His hands shot around the cat's neck.
Meow! Meow!
The cat began to thrash, but Ballio's hold didn't lessen. The warmth of its skin cooled beneath his fingers. The struggles slowed. Stopped.
In his hands lay a cold body.
He took a deep breath. Sighed.
"Why?" His voice cracked. "Just why don't they talk? Just why?"
His expression twisted—curiosity and cruelty tangled together, indistinguishable.
"No... I once again killed an innocent animal."
He began to cry, his hands stained with warm blood, and drowned in self-pity and remorse.
That was the last memory I know. Where the hell am I now? This strange cave... and the person looking just like me.
"Do you accept your sins?" The voice was flat, monotonous. The face was his own.
This is strange. Did it give me a chance to seek the thing I want? Can my curiosity be satisfied?
"I accept them."
There were trials after that. Grueling, brutal, designed to break him. He was at his breaking point more than once, but his team members were good, and his leader was outstanding, and somehow—barely—he survived.
And then, in the pocket dimension, the thing he had cherished for so long finally happened.
Talking animals. No—the correct term was that they were a separate race. And he could talk to them. Understand them.
But war came. His cherished loved one died at the hand of his cherished friend. His leader. The brother he had thought him to be.
I know what I have to do. I will continue walking further on this path.
Cloe, just you wait. I will find—no, I will create—the way to bring you back.
As for Ashan... I still can't understand him. Hating him isn't the answer. I will let the hate fuel me, along with the love for Cloe.
Ballio's eyes shone with a new light—the clarity of purpose, the sharpness of obsession.
He would not stop.
He could not stop.