Time passed, and Zeo did nothing.
He did not interfere. He did not question. He did not act.
He only watched.
Like a silent observer drifting above a story already written, his presence lingered at the edges of unfolding events—tracking the movements of the Night Watchers, observing the subtle coordination of the two-nation alliance, noting every shift as if committing the flow of fate to memory. There was no urgency in him, no desire to intervene… only a quiet, unsettling patience.
And then, one day, he moved.
Not toward conflict.
But toward a beginning.
A small village, distant and forgotten, where the first thread of the story was about to be pulled.
With unnatural speed, Zeo crossed the distance in moments, arriving at the outskirts as if space itself bent to his will. He stopped just beyond the village boundary, his gaze sweeping across it—uncertain, for the first time in a while, not of what would happen… but of how he should exist within it.
Then, suddenly—
A figure rushed past him.
A boy.
Thin. Messy. Clothes worn and unwashed, clinging loosely to his frame. His hair was tangled, his presence almost invisible—like someone the world had long stopped noticing.
Zeo's eyes followed him as he ran into a narrow alley.
"…Ash," he muttered quietly.
There was no change in his expression.
No warmth.
No recognition beyond the role he already knew.
Then, something shifted.
Zeo lifted his gaze toward the sky.
Dark clouds were gathering, slow and heavy, swallowing the light above the village.
"Rain is coming…" he murmured softly, his voice distant. "…in the garden… and in the heart."
He already knew.
—
Elsewhere, Ash ran through the narrow alley, his breath uneven but his steps eager. There was a purpose in his movement, a fragile kind of happiness pulling him forward.
"Ash!"
He stopped.
Turning, he saw her.
A girl standing at the end of the alley—clean, well-dressed, her presence out of place in such a worn corner of the village. There was a quiet elegance to her, something untouched by the harshness of the world around them.
And when their eyes met—
Ash smiled.
A bright, unguarded smile. The kind that only appeared when someone had nothing… and suddenly found something worth holding onto.
He ran toward her.
Only to be struck lightly on the head the moment he got close.
"Ouch—! Why did you hit me, Taila?" he complained, rubbing his head.
She frowned, arms crossed, clearly annoyed. "How many times do I have to tell you? Bathe before you come see me!"
Ash looked away, embarrassed, scratching the back of his head. "I… woke up late. Didn't have time."
His voice carried a strange mix of shame—and stubborn pride.
Taila sighed, but her expression softened as she reached out and grabbed his hand.
His face turned red instantly.
"You know we're not supposed to meet like this," she said quietly. "My family is strict. They care about reputation… about status."
Ash's gaze lowered.
"…I know."
"But I want us to be together," she continued, her grip tightening slightly. "And for that… you need to leave this life behind."
Silence fell between them.
Ash's fingers tightened around hers.
"…I'm not here by choice," he said softly.
The words lingered.
And regret flickered across her face.
"I didn't mean it like that," she said quickly. "I just… I want my family to accept you. You need to become someone they can acknowledge. Someone educated… someone proper."
Ash looked at her again, something resolute forming behind his tired eyes.
"Then teach me," he said. "Everything you learn… teach me too. I'll change. I'll become someone worthy."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"For our future."
For a moment, her expression wavered—caught between hope and something unspoken.
"…But not now," he added suddenly, pulling his hand away. "I need to take a bath first. Wait for me, okay? I'll come back soon."
She nodded, though her attention lingered on the warmth left behind in her hand.
"I'll be in the tree cabin," she said softly. "Don't take too long."
Ash grinned before turning and running off.
Neither of them knew—
that it would be the last time they stood together like this.
—
As Ash disappeared down the path, his steps slowed.
Ahead, a figure stood in the alley.
Zeo.
Their eyes met.
For a brief moment, something passed between them—something Ash couldn't understand.
A chill ran down his spine.
He looked away and continued walking, brushing past him.
But the feeling lingered.
Wrong.
Unnatural.
He glanced back once more—
But Zeo had already turned away.
—
A faint shimmer appeared.
Razya materialized beside him.
"So… today is the day the story begins," she said, her voice quieter than usual.
Zeo didn't look at her.
"Yes," he replied. "This is where it starts."
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied him.
"Are you planning to interfere?"
Silence.
Then—
"No."
His voice was calm.
Cold.
Detached.
"If they are already following the roles I created for them… there's no need."
Something about that answer unsettled her.
But she said nothing.
—
They reached the tree cabin.
A massive tree stood isolated from the rest of the village, its branches stretching outward like silent witnesses. Built within it was a small wooden structure—fragile, distant, hidden.
Zeo's gaze shifted.
Figures were approaching.
"Slave traders," he said quietly.
He didn't move.
He already knew what would happen.
And he chose not to change it.
—
Time passed.
Ash returned.
His hair, now damp, clung softly to his face. Cleaner than before—but his clothes remained the same, worn and simple. It didn't matter.
He was smiling.
Hope carried him forward.
But when he reached the tree—
Something was wrong.
Broken wood lay scattered across the ground.
The ladder was damaged.
The cabin… disturbed.
His heart skipped.
No—
His breath quickened as he climbed, ignoring the instability beneath his feet. A step broke, nearly sending him falling, but he caught himself, gripping tightly, forcing his way upward.
Voices.
He heard voices.
He climbed faster.
And when he reached the top—
He saw them.
Six men.
And Taila.
Held tightly.
Struggling.
Crying.
Begging.
Laughter filled the cabin—cruel, indifferent.
Something inside Ash snapped.
"Let her go!" he shouted, rushing forward. "You scum!"
He didn't think.
He didn't hesitate.
He just moved.
But he was weak.
A single kick sent him crashing back.
Pain exploded through his body as he hit the floor, breath stolen from his lungs, blood rising in his throat.
"Who's this brat?" one of the men asked, amused.
Taila's eyes widened in horror. "Ash—! Why are you here?! Run!"
But there was nowhere to run.
They surrounded him.
"Did you tell anyone about us?" another man asked, his tone sharp.
Ash said nothing.
He stood—barely.
His legs trembled.
But his eyes—
His eyes were cold.
Deadly.
"Run!" Taila screamed again, struggling against the grip holding her.
"You're not going anywhere," the man restraining her laughed. "You're valuable. Pretty face. Good age. You'll sell well in the Capital."
Ash's vision blurred.
But he moved.
Grabbing a broken piece of wood, its edge jagged and sharp, he lunged forward.
For a moment—
Surprise flickered.
But it wasn't enough.
The man caught him.
And struck him.
Again.
And again.
Each blow heavier than the last.
Ash's body crumpled, but the man didn't stop.
"Enough!" another voice snapped. "Do you want to kill him?"
"If I do, what then?" the man growled.
"Then the plan fails, idiot."
Silence.
Then Ash was thrown aside.
Broken.
Bleeding.
Barely conscious.
"…What about the girl?" someone asked.
"We take her," another replied casually. "Sell her in the Capital."
Taila's voice broke as she called his name.
But Ash couldn't respond.
Darkness crept in.
The last thing he heard—
"…Themen."
And then—
Nothing.
—
They left.
Taking her.
Leaving him behind.
—
Zeo stepped into the cabin.
His gaze fell on Ash's broken form.
There was no reaction.
No anger.
No regret.
Only observation.
"...The story is set," he said quietly.
Behind him, Razya stood frozen.
Her fists clenched slightly.
It was hard… she thought. So hard not to interfere…
And yet—
He hadn't moved.
Not once.
Just because he wants to go back…?
Her chest tightened.
Is returning home… more important than a life?
She didn't understand.
She couldn't.
And that confusion hurt more than she expected.
—
Far away—
Someone read the report.
Silently.
Carefully.
And then moved.
Not as part of the story.
But to change it.
Because the balance of the Imagery World…
had already begun to shift.