Morning came without warmth.
A pale light filtered through the forest canopy, thin and distant, barely illuminating the ground below. The darkness had receded, but nothing had truly brightened. The world remained quiet, unchanged, indifferent.
Lin Yue walked.
His steps were slow, uneven, each movement slightly delayed as if his body required time to remember how to function. The cracks along his skin had not healed. Thin lines remained across his arms and shoulders, faint but persistent.
They did not worsen.
They did not recover.
They simply remained.
A faint sensation rose within him.
Hunger.
At first, it was weak—barely noticeable. Then it grew, spreading through his body as a dull, hollow pressure. Under normal circumstances, it would have demanded action.
Food.
Energy.
Sustenance.
Lin Yue paused.
He did nothing.
The hunger lingered for a moment longer—
Then weakened.
Faded.
Disappeared.
There was no satisfaction.
No sense of being filled.
It simply—
Did not remain.
"…So even this doesn't persist."
His voice was quiet, carrying no emotion.
Thirst followed.
A dryness formed in his throat, subtle but clear. It spread slowly, tightening his breath, demanding water.
Lin Yue continued walking.
The dryness remained—
For a moment.
Then—
It vanished.
Completely.
Not eased.
Not resolved.
Gone.
He stopped.
For the first time, his gaze lowered slightly—not toward the ground, but inward.
The body requires sustenance.
That was a rule.
But rules—
Did not hold.
Not for him.
Lin Yue resumed walking.
The forest shifted gradually, the density of trees changing as the ground sloped downward. The air grew slightly damp, carrying the faint scent of water.
Ahead—
A stream.
Narrow.
Clear.
Flowing steadily through the forest.
Lin Yue approached.
For a moment, he simply observed it. The water moved in quiet continuity, rippling softly as it passed over stone. It was stable. Predictable.
He stepped closer.
Kneeling slowly, he extended his hand.
His fingers hovered just above the surface—
Then lowered.
The instant his skin touched the water—
The flow broke.
Not splashed.
Not displaced.
Interrupted.
A small portion of the stream—
Collapsed inward.
The water there did not ripple away.
Did not scatter.
It vanished.
Not evaporated.
Not visibly absorbed.
It simply—
Could not remain.
The surrounding current hesitated briefly, as if encountering something undefined. Then, gradually, it resumed, filling the space as though nothing had occurred.
Lin Yue withdrew his hand.
A few droplets clung to his fingers—
Then disappeared before they could fall.
He watched in silence.
"…Not everything."
The stream still flowed.
The forest still stood.
The world remained intact.
Whatever existed within him—
It did not act without condition.
Or perhaps—
Only certain things were taken.
He stood slowly.
His body resisted, thin cracks forming faintly along his joints. Pain followed—sharp, immediate—
Then faded.
Like hunger.
Like thirst.
It did not remain.
Lin Yue placed his hand lightly against his chest.
There was no warmth.
No energy.
No sign of life returning to normal.
Only that—
Silent point.
Still present.
Still unchanged.
Yet—
Not entirely empty.
Something lingered within it.
A faint residue.
Unformed.
Unstable.
But real.
"…So it accumulates."
Devouring was not disappearance.
It was retention.
Even if incomplete.
A breeze passed through the trees.
Leaves rustled softly.
One leaf loosened from a branch above.
It drifted downward.
Slow.
Weightless.
As it passed near him—
It vanished.
Without sound.
Without trace.
The space it occupied folded briefly—
Then returned.
Lin Yue watched.
"…Too small to matter."
He turned.
And walked forward.
The stream continued to flow behind him.
The forest remained unchanged.
Everything persisted—
As it always had.
Except for one truth—
Even the most fundamental needs—
Could not remain—
Near him.