"Why are you consoling me?" Samael asked quietly. "You said you didn't have empathy."
Elizabeth watched him for a few seconds before answering.
"You're strange."
"What do you mean?" Samael asked.
"When I suggested abandoning them, you became sad," she said. "And now you're looking at me with curiosity. As if you're more concerned about me than about them."
She paused briefly, evaluating him.
"I may not be exactly normal," she added, "but I'd say you're more distant from people than I am."
"I…" Samael tried to respond, but the words wouldn't come.
He wanted to deny it.
But something stopped him.
Memories began to surface, one after another.
From the moment he arrived in this world.
From the instant he awakened… carrying memories that shouldn't have been his.
He frowned.
Who was he, really?
Samael?
Or Ethan?
The reader?
He no longer knew.
And for the first time, he realized he had never truly stopped to think about it.
He wasn't one or the other.
He was both.
And, at the same time, neither.
Looking back, he noticed just how inconsistent he had always been.
There were moments when he cried without being able to stop.
Others when he smiled as if nothing had happened.
He changed too quickly.
So quickly that it was… unsettling.
A chill ran down his spine.
As he revisited his memories, Samael could clearly see traces of both identities.
But neither of them was complete.
Neither felt… whole.
It was as if one identity continuously distorted the other.
Overlapping layers.
Incompatible fragments trying to occupy the same space.
In the end, what remained wasn't Ethan.
Nor Samael.
It was something blurred.
An unstable, misaligned image.
A reflection that never stayed still long enough to be recognized.
Samael lightly clenched his fingers.
Perhaps… that inconstancy was what frightened him the most.
Not fear itself.
Not the nightmare.
But the fact that, by changing so quickly, he was no longer sure who was actually surviving in that world.
And what if, in the end, neither version was real?
Elizabeth watched Samael sink into silence, lost inside his own mind.
He was strange.
But in that world… who wasn't?
After the Spell, was there anyone who could still be called normal?
And even before it—had there ever been?
Humanity had nearly destroyed itself on its own. Countless wars, massacres, irrational decisions repeated again and again. If that was the standard, then "normality" had never been anything more than a convenient illusion.
Samael simply hadn't realized that yet.
It wasn't her role to explain.
Nor to correct.
Nor to offer philosophical comfort about identity or morality.
Elizabeth had never cared about such things.
Still, she was… more comfortable with him than with the others.
Not because of empathy.
Not because of affection.
But because Samael didn't pretend to be something he wasn't.
Even fragmented, he was honest in his confusion.
Even so, that didn't change the fundamental fact:
They were still strangers.
As for her condition, Elizabeth didn't mind talking about it. She never had. It wasn't a burden, nor a trauma, nor a precious secret.
It was simply a state of existence.
She could explain it to anyone.
The problem had never been her.
But in this situation…
Elizabeth knew she couldn't simply wait for Samael to recover on his own.
They were in danger.
There was no way to know if that thing—whatever it was—might pursue them.
She couldn't resolve his psychological crisis.
But she had to do something.
An unstable partner wasn't the best choice in the Dream Realm.
And yet, he was the partner she had.
The problem was simple.
And annoyingly complex.
She didn't know how to make him stop thinking.
She had never comforted anyone before.
Never learned how to pull someone back to the ground.
In the end, Elizabeth didn't find an answer.
She remained silent.
So did Samael.
And for the first time, the silence between them wasn't comfortable.
It was simply necessary.
Hours passed in silence.
Then, Elizabeth thought of something.
It wasn't complex.
Nor clever.
But it was functional.
Samael liked questions.
Overthinking pulled him away from reality—perhaps simple questions could bring him back.
There was only one problem.
She had never truly been interested in other people.
She had no idea what to ask.
She searched her memory for some reference.
And recalled a distant moment, back in school.
A trivial question.
Probably useless.
But it was all she had.
"Hey, Samael," Elizabeth called.
"Hm?" he replied, still distant.
"Do you have a nickname?"
The question was… anticlimactic.
Samael blinked.
Once.
Twice.
His eyes regained a bit of clarity.
"Out of nowhere?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied.
"My parents used to call me Sam," Samael said, visibly uncomfortable with the sudden change of topic.
"Sam…" Elizabeth repeated. "I think that's common. Parents like nicknames."
She paused briefly.
"Mine used to call me Liz."
The silence that followed was different.
Lighter.
Elizabeth noticed it.
And for the first time, she felt something close to satisfaction.
She had done it.
Broken the ice.
She kept her face neutral.
But internally, Elizabeth was… proud of herself.
After that unexpected question, silence settled between them once more.
This time, it wasn't heavy like before.
It was simply… awkward.
Samael looked away, feeling the need to say something—anything—to break that strange emptiness.
"So… what do we do now?" he asked quietly.
He took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts.
"Like… how do we get off this island. And how do we survive until then."
Elizabeth took a few seconds before answering.
"I think there's a citadel at the center of the island," she said at last. "At least, that's what makes the most sense."
Samael felt an immediate shiver run through his body.
The center.
Just thinking about that word made something inside him tighten.
"I think we're going to be stuck here forever, Liz…" he murmured.
Elizabeth turned to look at him.
"What do you mean?"
Samael swallowed.
"At the center of the island, there's that thing…" he said, his voice trembling. "The abomination that split the forest in half."
The silence that followed was different.
Sharper.
"That's a problem," Elizabeth concluded, her tone emotionless.
She reflected for a moment.
"I don't think we're capable of facing it. At least… not now."
Samael nodded silently.
"We'll have to come up with some kind of plan in the future to deal with it," she continued, pragmatically.
Samael's eyes widened slightly.
"You want to deal with that?" he asked, incredulous.
Elizabeth looked at him.
"Obviously. Or would you rather give up on your life?"
"No," he replied without hesitation.
The words came out before he could even think.
They stayed silent for a few minutes, accepting that inevitable reality.
There was no easy escape.
No comfortable choice.
Only survival.
Then, suddenly—
"Hey," Elizabeth said. "Who said you could call me by a nickname?"
Samael blinked, confused.
"Huh? I thought you told me to call you that," he replied. "I mean, people don't say their own nickname unless they want others to use it, right?"
"I did that to bring you back to yourself," she explained simply.
Samael frowned.
"So… I can't call you by your nickname?"
Elizabeth shrugged.
"Call me whatever you want."
Samael let out a small, involuntary smile.
The future was still uncertain.
The island remained a nightmare.
That thing at the center still existed.