Chapter 49
'As if the entire meaning of life depended on my answer.
Even though I myself might not be able to explain why I still want to listen.'
Fiuuuuh!
'Back when she spoke of sin and forgiveness, I thought the conversation would end there—at the edge of a meaning already complete.
But it did not.
Now she gazes at every pebble on the ground, every blade of grass growing under the light, and then asks.
"Why must they exist?"
And all I can do is sigh, staring at the sky, hoping the wind will bring a pause.'
Since that question was voiced—about forgiveness for sinners who repent not out of love for truth, but out of fear of hell—Aldraya seemed to transform into a shadow that silently followed Theo Vkytor.
From the beginning of arc one, episode seven, until the very end, before she truly departed for the hunt with Ilux Rediona, her presence beside Theo became so natural, almost as if she were part of the landscape itself.
Sometimes, on misty mornings, Theo found Aldraya already seated on the edge of a large rock near the training area, staring blankly toward the valley without saying a word.
At dusk, when the light began sinking behind the treeline, her silhouette could still be seen at the edge of the field, watching Theo as he wrote in his yellow book.
She spoke rarely, yet her silence became a language more honest than a thousand words.
Something had changed between them.
It was not about physical closeness, but about a quiet space forming without agreement.
Aldraya did not come to seek answers, nor to request guidance.
She only wanted to understand something that could not be explained by teachers, holy scriptures, or the commands of the Divine.
Sometimes, when Theo noticed her presence, he simply let out a soft sigh, letting her sit under a tree or on rocks while gazing at the sky.
And in those moments, questions would suddenly emerge from Aldraya's soft lips—piercing in a way only a soul exiled from its own certainty could manage.
She asked why humans must walk when, in the end, everything returns to silence.
She asked why humans need to eat, even though they continually generate new hunger.
She asked why humans are born weak, when strength is the first thing they always crave.
And most often, she asked why humans never feel satisfied, even after tasting the sweetness and bitterness of the world countless times.
Theo did not answer all of these questions.
Sometimes he just closed his book, looked at Aldraya for a moment, and returned to his writing as if he had not heard her.
Yet Aldraya knew that within each silence lay an answer being quietly woven.
She observed how Theo viewed the world, how he breathed, how every movement reflected an understanding of something no ordinary human possessed—and from this, Aldraya learned without being taught.
She began to understand that most answers about life are not spoken by the wise, but revealed in the way someone carries invisible burdens.
And Theo, to her, was someone who bore that burden in the quietest yet deadliest manner.
As her departure for the hunting event approached, Aldraya's habit of visiting Theo grew more frequent, as if she feared losing something she never had a chance to comprehend.
The night before she left, she returned to the same spot—under the old tree where Theo usually wrote.
She said nothing, merely staring at the stars remaining in the black sky, and for the first time, Theo did not pretend not to see.
Between them, time paused briefly.
No conversation.
No advice.
Only a quiet acknowledgment that their world was slowly moving toward a path that would never be the same.
When dawn arrived and Aldraya walked away, the air still held the echoes of all the questions she had ever asked—questions that required no answers, because the answers had already grown within her.
'I have given up counting.
I do not know which question it was, or perhaps it has passed a hundred without my noticing.
Each time her lips parted, I knew something would come out—not an attack, not magic, but a phrase more deadly than either.
"Why do humans have two hands?" or "Can this world be narrated as an infinite ocean?"
And before the sentence finished, my reflex had already smacked my forehead.
Sometimes hard, sometimes just a reminder that I am still alive.'
Fuuuuuss!
'Once I even banged my head against the wall.
Not merely out of frustration, but because at least the wall did not stare back with that innocent gaze.
A gaze that seemed to say: I truly want to know.'
Fuuuuh - fuuuuh!
'And damn it, every time I look into those serious eyes, my tongue seems bound by a promise to answer.
Answers that I understood, half of which I made up just to bring silence back quickly.'
Hoooofh!
'I said humans walk because the earth refuses to remain still.
I stated humans eat because the sky is jealous of hunger.
Finally, I affirmed humans are greedy because time was created too short to be satisfied.
Haaah!!'
Countless times the questions came—and none were truly simple.
It was impossible for Theo to count them.
Perhaps hundreds, perhaps more than the breaths Aldraya exhaled while near him.
Each question came suddenly, like small stones thrown onto a calm lake.
And each time it happened, Theo reacted not with words, but with his body—through strange actions that became a ritual between sanity and confusion.
Sometimes he would smack his forehead as if to knock out unwanted foolishness.
Sometimes he would lightly but deliberately hit his head against a wall, producing a dull echo.
Sometimes he would slap both cheeks repeatedly, as if to confirm he was still alive, still capable of responding to a world that continually challenged him through the mouth of a young girl named Aldraya.
'Sometimes I ask myself whether my purpose in life is merely to be a vessel holding the world's unease.
Whenever she comes, the air turns into an endless examination room.
And when her lips part, I know it is too late to escape.
"Why do humans need to sleep, Theo?" she asks.
Then I chuckle softly, tapping my own ear while half-joking, "So their ears can rest from people like you, perhaps."
She is silent.
Not angry.
Not laughing.
She just turns her face, gazing at the trees, as if I were no more than a breeze behind her.'
Hsssssssh!
'The funny thing is, the more I joke, the more serious she seems.
Often I answer carelessly—I say humans eat because the tongue hates loneliness, or humans walk because the earth fears being lonely if unstepped upon.
I thought the jokes would bore her, spark a little irritation.
But no.
She just nods slowly, her eyes wandering around, then returns her gaze to me calmly—and the next question is already ready to pierce the air.'
Yuuuuh!
'My ears have surrendered.
If I could, I would put up a sign: "Temporarily closed, repairing due to excessive questions."
But instead of stopping, she comes more often, stands closer, until I can smell the earth and air in her calm hair.
And there, without realizing it, I answer again—just randomly, however I like—only so she would leave quickly.'
Fuaaaa - fuuuii!
To be continued…