The plain was desolate.
The man’s subconscious was always like this, a barren and dry landscape that didn’t even evoke impressions of melancholy or gloom.
In the midst of it, golden pupils shone alone.
It was a gaze where not even a fragment of emotion could be felt.
It was to the extent that the expression ‘dried and twisted’ suited it. Even a parched towel would be more moist than this.
However, I knew.
Though the man’s heart was now tattered like rags, there was a time when it beat hot like a sun made of blood and flesh.
He was a man who had resented gods, fate, and the world all.
He couldn’t have endured without breaking like this.
Of course, that man wouldn’t desire my pity or anything.
Sitting on a lone rock left in the wasteland, he merely uttered a cold question once more.
“I asked what your scheme is.”
It was a tone as if I had interrupted his leisure.
The way he acted as if cooped…