The ancient soul and the young child

"Are you… human?" the girl asked, raising an eyebrow.

Before Solen could answer, she clicked her tongue and added, "Actually, never mind. I doubt a monster would flop around in the sand like it just lost its wallet."

Her golden eyes swept over him — amused, unimpressed.

"What—who the hell…?" Solen started, then shut his mouth the moment he saw the sword gleaming in her hand.

Still, he wasn't about to let her trample all over his pride.

He straightened his back, brushing sand off his clothes like it owed him money.

"I wasn't flopping," he muttered. "I was tactically evaluating the terrain."

The girl tilted her head, clearly confused.

Even Solen — who was a professional at being socially inept — could tell that his excuse was about as believable as a fish walking on land. He could practically feel the bullshit hanging in the air.

And deep, deep in his soul, something laughed.

It wasn't a good laugh. It was a laugh that made his skin crawl.

Solen's face twisted into a grin. A grin that wasn't quite human — the kind you'd expect to see on a villain right before they say something absurdly evil.

Yeah. He looked like an idiot. He knew it.

"What's your name?" the girl asked, brushing a strand of brown hair behind her ear.

"My name is Amana."

What a pretty name, Solen thought — or at least, he thought he thought it.

Except he didn't.

He said it. Out loud.

Amana blinked. "Uh… thanks?"

Solen froze. His brain blue-screened. So used to thinking out loud in his miserable solitude, he forgot the world wasn't just in his head anymore.

"…I mean—I didn't—uh—nice sword?"

Something in his soul wheezed with laughter. It wasn't a nice laugh. It was the kind that twisted its knife just a little more.

He wanted to crawl into the sand and die.

"Do you know the way to that mountain?" Asked amana

"Do you know the way to that mountain?" Amana asked, pointing toward the distant peak cloaked in mist and mystery.

Solen followed her finger. Mountain. Big. Far.

Did he know the way?

Absolutely not.

But… he didn't need to know. That's what his water affinity was for.

He closed his eyes, reached into the scattered droplets in the air, the moisture in the soil, the currents beneath the ground. His senses expanded like waves, rippling outward—feeling shapes, slopes, hidden springs, and paths worn down by weather and time.

Huh. There is a path, he realized. Curves around the eastern slope. Damp soil, two broken branches. Someone passed through.

He opened his eyes, trying to play it cool. "Yeah. East trail. It curves around.

He shrugged like it was common knowledge.

In truth, Solen had no idea how he was doing any of this. His affinity to water was cracked—absurd, really. Even he didn't fully grasp it.

Somehow, despite being borderline useless in most social situations and panicking at the sight of girls, Solen had the instincts of a born tracker and the potential of a Soul Walker. Lucky? Definitely. But he'd take what he could get.

Now, all he had to do was not trip on a rock and die.

The girl's eyes widened.

"Are you sure?" she asked, almost skeptical.

"I am," Solen replied, a bit too confidently for someone who'd just guessed based on water vibrations.

Her gaze lingered on him. Then—

"How long have you been here?"

He blinked. Odd question. What did that have to do with anything?

"Less than a day," he said truthfully.

Her expression shifted.

"So you just turned fifteen?"

Solen nodded slowly, brow furrowing. "Yeah… why?"

Amana didn't respond immediately. Instead, she studied him like he was a strange bug—curious, maybe dangerous, definitely not normal.

"…No offense, but you don't feel like someone who just got here."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Solen muttered, half defensive, half confused.

"You picked up on the mountain trail. Most people spend a week just learning how to breathe without dying here."

Solen opened his mouth. Then closed it.

Then muttered, "…Guess I'm a fast learner?"

From somewhere deep in his soul, he felt a faint, smug chuckle.

He ignored it.

Mostly.

"Are you heading there as well?"

Solen nodded before she could press further.

"Yeah. I was already planning to head that way," he said.

Even before meeting her, he'd marked the mountain in his mind. High ground. Better visibility. Maybe even a water source. It just made sense.

Besides, he had no idea how nights worked in this world—and he wasn't planning on finding out the hard way.

Somewhere safer. Somewhere he could start building a base. A routine. Something that felt less like waiting to die.

He didn't trust the air here.

Didn't trust the quiet.

Didn't even trust her.

But the mountain? That, at least, wasn't pretending to be anything it wasn't.

"I am," Solen replied.

"Do you have a weapon other than that… knife?" Amana asked, eyeing the flimsy blade in his hand.

"Uh… I used to."

"You used to?"

Solen hesitated.

He weighed his options carefully.

Option one: admit he lost it like an idiot.

Option two: claim it was destroyed in a ferocious, heroic battle with some bloodthirsty beast.

He glanced at her sword.

Yeah… definitely option two.

"I lost it fighting a sea abomination," Solen said, puffing his chest a little.

Amana went silent.

For a few seconds, she just stared at him.

"...A sea abomination," she repeated flatly, like she was making sure she heard that right.

"Yeah. It had like, fifty teeth. Glowing eyes. Real ugly."

She squinted. "You fought that. With what, exactly?"

Solen hesitated. "My fists. And maybe some water magic."

"Uh-huh."

She didn't look impressed. If anything, she looked more confused—like she couldn't decide if he was stupid, lying, or both.

Solen didn't back down. "It bit my gear and sank with it. Very tragic. I cried for hours."

Amana snorted — and looked away, too fast.

Then the real reason for the conversation surfaced.

Because, truthfully, neither of them cared that much about knives or sea monsters.

Throughout the whole exchange—between every glare, smirk, and awkward pause—they kept stealing glances at the same mountain in the distance. The one with the sharp ridgeline, like it had been clawed out of the sky.

In this world, Soul Fragments teaming up wasn't rare.

Survival often forced alliances. Even short ones.

But wanting an alliance and trusting someone were two different things.

They both knew that.

So the real question hung heavy between them, unsaid but loud:

Can I trust you

While Solen might've looked like an idiot—or just bad at controlling his own body—the truth was something else entirely.

Both of them had been trained to kill since childhood. He was sure of it.

Their stances were too precise. Their eyes too calm. Their muscles were coiled, not relaxed. Their legs, subtly spaced just enough to leap or dodge at a moment's notice.

Solen's knife, though crudely made, was held at an angle that gave him the advantage. A quick thrust to the side and he could drive it into her ribs.

Just in case.

She knew it too.

This wasn't a friendly chat.

It was a stand-off wrapped in small talk

"So I take it you know you're way around the forest?"

"I do I lived it in it alone for 3 years"

"So I take it you know your way around the forest?"

"I do Lived in one alone for three years."

Solen paused, the memory hitting him like a cold wind.

When he was six, his grandma had forced him to survive alone in the forest. Three full years. No help. No visits. Just him, the trees, and the things that hunted in the dark.

It was hell.

But as much as he hated it, that brutal training was going to save his life now.

He knew the sounds forests made when they were calm. And more importantly—he knew the ones they made right before something awful happened.

"How about we team up?" Amana asked, her eyes fixed on the mountain. "We have the same destination. You know your way around the forest—and I know my way around combat."

Solen hesitated.

It wasn't a bad deal. Not at all.

That water knife of his? Useless in a real fight. It was already starting to flicker at the edges, the shape unstable. He could barely keep it together for a couple of minutes, and even then it felt like trying to hold steam in his palm.

His instincts screamed to be cautious—but logic whispered this was survival.

And she did seem like she could fight.

Still, he kept the knife angled just right—ready to stab, if it came to that.

"Fine. But I have my own conditions," Solen muttered.

Amana's smile didn't reach her eyes.

"Of course. We all do."