The recollection came to an end.
At present, in Thành Dũng's hand was a strangely misshapen fruit, no bigger than one of his finger joints, its skin tinted with an eerie blend of blue and purple. Its unsettling appearance alone was enough to make anyone hesitate to approach it—let alone eat it.
His hesitation was clear. His hand froze mid-air, the fruit only a palm's breadth from his open mouth.
Thành Dũng knew this one was edible, but the taste… would be horrifying. He had seen everyone who tried it—none of them managed to swallow without vomiting.
Now, two choices surfaced in his mind:
Accept it and eat. No matter how revolting the taste was, force it down. At least he wouldn't starve—his chances of surviving this place would be higher.
Or be a coward. Lower himself, beg for scraps from others. Let his dignity crumble and endure their contemptuous stares.
His tangled thoughts made him hesitate too long. He lowered his hand, the fruit still in his grip, and murmured to himself:
"I wonder… did Uncle Bách eat that piece of bread yet?"
The moment he spoke, his eyes darkened. His fingers clenched so hard that the fruit burst in his palm, its juices dripping through the gaps between them.
That one sentence felt like a slap to his own conscience. He was the one who had given away that piece of bread—these fruits were the ones he wanted to keep for himself. And now he regretted everything he had done.
Thành Dũng had always told himself he was a good person, someone willing to give without hesitation. Yet now, the very words he said had stripped away that illusion—revealing that he was, in truth, selfish, fragile, and merely pretending to be noble.
Regret settled in his chest like a heavy stone. He opened his hand to check the fruit he had crushed without thinking. Red welts from his fingernails marked the back of his hand, stinging sharply. The sticky juice smeared across his palm looked grotesque.
"Gulp—"
The sound of him swallowing echoed clearly. The fruit had slipped from his hand and slid down his throat.
A strange, pungent taste shot straight up to his head, making him dizzy. A violent nausea surged through him, his body desperate to reject everything.
Enduring it, Thành Dũng clamped a hand tightly over his mouth, forcing himself to swallow again and again to wash away the lingering taste and smell.
When the final wave of discomfort faded, he relaxed his shoulders. Tears that had gathered in the corners of his eyes finally spilled, as if his body had decided to let go.
Now he understood that "the first time" was something that always overwhelmed people. Even if you knew what to expect, even if you prepared yourself, the moment you truly faced it—everything became confusion and shock. Every bit of prior knowledge vanished into nothing; every plan you made suddenly felt useless.
Just like how he knew the fruit would taste awful and had braced himself for it. Yet the moment he tasted it, the flavor was even worse than he imagined.
He exhaled shakily, regaining his composure, then stuffed the remaining fruits back into his bag. At this point, even trying to eat them felt impossible.
Mockingly, he whispered:
"I wonder what those poisonous fruits tasted like… Maybe they were better than these disgusting ones."
He said it out of habit. Those who had tried them were no longer alive to answer. And no one would be foolish enough to knowingly eat poison—just to find out its flavor.
"Yet somehow, there were idiots who kept some of those poisonous fruits. They said… maybe they could be useful one day."
"Or maybe… they kept them so that, when they're tired of living, they could take a bite. So they'd die without regrets."
Thành Dũng let out a soft laugh, light as a passing breeze.
He placed a hand on the ground and pushed himself up. Dust clung to his palm, so he brushed it against his dirt-stained pant leg. The place he had been sitting was shrouded in darkness, and looking back made him uneasy.
The only place that gave him even a sliver of comfort was the tree trunk earlier… and Uncle Bách, the only familiar face left by his side. But now, all he felt toward the man was shame and guilt.
His heart was like the pant leg he had brushed off—no matter how much he tried to wipe it clean, the stains stubbornly clung on.
He took slow, hesitant steps toward Uncle Bách. From afar, he saw the man had stopped crying, but a heavy sadness still lingered on his face. That expression made Thành Dũng falter, afraid to come closer.
"Everyone, run…! They're coming!"
A sudden shout echoed through the darkness, its source unknown.
A group of people sprinted toward them, dragging behind them several massive beasts. The creatures ran on four powerful legs, their entire bodies covered in rough, hairless skin—pale white and speckled with dark spots. Lining their backs and limbs were rows of razor-sharp metallic spikes, glinting faintly in the scarce light.
A chilling terror washed over everyone. People scattered in panic, shoving one another as they fled under the fragmented patches of light—making the air even more suffocating and horrifying.