"Why are you consoling ?" Samael asked quietly. "You said you didn't have empathy."
Elizabeth watched him for a few seconds before answering.
"You're strange."
"What do you an?" Samael asked.
"When I suggested abandoning them, you beca sad," she said. "And now you're looking at with curiosity. As if you're more concerned about than about them."
She paused briefly, evaluating him.
"I may not be exactly normal," she added, "but I'd say you're more distant from people than I am."
"I…" Samael tried to respond, but the words wouldn't co.
He wanted to deny it.
But sothing stopped him.
mories began to surface, one after another.
From the mont he arrived in this world.
From the instant he awakened… carrying mories that shouldn't have been his.
He frowned.
Who was he, really?
Samael?
Or Ethan?
The reader?
He no longer knew.
And for the first ti, he realized he had never truly stopped to think about it.
He wasn't one or the other.
He was both.
And, at the sa ti, neither.
Looking back, he noticed just how inconsistent he had always been.
There were monts when he cried without being able to stop.
Others when he smiled as if nothing had happened.
He changed too quickly.
So quickly that it was… unsettling.
A chill ran down his spine.
As he revisited his mories, Samael could clearly see traces of both identities.
But neither of them was complete.
Neither felt… whole.
It was as if one identity continuously distorted the other.
Overlapping layers.
Incompatible fragnts trying to occupy the sa space.
In the end, what remained wasn't Ethan.
Nor Samael.
It was sothing blurred.
An unstable, misaligned image.
A reflection that never stayed still long enough to be recognized.
Samael lightly clenched his fingers.
Perhaps… that inconstancy was what frightened him the most.
Not fear itself.
Not the nightmare.
But the fact that, by changing so quickly, he was no longer sure who was actually surviving in that world.
And what if, in the end, neither version was real?
Elizabeth watched Samael sink into silence, lost inside his own mind.
He was strange.
But in that world… who wasn't?
After the Spell, was there anyone who could still be called normal?
And even before it—had there ever been?
Humanity had nearly destroyed itself on its own. Countless wars, massacres, irrational decisions repeated again and again. If that was the standard, then "normality" had never been anything more than a convenient illusion.
Samael simply hadn't realized that yet.
It wasn't her role to explain.
Nor to correct.
Nor to offer philosophical comfort about identity or morality.
Elizabeth had never cared about such things.
Still, she was… more comfortable with him than with the others.
Not because of empathy.
Not because of affection.
But because Samael didn't pretend to be sothing he wasn't.
Even fragnted, he was honest in his confusion.
Even so, that didn't change the fundantal fact:
They were still strangers.
As for her condition, Elizabeth didn't mind talking about it. She never had. It wasn't a burden, nor a trauma, nor a precious secret.
It was simply a state of existence.
She could explain it to anyone.
The problem had never been her.
But in this situation…
Elizabeth knew she couldn't simply wait for Samael to recover on his own.
They were in danger.
There was no way to know if that thing—whatever it was—might pursue them.
She couldn't resolve his psychological crisis.
But she had to do sothing.
An unstable partner wasn't the best choice in the Dream Realm.
And yet, he was the partner she had.
The problem was simple.
And annoyingly complex.
She didn't know how to make him stop thinking.
She had never comforted anyone before.
Never learned how to pull soone back to the ground.
In the end, Elizabeth didn't find an answer.
She remained silent.
So did Samael.
And for the first ti, the silence between them wasn't comfortable.
It was simply necessary.
Hours passed in silence.
Then, Elizabeth thought of sothing.
It wasn't complex.
Nor clever.
But it was functional.
Samael liked questions.
Overthinking pulled him away from reality—perhaps simple questions could bring him back.
There was only one problem.
She had never truly been interested in other people.
She had no idea what to ask.
She searched her mory for so reference.
And recalled a distant mont, back in school.
A trivial question.
Probably useless.
But it was all she had.
"Hey, Samael," Elizabeth called.
"Hm?" he replied, still distant.
"Do you have a nickna?"
The question was… anticlimactic.
Samael blinked.
Once.
Twice.
His eyes regained a bit of clarity.
"Out of nowhere?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied.
"My parents used to call Sam," Samael said, visibly uncomfortable with the sudden change of topic.
"Sam…" Elizabeth repeated. "I think that's common. Parents like nicknas."
She paused briefly.
"Mine used to call Liz."
The silence that followed was different.
Lighter.
Elizabeth noticed it.
And for the first ti, she felt sothing close to satisfaction.
She had done it.
Broken the ice.
She kept her face neutral.
But internally, Elizabeth was… proud of herself.
After that unexpected question, silence settled between them once more.
This ti, it wasn't heavy like before.
It was simply… awkward.
Samael looked away, feeling the need to say sothing—anything—to break that strange emptiness.
"So… what do we do now?" he asked quietly.
He took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts.
"Like… how do we get off this island. And how do we survive until then."
Elizabeth took a few seconds before answering.
"I think there's a citadel at the center of the island," she said at last. "At least, that's what makes the most sense."
Samael felt an imdiate shiver run through his body.
The center.
Just thinking about that word made sothing inside him tighten.
"I think we're going to be stuck here forever, Liz…" he murmured.
Elizabeth turned to look at him.
"What do you an?"
Samael swallowed.
"At the center of the island, there's that thing…" he said, his voice trembling. "The abomination that split the forest in half."
The silence that followed was different.
Sharper.
"That's a problem," Elizabeth concluded, her tone emotionless.
She reflected for a mont.
"I don't think we're capable of facing it. At least… not now."
Samael nodded silently.
"We'll have to co up with so kind of plan in the future to deal with it," she continued, pragmatically.
Samael's eyes widened slightly.
"You want to deal with that?" he asked, incredulous.
Elizabeth looked at him.
"Obviously. Or would you rather give up on your life?"
"No," he replied without hesitation.
The words ca out before he could even think.
They stayed silent for a few minutes, accepting that inevitable reality.
There was no easy escape.
No comfortable choice.
Only survival.
Then, suddenly—
"Hey," Elizabeth said. "Who said you could call by a nickna?"
Samael blinked, confused.
"Huh? I thought you told to call you that," he replied. "I an, people don't say their own nickna unless they want others to use it, right?"
"I did that to bring you back to yourself," she explained simply.
Samael frowned.
"So… I can't call you by your nickna?"
Elizabeth shrugged.
"Call whatever you want."
Samael let out a small, involuntary smile.
The future was still uncertain.
The island remained a nightmare.
That thing at the center still existed.
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