The air swirled above Almeida. That pile of black ash that Scrap had become painted the vortex with its particles, but none of this caught the boy's attention. He kept walking toward where the sun was sinking into the horizon.
Little by little, the black particles in the swirl began to merge, forming a piece of fabric that expanded until it took the shape of a cloak.
Despite having been formed from ash, the cloak had dark embroidery that stood out when observed carefully, thanks to the deep black color of the entire fabric.
The cloak descended, fluttering in the cold wind and falling slowly onto Almeida's shoulders. The neck part secured itself firmly and automatically, and stayed there.
"Hmph..." The boy narrowed his eyes, raising his right hand to squeeze the rope necklace around his neck before feeling something brushing against the back of his fingers.
He blinked. The new sensation tried to trigger alert patterns in his mind, but it didn't happen. Then he blinked once more, this time a little slower, before continuing.
"..."
Sometime later, the sun was still on the horizon, to the south from his home, hiding in the mountains, painting the world in a yellowish-reddish hue. "I've been walking for a while, how long exactly?" He licked his dry lips before sighing.
"It doesn't matter..." he continued.
Walking for a while longer, he soon spotted a white figure that stood out against the entirely black, ash-covered ground. He raised his eyebrows slightly as a learned reflex, but didn't quicken his pace. Instead, he kept walking step by step toward the figure.
"Hmph..." he muttered when he saw the figure closer up. It was a man, beautiful, very beautiful, with white hair, a white long-sleeved shirt, and white pants, his skin almost as pale as his clothes as he lay barefoot on the ash.
"Hello!" the man greeted with a bit of enthusiasm.
Almeida looked the man up and down, noticing his smile with shining white teeth. He waited a moment before speaking. "Your clothes... are strange," he said, his voice pitching up slightly at the end.
"Oh, this?" The man spun in a full circle on the spot before looking at his outfit. "It's called single-fabric clothing... I think. I honestly don't know, but it's nice. No seams, no pockets, no details, it's... well, white," he nodded to himself.
He raised his head to observe the boy who had come, made a sound of interest with his mouth before narrowing his gaze. "You look like... a lost kid." He closed his eyes for a moment before tilting his head. "Well, actually, I'm supposed to offer you a deal."
Almeida, on the other hand, said nothing. He simply stood his ground, his eyes fixed on the man.
"First of all, my name is Sand King. You can also call me 'Time,' if you want, obviously," he snapped his fingers and made a slightly exaggerated expression.
"About you, my deal is..." he paused to think. "Actually, I have nothing to offer you. If you want to pass, go ahead." Sand King stepped aside and extended his hands forward in an exaggerated manner.
Almeida looked at him for a moment before starting to walk. His steps were as smooth and calm as before. He walked past Sand King without any problem, still heading toward the sun.
"You're kind of handsome, you know? I bet you had a lot of girls interested in you where you come from." The man walked along, following the boy—not beside him, not in front of him, but behind him, just one step away from catching up.
"I used to look at the people who came here with curiosity. I like observing them. At first, many think I'm very attractive, whatever that means, but then they pull away from me." Sand King let out a heavy sigh.
He stared at Almeida's back, twiddled his hands playfully, and smiled. "I think you're different, Almeida," he said, but the boy paid him no mind.
"..."
The two walked together for a long time. Almeida listened to Sand King's words without fully processing them, focused entirely on walking, while the man simply talked non-stop.
"By the way, we just passed a hut surrounded by a wooden fence with a weird apple tree. Don't you want to rest a bit?" Sand King said after a moment.
Almeida stopped dead in his tracks. Subconsciously, he looked at his surroundings: the mountains in the distance, the ground covered in black ash. He turned around and did the same, seeing nothing but a floor of black ash wherever he rested his gaze.
"Hmph." He made a sound with his mouth and focused on Sand King. The man returned his gaze before raising a hand and saying, "Hello!"
His eyes swept over the man from head to toe once again:
Bare feet, completely clean. Clean white pants. White long-sleeved shirt, mostly clean, there was a trace of yellow at the tip of Sand King's right sleeve.
He automatically pointed at the right sleeve. The man lowered his head with a "Hmph" before noticing the yellow color. "Ah, this? It happens sometimes. My clothes get dyed in weird colors, but they always go back to white. Always. So there's nothing to worry about, okay?"
The man nodded a couple of times before opening his mouth. "Why don't we keep going?" he said, lifting his feet as if walking in place.
"Walking is good for your health, Almeida," he assured him.
Instead, Almeida's eyes now locked onto Sand King's left sleeve, which was now stained black. He pointed at that sleeve, drawing the man's attention once again.
"Ah, shit, another color. Hahaha, it'll come off soon," he assured him for the second time.
The boy raised his hand to squeeze the rope necklace around his neck again. The black cloak on his back fluttered. He looked at the white-skinned man smiling at him before taking a huge leap forward.
He raised his right hand, forming a fist that he threw with all his might toward Sand King's face.
However.
The man calmly raised a hand, blocked Almeida's fist, then with his other hand stopped the boy's kick and pushed him back to gain some distance.
"Hmph, Almeida, what are you doing? Why would you attack me?" His voice had a high-pitched tinge that hadn't been noticeable before.
"Those colors... they bother me," The boy clenched his fists tightly and charged forward again.
A direct punch, a kick, attack combos—he even tried scratching. Yet, Sand King always found a way to counter his attack while smiling.
Almeida's eyes filled with a peculiar gleam. He wasn't tired, despite all the attacks he had thrown. He stepped back a little, now seeing the multiple colors swirling like a rainbow on Sand King's shirt.
He stomped the ground hard, dropping into an attack stance. The light of those colors reflected in his pupils; his heart was pumping like never before, and his neck was bulging with veins.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!!! What the hell are you trying to tell me?!!!" He launched himself forward with even more force, his footsteps kicking up the black ash, his fists hard as rocks.
He struck hard, but was stopped. He kicked even harder, but was dodged. He tried to bite the man's leg, but ended up biting the air. Every single one of his attacks ended in failure.
"Why the fuck isn't your shirt white!!! I want it to be white!!!" he screamed, tearing his vocal cords. He stomped with even more force to propel himself forward, to finish off Time, to destroy Sand King, to eliminate him.