He looked down at his arm. A mother-of-pearl sheen faintly flowed beneath his skin, and his pulse beat was gradually approaching some inhuman rhythm.
"Is this the truth you're giving me?"
He asked softly, with an ancient accent in his voice that he didn't even realize.
The compass grew slightly warm in his hand, and the needle began to rotate on its own, pointing to an invisible coordinate deep in the forest.
It seems that there are still too many unknown truths, but the gears of fate can no longer stop turning.
What does the final chapter of the story hold?
——No, maybe he doesn't want to know at all.
He murmured silently in his heart.
However...can all this really end here?
His mind was already overloaded, as if countless broken puzzle pieces were being forced into it.
Perhaps it's time for the four of them to face each other and have a frank conversation...
They each carried a completely different mutation, as if looking at each other through a layer of blurry frosted glass—
The outline can be vaguely seen, but the real temperature can never be felt.
He staggered to his feet, the compass stuck to his palm like a magnet.
Something was calling him in the darkness deep in the forest. The voice did not travel through the air, but echoed directly in the convolutions of his brain, like a lullaby that only he could hear.
As Blore took his first step, the tall black trees around him lowered their branches as if in homage to some ancient authority.
His shadow stretched and deformed in the morning light, gradually moving away from the human outline.
The feeling of grievance miraculously dissipated, replaced by a quiet joy of returning home.
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