"Hey, Anor… do you think we'll ever come across something interesting?"
The wind answered instead of Anor'ven.
Ahead, his figure moved with the same relentless stillness.
Straight. Silent. Untouched by the world.
Asveri sighed softly.
He didn't expect a response.
By now, it was part of their journey.
Anor'ven walked.
And he, Asveri, filled the spaces left behind.
The days had blended into each other.
Plains stretched endlessly.
Hills passed like whispers.
And yet, Asveri complained less and less.
Hunger no longer tortured him.
Loneliness no longer suffocated him.
No.
Now, he simply wanted to discover.
To see.
To know what was left of a world that had already ended.
By late afternoon, shapes appeared in the distance.
A worn-out cart pulled by two thin oxen.
Three merchants, dusty and weary, moving carefully along the road.
Asveri's eyes lit up.
"Ah! People."
He picked up his pace without waiting.
The merchants, wary at first, eased slightly upon seeing a child approach.
Behind him, Anor'ven followed — as silent and imposing as ever.
Their eyes lingered on him longer.
Not hostile.
But cautious.
"Travelers?" one merchant asked.
"Yeah. Just walking." Asveri smiled casually.
"You stopping here for the night?"
The oldest merchant nodded.
"Night's coming. We were about to make a fire. Share a meal. You're welcome to join."
Asveri glanced back, a quick, natural look.
"We'll stay the night, right?"
Anor'ven said nothing.
But he did not walk away.
For Asveri, that was enough.
Night fell gently.
The fire crackled softly.
The merchants shared soup, and words followed naturally.
They spoke of abandoned roads.
Empty villages.
And the dangers of a fading world.
Asveri listened, eager, weaving himself into the conversation.
"Sounds tough," he said.
"It is," replied one of the merchants, stirring his bowl slowly.
"Since the fall of the Utopia… survival is all that remains."
Asveri's expression sharpened with curiosity.
"The Utopia? Was it really perfect?"
The merchant sighed deeply.
"At first… yes. No hunger. No war. A world without pain."
Another chimed in, his voice bitter.
"But peace turned to stagnation. People stopped wanting. They stopped changing. They became… hollow."
Finally, the oldest merchant spoke, his words heavy:
"The Refuge — that's what we once called it — didn't fall in flames or blood.
It simply… withered.
Even its creator couldn't stop it.
He watched as his creation died. And we died with it."
A heavy silence followed.
"Few survived," the man added quietly.
"Those who escaped still speak of him.
Not with reverence.
His name was profaned and forgotten.
Now, he is remembered by only one title."
Asveri leaned closer, his curiosity burning.
"What title?"
The old merchant stared into the flames.
"The Overseer," he said softly.
"The one who watched all.
The one who ordered all.
The one who saw the world fade… and said nothing."
The words hung in the air, sharp and cold.
Asveri blinked.
Then, almost playfully, as if trying to lighten the mood, he turned toward Anor'ven.
"That's where you were, right, Anor?"
The bowl dropped.
The sound was loud and sudden — breaking the night like glass shattering.
One of the merchants, pale, scrambled to pick it up.
His hands trembled violently.
His voice broke, strangled by panic.
"Wh-what… what did you just say?"
Asveri blinked, confused.
"Anor. That's his name. Why?"
The merchant backed away slightly, his face draining of color.
"The name…" he whispered, his voice cracking.
"…should never be spoken after dark."
The others said nothing.
Their eyes lowered.
The fire itself seemed smaller, as if afraid.
Asveri glanced at Anor'ven.
No reaction.
No anger.
No sorrow.
And yet…
Something.
A faint pulse.
A distant echo of bitterness — too old to burn, too heavy to rise.
Asveri lowered his eyes, uneasy.
The conversation ended there.
The rest of the night fell into a hollow silence.
Dawn came.
And the merchants were already gone.
They had packed in haste, leaving nothing behind but cold ashes.
No farewells.
No words.
Only quick, nervous gestures — as if staying a second longer might summon misfortune.
Asveri watched them disappear down the road, puzzled by their sudden departure.
One of them, before vanishing, cast a final glance toward Anor'ven.
It was not hatred.
It was fear.
And then they were gone.
The silence left behind felt heavier.
Asveri walked beside Anor'ven once more, hands behind his head, speaking lightly as they moved forward.
"You know, Anor… people are really scared of you. Even when you don't say a thing."
He smiled faintly to himself.
"But hey… I don't mind."
They continued down the endless road.
The world stretched wide and mute ahead.
But once again, Asveri was not walking alone.