"—eh?!"
Seven looked at Eden and saw her calm, composed expression; he steadied himself, certain there had to be a reason for her actions.
Looking down, he then knew he only had about two seconds to spare before the impact.
He ran in the air (a/n: not in a cartoonish run), more like in a cycling motion to remain in an upright orientation, that is to avoid leaning too far back and lose his balance.
He managed to grab a ledge midfall, but the layer of snow covering the rock made his grip slip.
"...Shit—!"
Whump, whump!
The cliff wasn't straight and steep but sloped at its base so he, thankfully, didn't fall outright. A thick layer of snow also cushioned his fall as he tumbled down the incline.
The roll carried him farther down the slope until he plunged into the river below.
Splash!
Water crushed the breath from his lungs as he splashed into the river with his vision still spinning, chest burning, and ears ringing as the cold bit deep into his bones.
Blop, blop, blop!
Bubbles rippled from his mouth as his descent in the water slowed until his feet finally touched the riverbed below.
Regaining his composure, he kicked upward following the trail of bubbles and reached the surface with a violent gasp, coughing and trembling.
But the thing is…
"I can't… shit!"
He couldn't swim at all!
Back on Earth, he had skipped every swimming class— no, that wasn't even it. He hadn't chosen any activities in physical education, and was now suffering because of it.
He kicked and flailed, trying to stay afloat, but to no use.
"All that flailing just to drown, young lad…" a dry voice called from the shore. "Get on your feet."
"Get on my… feet?"
Following the voice's instruction, he relaxed his legs until they touched the riverbed. Finally, he was now standing upright as the cold water only came up to his chest.
"See?" the voice added. "It's barely a neck-deep."
"..."
He wasn't surprised to find a river cutting through the snow covered forest. The village had one too, and this stream was likely connected given how the water remained liquid despite the winter season.
If anything, what surprised him was the figure of an old man sitting by the riverbank, illuminated by the moonlight that shimmered across the water in an almost ethereal glow.
"…You fu—"
He bit back the words, forcing his lips shut.
The old man was one of his suspects responsible for the stampede, or at least someone involved. But if the old man really was behind it, letting his anger show now would only paint a target on his own back.
And besides, he had no proof. The old man, this supposed to be potato farmer by day and fisherman by night, doesn't know that Seven had seen through his disguise.
He knew he had no chance winning against a commander (a/n: as of now hehe), that was a fact.
"If it isn't mister Aizen. Fishing is your new hobby, eh?"
The old man didn't laugh, he merely offered a smile as he cast the rod onto the river. A fat catfish flopped against the snow-dusted riverbank.
"A hobby?" the old man repeated. "Mayhaps. It depends entirely on how interesting the night chooses to be."
"...Oh."
Seven nodded, though he didn't quite get it. Do old men pick up a rod when the night is interesting for them? Honestly, he had no idea.
"Listen here, young lad," the old man said, his gaze fixed on the rippled. "An aged man like me has to keep his hands in something. One should never assume that potatoes are the only thing occupying a man's time, ya hear—?"
"O-ouch!"
Seven exclaimed as a fish with saw‑like teeth burst from the surface and clamped down on his shoulder. A small blot of blood spread across his white polo.
"The fudge was that fish? Ugly as hell."
Shivering from the cold, he hauled himself out of the water, droplets falling as he squeezed his clothes.
Another fat catfish flopped to the riverback as the old man twisted the rod, then turned to look at the young man drying his clothes.
"Tell me, young lad," the old man added. "In what delightful brand of foolishness drove you into Stygora's waters? Let me guess… has Iria finally realized her fiancé is a bore and—"
"That's not it. It's… a long story."
He interrupted the old man's words before any nonsensical 'assumptions' came out his mouth.
"I see, that's fine. It is not my place to pry into the fragile hearts of the youth."
"..."
"..."
Silence followed between them.
The only sounds were the soft trickle of Stygora's river, the occasional splash of a struggling fish, and the rhythmic water droplets coming from his polo.
Drip drop, drip drop.
Clearing his throat, Seven turned to leave, his body still aching from the fall.
"I'll take my leave now, mister."
"So soon?" the old man asked. "Before you go, perhaps you'd like me to teach you how to fish. For a man ought to know how to feed himself… and his fiancée too."
"I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn't want my beautiful fiancée worrying about where I've gone."
"A pity," the old man cast his rod once again.
Step, step.
Seven didn't bother to turn around.
He needed to put distance between himself and this far-too-observant old man with 'a lot!' of identities. Even if he seemed just to be fishing so defensively, he could feel a gaze watching him, the one he had felt before.
"Then," the old man decided to speak again, barely audible given their distance. "If fishing does not tempt you, perhaps you'd rather hear of your oldest sister."
"...!"
Seven halted his walk, caught off-guard.
'Oldest sister…? If that's the case, is he dropping the act of being a simple farmer now? He wouldn't have said that otherwise. No, something's off. Damn it.'
"A man's story is not only written in the fish he catches, but also in the kin who share his blood."
He knew the old man was 'fishing' for a reaction, dangling a hook just to see him bite.
Step, step.
He forced his legs to move again, but that momentary pause had already given the old man a reaction he wanted. Truth is, he desperately wanted to know about Eden, not the one she'd be in the future Eden, but the past her.
After all, even after the completion of the novel, Eden Hart was one of the major characters whose backstory is a mystery apart from the loss of his youngest brother.
So, he had this tiny little hope that the old man would call out again, to force the information on him.
But… the old man simply counted all of the fat catfish he had caught, all laying in the riverbank.
"Ah!" the old sighed, a sound of disappointment. "I believe I shall call it a night as well."
Seven took a brief look, but the old man had expected it as their gazes met.
'...Fudge!'
Thus, the old man smirked and pointed a finger toward a nearby tree where a spare fishing rod was half-buried in the snow.
"Catch a flying shark," the old man muttered, sitting back down on the shore. "Do that, young lad… and I shall grant you three answers of your questions all about your oldest sister, Eden Hart."
"A flying shark?!"