For a long moment, Asher stared at the translucent notification hovering before him, his mind momentarily blank, as if the last fragment of reality he had been clinging to had finally slipped loose.
His breath caught midway, neither fear nor relief surfacing, suspended in a fragile pause, as he wondered whether the humiliation, the silence, the shattered hope had finally pushed him into seeing things that did not exist...or if the world, in its cruel irony, had chosen this exact moment to answer him at last.
'What? A cross-cosmology… system? That's… cool, I guess.'
Asher muttered the words to himself in a daze, not entirely certain whether he had spoken aloud or merely thought them.
His mind felt clouded, muddled by too many thoughts rising at once, questions without form, possibilities without shape, colliding in a chaotic scramble to surface first.
For all the things racing through his head, none of them could be properly expressed in words.
"Hey, why are you on the stage?"
Asher blinked twice, the haze shattering as a masculine voice pulled him back into the present.
Standing before him was the same man who had proposed to Elora moments earlier, his posture relaxed, his confident smile seemingly untouched by the silence that had followed.
Asher drew in a quiet breath, forcing the jumble of thoughts aside.
He clenched and unclenched his fists once before speaking, grounding himself.
"Samael… it's you," he said, then hesitated, his grip tightening around the bouquet before lifting it from the floor. "I, I came to give these flowers to Elora."
He extended his arm slightly, as if presenting proof of intent rather than a gift.
Samael's hazel eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, inspecting the bouquet with mild interest.
"Looks like this thing cost you quite a fortune, didn't it?" he said lightly, then added with a tilt of his head, "But I already gave her one, right?"
Asher shook his head once, slow and deliberate.
"If that's the case… then, uh… I'll head home now."
He turned, taking a step toward the exit, only to feel fingers close around his wrist.
"You just got here and you're already leaving?"
Samael asked, his tone amused.
"At least give yourself a treat. I wonder if there'll even be anything left for you to eat at home after buying something this expensive."
Asher paused, then turned back to face him.
His smile was awkward, thin, but genuine in its own way as he replied quietly :
"Apparently… that's the case."
Ashen tried to pull his hand.
The grip did not loosen.
Samael leaned closer instead, lowering his voice so only Asher could hear.
"Relax. I'm just worried about you."
His gaze skimmed over Asher's thin frame without hiding the scrutiny.
"People like us don't really understand what money means, right? We throw it away chasing…feelings."
Then, deliberately, he glanced toward the stage.
Elora was still there, surrounded by people, laughter resuming in hesitant waves around her. She hadn't noticed them yet.
"Besides," Samael continued, tone light, "even if you had given her those flowers… what did you think would happen?"
He tilted his head, feigning curiosity.
Asher was not intent on replying, right now the thing he wanted to do the most was going back home and analyze whatever abdomination he'd awakened.
Samael finally released his hand, only to straighten Asher's sleeve with politeness.
"Why do you appear sad? You should be happy for us, right?…and most important of all, eat something.You look like you haven't had a proper meal in days."
Asher stared at Samael for a second longer than necessary.
Then he let out a laugh.
Soft, breathy and almost weightless.
It was the kind of laugh he had used all his life.
The kind that came out when he was cornered.
The kind meant to smooth things over, to say it's fine, I'm fine, don't look too closely.
But this time, something was different.
It wasn't forced.
"Don't worry," he said, flashing a crooked smile as he twisted free, already stepping back, "I've been surviving on optimism and bad decisions for years, one more night won't kill me."
And just like that, he ran,
the way he always had.
Only this time, the echo of that laugh followed him, unfamiliar even to himself.
.
•••
.
Do you wish to open the first portal?
The holographic screen stared right back at Asher, who, in turn, had been staring at it for a long while now, silently contemplating the nature of the strange object hovering before him.
His breath came in short, uneven gasps, pale smoke spilling from his mouth like a chimney in the cold, far more violently than it ever had before.
He could barely keep himself upright, barely hold onto his focus, after running all the way from the event hall to his shabby apartment, a place situated as far from the central district as one could reasonably get, at least within Pharwing City.
Tucked away in a secluded corner, the area was almost devoid of human activity, save for the occasional flickering streetlamp and the distant hum of infrastructure that no one bothered to maintain properly.
Running such a distance in one go wasn't exactly a feat worth boasting about among others. For most people, it would barely qualify as warm-up.
But for Asher, it was enough.
Enough to leave his legs trembling, his lungs burning, and his vision swimming at the edges.
Enough that he could almost justify treating himself to something luxurious afterward.
After all, his Soul essence pool as well was practically nonexistent, and the same could be said for his efficiency and output in it.
"Is… huff… s-someone playing a trick on me?"
Asher whispered raspily under his breath.
Even as the words left him, his mind dismissed them.
Even if someone had tried to play a joke, there was no way they could make a mechanical voice speak from within him.
More than that, no one else reacted to the translucent screen hovering in front of his eyes.
Passersby outside the cracked window moved as usual too.
He didn't confirm it outright, but over the arduous years he had developed an uncanny ability to read faces, microexpressions, fleeting emotions, the subtle tells people failed to hide.
It had been a skill honed out of necessity rather than talent, born from being watched, judged, and weighed constantly.
It never worked in his favor, not truly, save for a few rare instances.
This was one of those rare instances.
There were no surprises. No reactions at all.
Asher exhaled slowly, forcing the cluttered thoughts aside.
Doubt, disbelief, he pushed them down, one by one, until only a single, far more pressing concern remained.
What should I do now?