The village was unlike anything he had seen in a long time. It was a place untouched by war, where life moved at a steady, peaceful rhythm. The people bustled about, trading goods, tending to livestock, and sharing laughter. It was a stark contrast to the conflicts he had witnessed throughout human history.
As he walked through the dirt path, his deep blue eyes wandered, observing everything. He had lived for millions of years, yet something about this place felt unfamiliar. It was… warm.
A middle-aged woman, carrying a basket of freshly picked vegetables, noticed his small figure standing alone. She had a kind expression, her face worn with age but softened by warmth. With gentle steps, she approached him.
"Hello, dear. Where have you come from?"
He looked up at her, pausing before answering. His voice was soft, uncertain.
"I came from that way and stumbled into this village. It's nice here… peaceful."
The woman gave him a nod, a small smile tugging at her lips.
"Yes, it is. What's your name, dear?"
His body tensed. A name? He had never needed one before. He had simply existed, a silent observer, an unnamed being drifting through time.
"My name? I… I don't know."
Her brows furrowed slightly in surprise. "You don't have a name? That's unusual… Have you eaten yet?"
He shook his head.
"I haven't."
Without hesitation, the woman placed a gentle hand on his back and guided him forward.
"Come, let me take you to my home. I'll make some vegetable stew."
He did not protest. Something about her kindness was foreign, yet comforting. He followed her through the village, the sound of people chatting and the occasional laughter filling the air.
A few minutes later, they arrived at her modest home—a small wooden house with a thatched roof. It was simple, but there was something about it that made it feel alive. The scent of herbs and firewood lingered in the air, the warmth of the home starkly different from the cold loneliness he had known for so long.
The woman called out as she set her basket down.
"Ymir! We have a guest."
A few moments later, a young girl emerged from another room. She had blonde hair that fell just past her shoulders, and she was slightly taller than him. Her light-colored eyes studied him with curiosity.
Ymir.
That was her name.
She was the woman's daughter, and from the looks of it, they lived alone in this tiny home. Beyond their house, a small farm stretched out, where chickens, pigs, and cows roamed freely. It was a simple life, a far cry from the battles and destruction he had witnessed.
Ymir blinked at him, her expression unreadable. "Who is he?"
The woman smiled. "A lost child. He doesn't have a name."
Ymir tilted her head, folding her arms. "No name?"
He shifted uncomfortably. For a brief moment, he wondered—if he had to choose a name, what would it be?
The woman turned back to the stew, stirring it over the fire. "Well, he can stay here for now. He's just a child, after all."
A child.
He had seen the rise and fall of humanity. He had lived through countless generations. And yet, to them, he was just a child.
Perhaps… that wasn't such a bad thing.
The warmth of the small home lingered, wrapping the three of them in an unfamiliar sense of comfort. The nameless boy sat quietly, his deep blue eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight. He had lived for millions of years, yet never had he experienced something like this—a simple meal shared between people, the feeling of being… included.
Ymir, brimming with energy and curiosity, grinned at him as she leaned forward.
"I want to name you… but what should I call you?" she mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully.
Lady Lucia the name of the woman chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Ymir, dear, he just forgot his name. Maybe he'll remember it later on, so be patient."
The boy lowered his gaze, his fingers lightly tracing the wooden table. His voice was quiet, almost hesitant.
"I don't have a name… ever since I came into this world."
Lucia's smile faltered for the first time. She studied him carefully, noticing the way he spoke—not like a lost child, but like someone who had seen far more than he should have.
"So… do you have any parents?" she asked gently. "I only saw you appear out of nowhere today… and you were all alone."
"I travel alone," he answered simply.
Lucia sighed, her expression softening. "But it's dangerous outside. Yet, you seem unharmed… and for that, I'm relieved."
Ymir had finished eating long ago, but she had been listening intently. Now, with renewed excitement, she suddenly grabbed his hand and tugged him to his feet.
"Come on! Let's explore!" she said eagerly, pulling him toward the stairs.
Her enthusiasm was contagious. He didn't resist, letting her lead the way.
Lucia called after her, shaking her head fondly. "Ymir, don't go outside! It's getting dark."
"Okay, Mom!" Ymir called back.
Upstairs, the dim glow of lanterns cast long shadows on the wooden floor. Ymir sat cross-legged, rummaging through a small wooden chest before pulling out a worn-out scroll. The parchment was yellowed with age, its surface covered in faded ink written in an ancient language.
With a grin, she unrolled it.
"This is an old story," she explained.
The nameless boy leaned closer, his sharp eyes scanning the strange symbols.
The scroll told a tale of a woman who had made a pact with a devil. The devil had offered her a cursed fruit, and when she ate it, she gained great power—but in doing so, she unleashed a plague of war upon the world. Bloodshed followed, and mankind, driven by insatiable greed and curiosity, spiraled into endless conflict. The story painted humanity as a mistake—a doomed existence, cursed by its own desire for power.
As Ymir read aloud, her voice slowed, her words growing sluggish. She yawned, her eyelids drooping.
The nameless boy, however, remained fully awake. He had witnessed the horrors of war countless times. The greed, the destruction—he had seen it all unfold, just as the story described.
But now, in this small, quiet home, he saw something different.
A girl who laughed, who smiled.A mother who cared for a stranger without question.A place where there was no war.
Perhaps humanity was not only cruelty and bloodshed.
Ymir blinked drowsily. "I'm so sleepy…" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.
The nameless boy watched her for a moment before a strange thought crossed his mind.
I should sleep too.
The idea was foreign, yet the moment he thought it, his body reacted. His muscles relaxed, his breathing slowed, and the weight of exhaustion—something he had never noticed before—settled over him.
He lay down on the wooden floor, his eyes slowly closing.
Ymir, now too tired to move, crawled into her bed, curling up like a child. Her breaths became slow and steady, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest a soothing sound in the quiet house.
Outside, the night stretched on, stars twinkling in the sky.
For the first time in his endless existence, the nameless boy slept.
Lady Lucia stepped quietly into the dimly lit room, her gaze softening at the sight before her. Ymir lay curled in her bed, her small form rising and falling with each steady breath. Just a few steps away, the nameless child slept on the wooden floor, his expression peaceful yet distant, as if he were lost in a dream far beyond this world.
A gentle sigh escaped Lucia's lips. He shouldn't be sleeping there…
Her eyes flickered toward a nearby wooden bench. With practiced care, she arranged a makeshift bed—layering soft sheets over the surface to make it as comfortable as possible. Then, with surprising ease, she lifted the nameless child into her arms.
He's so light…
Lighter than she expected. Unnaturally so. It was as if he carried no weight of his own, as if the very laws of nature did not bind him.
Carefully, she laid him down on the bench-bed, tucking the covers gently around him. For a long moment, she simply stood there, watching over them. A warmth filled her heart, but with it came something else.
Unease.
She brushed Ymir's golden hair aside and whispered softly, "Goodnight, my dear."
Her gaze lingered on the nameless boy. There was something about him—something unsettling yet divine. She had sensed it the moment she first saw him.
Who are you?
She reached down, brushing a strand of dark hair from his forehead.
"Goodnight, little one," she murmured before stepping out of the room, closing the door behind her.
And the moment she did—her expression changed.
Her lips tightened. Her breath quickened.
She had known, deep in her soul, from the very moment she laid eyes on him. But now, the doubt in her heart had turned into cold certainty.
"The boy who is blessed," she whispered.
Without hesitation, she rushed to her own room. Her hands trembled as she pulled open an old wooden chest at the foot of her bed, dust rising from the worn surface. She dug through the contents frantically—scrolls, relics, forgotten memories—until her fingers found what she was looking for.
A thick, leather-bound tome.
Its cover was cracked with age, its pages yellowed and fragile. It was a book of ancient records, passed down through generations. She flipped through the brittle pages, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. And then—
She found it.
Her breath hitched as her eyes scanned the faded passage.
The Nameless Immortal Child.
The words sent a shiver through her body.
She read on, her fingers tightening against the edges of the book.
A child with no name. A being untouched by time. He has walked through countless eras, appearing and disappearing like a fleeting whisper in history.
Some revered him as a blessing. Others feared him as a curse.
But one truth remained constant—
He never aged.
Lucia's grip on the book tightened. This child… he's the same.
He was the one spoken of in legends. The one who should not exist.
Her heart pounded.
Why has he appeared now?
She closed the book sharply, pressing it against her chest as she sat in silence, her thoughts racing.
Outside, the wind howled through the village, rattling the wooden walls.
As if carrying a warning only she could hear.