I dreamed.
Or perhaps it felt less like dreaming and more like awakening.
When my awareness returned, I found myself standing in an empty space. There was no sky above me, no ground beneath my feet, and no sound anywhere around me. Only an endless expanse of pale white stretched in every direction, as though the world itself had been erased and replaced with a silent void.
I looked around, but there was nothing.
I was completely alone.
Then someone appeared before me.
A woman stood quietly in the white expanse. Her long black hair flowed down her back like spilled ink across silk, and she wore a pristine white dress that seemed untouched by even the faintest stain. Yet I could not see her face clearly. It was veiled in a soft, gentle light—not because of shadow or distance, but because it felt as if something forbidden prevented anyone from looking upon it directly. Some unseen rule seemed to deny me the right to gaze upon her face.
In her hand, she held a candle.
The flame was small and fragile, trembling softly as though it might be extinguished by the slightest breath.
"You have arrived," she said.
Her voice was calm and cold, carrying neither warmth nor hostility. It was simply there, steady and certain.
I swallowed, my throat dry.
"Where am I…?" I asked quietly.
She did not answer.
Instead, she slowly lifted the candle in her hand. The tiny flame flickered, trembling gently as its light shifted. And then I saw something inside it.
Not light.
Not reflection.
Memories.
The flame moved, and within it an image formed. Someone was sitting on the floor, shoulders shaking as they cried. Their head was lowered, their face hidden from view. Even so, something in my chest tightened the moment I saw them.
"Don't…" I whispered.
The image changed.
The crying figure disappeared, replaced by a crowd of people surrounding someone in the center. Their eyes were cold. Their lips twisted with contempt.
"You're a coward."
"You're useless."
"What's the point of you living?"
"Just die already."
Their voices overlapped, layer upon layer, striking my mind like relentless blows. I covered my ears, but it made no difference. The voices echoed directly inside my skull, impossible to escape.
Then the flame shifted again.
This time someone lay on the ground, their face streaked with blood. Their body jerked with every strike as unseen hands beat them without mercy. Each impact echoed painfully in my chest.
I tried to move.
I tried to stop it.
But my body refused to respond.
I was trapped.
Powerless.
The image changed one last time.
Now there was only a body lying motionless on the ground. No breath moved its chest. No sound came from its lips. Its head rested at an unnatural angle, completely still.
The face remained hidden.
Not by darkness.
Not by distance.
But because I refused to see it.
I knew who it was.
I had always known.
Yet my memory rejected it, and my heart refused to accept it. If I allowed that face to appear clearly in my mind, I wasn't sure I could remain standing.
My chest tightened painfully. My breath caught in my throat as the world seemed to stop around me.
Then the candle flickered once more.
And everything vanished.
The flame returned to its quiet, fragile state, as if it had never shown me anything at all. As if it had never torn open wounds I had spent so long trying to bury.
I stood frozen in the white void, my eyes wide and my throat dry. The words I wanted to speak vanished before they could leave my mouth. I wanted to ask something, to scream, to demand answers.
But nothing came out.
Only silence remained.
With my chest feeling as though it had been shattered, I slowly clenched my teeth.
"My story… already ended in my previous world," I whispered. "I died. I accepted that ending. So why…?"
My voice trembled.
"Why do I have to live again?"
The silence lingered.
The candle crackled softly in the woman's hand.
She studied my face for a moment.
"Did you truly accept that ending?" she asked quietly.
I froze.
The answer rose to my throat… but no words came out.
For the first time, I realized I didn't know.
The woman lowered her gaze slightly, the candlelight flickering across her calm expression.
"Then perhaps," she said gently, "your life was never truly finished."
"Your story is not over yet."
My heart jolted.
"What you believed was the end," she continued, "was merely the final page of an old chapter. Your true story begins in this world."
She lowered the candle slightly.
"Your life is a letter."
"…What do you mean?" I asked.
The woman did not answer immediately.
The candle in her hand flickered softly, its dim light barely revealing the outline of her face.
"You will understand it along your journey," she said at last.
"Journey?" I frowned. "What do you mean, journey? I only live on a farm. I've never gone anywhere."
The flame swayed gently as she lifted the candle.
"You will."
Her voice was calm. Certain.
"Not because you must… but because it is your fate."
"Fate?" I let out a quiet scoff. "I don't care about fate. I don't even know what I'm supposed to do in this world."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The candlelight grew weaker, as if the flame itself were slowly losing strength.
Then the woman finally said,
"If you wish to know what your letter truly means…"
The faint light trembled between us.
"…find someone named Sylva."
"Sylva will guide you," she said softly. "She will lead you toward your letter… and toward the answer you seek."
For a brief moment, the light concealing her face trembled.
"Because she is part of your fate."
Suddenly the candle flame shook violently. Cracks spread through the white space around us, like fractures spreading across glass.
"Whatever you choose," the woman said softly, "do not stop walking. Your ending waits ahead."
"Wait—!" I shouted.
But the flame went out.
Darkness swallowed everything.
The white world collapsed around me, and I felt my body falling endlessly through the void. My consciousness tore away from that place—
And I woke up.
Gasping for air.
My chest rose and fell rapidly as cold sweat clung to my skin like the fading remnants of a dream that refused to leave me. I stared at the dark ceiling above my bed, my mind struggling to understand what had just happened.
Then I noticed something.
In my hand was a single sheet of paper.
Thin.
White.
Blank.
There were no words written upon it, no name, no mark of any kind. It looked as though nothing had ever been written on it before.
Or perhaps…
As if it was waiting for someone to write upon it.
My fingers trembled slightly as I held the page.
"A letter…" I whispered.
The woman's voice echoed faintly in my mind.
Your life is a letter.
I sat quietly on the edge of the bed, listening to the sound of my own breathing in the silent room. For a long time, I stared at the empty page in my hand.
It contained nothing.
No story.
No direction.
No purpose.
Yet somehow it felt incredibly heavy, as if my entire life rested within that blank sheet of paper.
"Why am I here…?" I murmured.
No answer came.
There was no voice, no sign, no guidance.
Only me.
And the blank page I held.
At last, I carefully folded the paper and placed it inside the pocket near my chest, as though afraid that I might lose it.
Then I closed my eyes and took a slow, steady breath.
With a feeling I still could not fully understand, I made a quiet decision.
If my life is a letter—
Then I will write it myself.
—
I woke up in the farmhouse, alone.
Rosa and Johan were nowhere to be seen. They were still at the hobbit house, while I had slept here, in the quiet stretch of fields that surrounded the farmhouse.
When I stepped outside, the cool air brushed against my face. My boots pressed softly into the soil, still damp with morning dew. A gentle breeze carried the scent of wet earth and fresh grass, drifting through the fields like a quiet greeting from the morning. Somewhere in the distance, chickens crowed lazily, and water flowed through the narrow irrigation ditch beside the crops.
The sun had only just begun to rise over the eastern horizon, casting soft golden light across the farmland.
It was a peaceful morning.
The kind of morning that should have calmed the heart.
And yet my chest felt hollow.
I sat down at the edge of the field, staring at the ground without truly seeing it. My thoughts drifted aimlessly, tangled in a quiet fog that refused to clear.
Then the voice returned.
You're useless.
You don't deserve to live.
The words echoed inside my head, sharp and cold, as though spoken by someone who knew me too well. There was no emotion in the voice, no anger or hatred—only a quiet certainty that cut deeper than any scream.
I clenched my hands together and held my breath.
It's just trauma, I told myself. Just fragments of the past.
But the voice lingered, whispering through the cracks of my thoughts like a shadow that refused to disappear.
Then suddenly—
"Big Brother Vein!"
The cheerful call shattered the silence.
I turned my head.
Rosa ran toward me across the grass, her twin tails bouncing with every hurried step. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around me, hugging me tightly as soon as she reached me. Her small body was warm and real, and the sudden contact pulled me back to the present.
"What are you doing out here alone?" she asked curiously.
"...Just sitting," I replied quietly.
Her embrace was solid, grounding in a way I hadn't expected. Slowly, the voice inside my head faded, as though it had never been there at all.
Not long after, Johan approached from the direction of the house.
"Thinking about something?" he asked in his usual flat tone.
I hesitated for a moment, unsure how to answer, but before I could say anything, Rosa brightened immediately.
"Big Brother Vein, let's play!" she said excitedly.
"Not today," Johan replied calmly. "He needs to help Father."
"Aww..." Rosa puffed out her cheeks in disappointment.
We began preparing to head to the fields, gathering the tools we needed for the morning work. Just before stepping forward, however, Johan suddenly paused.
"Oh, right," he muttered.
"What is it?" I asked.
"We're out of seeds," he said, glancing at the empty sacks nearby before looking back at me. "Vein, can you go to the market?"
I hesitated slightly.
"Alone...?"
A faint smile appeared on Johan's lips.
"You're grown."
My stomach tightened a little, but I nodded.
"...Alright."
Johan handed me a small pouch filled with coins. I accepted it carefully, gripping it tighter than necessary.
"Don't lose it," he said simply.
"I won't," I replied.
After nodding once more, I turned and began walking down the narrow dirt path that led away from the fields.
Toward the market.
Toward the world beyond this quiet stretch of farmland.
Without knowing that this small step—
would change everything.
—
The marketplace was not as lively as I had imagined.
Several buildings along the street still bore the scars of the recent battle. Cracked stone walls had been patched with wooden planks, and scaffolding leaned against damaged rooftops where workers hammered new beams into place. Some stalls were nothing more than hastily assembled tables beneath torn cloth canopies, their owners doing their best to return to business despite the destruction that had passed through the city.
Even so, the marketplace was alive.
Voices overlapped across the street—laughter, bargaining, and the occasional sharp clink of metal against metal—as merchants called out to passing customers. The air was thick with the scent of baked bread, spices, and unfamiliar aromas I couldn't even begin to name. Though parts of the street were still cluttered with piles of broken wood and stone pushed to the side, people moved carefully through the narrow paths between stalls, determined to carry on with their daily lives.
And they weren't all human.
There were people with animal ears, their tails swishing restlessly behind them as they walked through the crowd. Stout figures barely reaching my waist trudged past carrying sacks larger than their own bodies, their thick beards brushing against their chests with every step. Slender figures with pointed ears drifted through the street as well, their movements so light it seemed the earth barely claimed their footsteps.
I swallowed quietly.
This world really is different.
Trying not to stare too obviously, I forced my feet to move forward into the crowd.
I had barely taken two steps before my shoulder collided with someone.
"Oi!"
I stumbled backward in surprise.
A short, stocky man stood before me, glaring with obvious irritation. His body was compact but heavily built, thick muscles bulging beneath his clothes. A heavy beard framed his rough face, shaking slightly as he let out an annoyed breath. His sharp eyes scanned me from head to toe, as if deciding whether I deserved a proper scolding.
I bowed quickly.
"S-sorry!"
He snorted loudly.
"Watch where you're going, human boy," he grumbled before hoisting the large sack resting on his shoulder and walking off without another glance, as though I had already ceased to exist.
I let out a quiet breath of relief as his broad back disappeared into the moving crowd.
Two steps later—
Thud.
Someone brushed against my shoulder from the side.
"Oh—my apologies."
I turned toward the voice.
A woman stood before me.
An elf.
Her long silver hair flowed smoothly down her back, catching the light as she moved. Pointed ears peeked clearly through the strands, and her calm green eyes studied me for a brief moment before a faint smile appeared on her lips.
Then her expression shifted slightly.
"Ah," she said softly, tilting her head. "You're the traveler from the other day."
I blinked.
It took me a second to realize what she meant.
The marketplace.
The jewelry stall.
The elf who had invited me to drink with her.
"You remember me?" I asked, a little surprised.
She chuckled lightly.
"Of course. It's not every day someone asks me for directions to an inn and then runs away as if I were trying to kidnap him."
My face immediately grew hot.
"I wasn't running—"
"You were absolutely running," she interrupted with quiet amusement.
Her eyes softened a little as she looked at me again.
"So, did you manage to find a place to stay?"
"Yes," I replied quickly. "Someone helped me."
"I'm glad to hear that."
For a moment she studied me again, her gaze thoughtful.
"You still look tense," she said. "How about that drink I offered last time? There's a tea house just down the street. It's perfect for calming one's thoughts."
I shook my head instinctively.
"T-thank you, but I have errands to run."
She laughed softly, clearly not offended.
"Another time, then."
With graceful steps, she slipped back into the flow of the crowd, her silver hair disappearing among the moving figures of the marketplace.
I remained standing there for a moment longer than necessary before finally exhaling and continuing down the street.
Just as I was about to continue walking—
"woof—!"
A sharp yelp burst out beneath my foot.
Startled, I looked down immediately.
A young man with dog-like ears was staring up at me in shock. My boot had landed squarely on his long, bushy tail, which had been stretched lazily across the ground behind him.
For a brief moment, neither of us moved.
His ears slowly twitched.
"...Woof."
I froze.
Then his face darkened.
"WOOF!"
He lunged forward angrily.
"I-I'm sorry!" I shouted in panic.
Without thinking, I turned and bolted into the crowd. I zigzagged between the moving shoppers, slipping past stalls and narrowly avoiding baskets and crates stacked along the street. People shouted in annoyance as I rushed past them, but I didn't dare stop.
My heart pounded wildly in my chest as I finally dove behind a large stall and crouched down, pressing myself against the wooden frame.
I held my breath.
For a few tense seconds, hurried footsteps approached the stall. Then I heard an irritated growl somewhere nearby, followed by the sound of retreating steps as the dog-eared man finally gave up the chase.
Only when the noise of the marketplace swallowed the sound completely did I allow myself to exhale.
As I slowly straightened, I realized where I had hidden.
Behind the stall were shelves filled with plants and produce, stacked neatly in wooden crates and baskets.
Shelves behind the stall were stacked neatly with wheat, corn, potatoes, and carrots. Between the ordinary crops, however, were several plants I had never seen before.
One fruit was shaped like a tiny shoe. Another had thin tendrils that slowly wriggled across its surface as if it were alive. And then there was a beautiful pink fruit resting in a wooden crate near the front of the stall.
As I leaned closer to examine it, I noticed something strange.
The surface of the fruit formed the faint outline of a human face.
A chill slowly ran down my spine.
Without realizing it, I took a small step back.
"Can I help you?"
A gentle voice came from behind the stall.
I turned around.
A woman stood there, watching me calmly. Her short white hair framed her face neatly, and a pair of thin glasses rested lightly on the bridge of her nose. Her gaze was soft yet perceptive, the kind of gaze belonging to someone used to observing people who were unfamiliar with the world around them. She carried herself with quiet composure, her posture relaxed but dignified.
I swallowed before speaking.
"U-um… I'd like to buy some seeds."
"Of course," she replied with a warm smile. "We have plenty to choose from."
She gestured toward the shelves as she spoke.
"Wheat, carrots, potatoes… or perhaps something a little different."
Reaching down, she picked up the small shoe-shaped fruit and placed it in her palm.
"This is called Bootfruit," she explained. "It does look like a tiny shoe, doesn't it? But don't be fooled by its appearance."
She chuckled lightly.
"It's completely edible. The taste is sweet, somewhat similar to boiled potatoes. Travelers often carry it because it's filling and easy to cook."
"…Edible?" I murmured, staring at it with suspicion.
Seeing my reaction, she laughed softly before picking up the wriggling fruit beside it.
"This one is called a Wriggle Pod," she continued. "It may look frightening, but it's harmless. Once you boil it, the tendrils stop moving. The texture becomes chewy, almost like mushrooms. It's quite good in soup."
"…It's still moving," I whispered.
She simply smiled at my discomfort.
Finally, she reached for the pink fruit resting nearby.
From a distance it looked lovely. But as she lifted it closer, I could see the faint human-like face forming across its surface once again. I instinctively took another small step backward.
"That…"
"Ah, this one?" she said casually. "It's called Whisper Bloom Fruit. It may look strange at first, but it's quite sweet. People often use it to make candy or tea."
She smiled gently.
"Children love it."
"…Children love this?" I asked in disbelief.
"Yes," she replied with a small laugh. "Once you grow used to it, it doesn't seem frightening anymore."
I nodded slowly, half amazed and half unsettled.
"These fruits are… strange," I muttered under my breath.
She laughed again, clearly amused.
"That simply means you're still new here."
When I mentioned Johan's name, her expression brightened immediately. Without hesitation, she began preparing the usual seeds he often purchased.
"You're his son?" she asked curiously.
"N-no," I replied quickly. "I only recently began living with him."
I hesitated before adding quietly, "We're not related by blood, but… I already think of them as family."
Her expression softened at my words.
"That's very sweet."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the pouch of coins Johan had given me.
"How much do I owe you?" I asked.
She shook her head immediately.
"No need. Consider it a welcoming gift."
Then she smiled and extended her hand.
"My name is Elna," she said. "Elna Whitfield."
"Vein," I replied quietly as I shook her hand. "Vein Alteir."
Her handshake was warm.
A moment later, I stepped away from the stall with the bag of seeds secured in my hands.
The marketplace around me was still noisy, filled with voices, footsteps, and the constant movement of people passing by.
The world was still unfamiliar.
Yet somehow—
a small warmth lingered quietly in my chest.