Turning-Chapter 928

'Look carefully.'

'At what truly matters.'

Honestly, Yuder’s current mindset was closer to wondering if anything truly important even existed in this situation.

However, the hand clad in a white glove kept writing over and over again.

It was the same content as before, but now with a rougher, duller motion.

Unlike earlier, where each letter had been written clearly and legibly, something was different now.

The movement was so stiff that, if not for Yuder — who had seen Kishiar’s usual handwriting, his cursive, and even the fake scripts he used for encryption — it would have been difficult to recognize.

So Yuder had no choice but to open his mouth and ask.

“...Is it difficult to move after coming here?”

'......'

The hand didn’t answer.

Was it because approaching this place made movement harder, or because something had become that urgent?

Without an answer, he couldn’t be sure.

But because of that uneasy movement, Yuder ended up doing exactly as it wished.

Turning his gaze to the distant darkness again, he looked carefully.

It was deep and ominous.

If there could exist a pit large enough to swallow the entire world, it would look like that.

Within it, constantly, writhing outlines appeared and disappeared over and over.

The stench was nauseating and terrifying — so strong that Yuder wondered how he hadn’t noticed it until now.

Instinctively, he felt he must not stare into it for too long — nor into what lay beneath it.

It was a chilling, dangerous feeling, like at any moment his legs might give out and he would be swallowed by that pit.

The black shadows writhing within the pit climbed atop each other like building ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) a mud castle — only to collapse, and then rise again in an endless cycle.

Yuder shifted his gaze to the end point those things seemed to be striving toward.

There, a faint crack existed — so narrow it was almost impossible to recognize.

He had glimpsed it earlier — but what exactly was that crack?

In this place where deeper and lighter darkness was all that existed, only there, the color seemed subtly different the closer he looked.

Focusing all his senses there, something began to faintly shimmer beyond the tiny gap.

It was dark, but it wasn’t the oppressive darkness that filled this place.

Something else was there — something that faintly rippled...

'...Water?'

Yes.

It was water.

But it wasn’t ordinary still water.

It wasn’t flowing like a river either — no, it had a more regular, rhythmic motion, rising and falling.

Yuder felt like he had seen it somewhere before.

Where had he seen it?

As he thought, a glimpse of white foam flashed into view, catching his attention.

White-foamed water.

It was — the sea.

Beyond that narrow crack, there was a sea that Yuder knew.

Even as he blankly stared, realizing the answer, the writhing things continued to stretch, squeeze, and push toward that crack.

They squirmed as if trying to pierce through.

Though most failed and crumbled, some did manage to momentarily touch the gap and block it.

It was a narrow crack, not wide enough for anything to pass through — so they would inevitably fall back down.

But each time they touched it, the crack grew just a little larger.

As if forcing something through a narrow hole, tearing and breaking it open.

Even though it was impossibly narrow, the shadows filling the pit never gave up.

They endlessly fell, crawled, and clawed at the gap — moving ever toward it.

As if reaching what lay beyond was their one and only purpose.

Through the shimmering water beyond the crack, a faint, small flash of light reflected for a brief instant.

In that moment, Yuder saw it clearly for the first time.

The true form of the writhing shadows reaching for the crack.

It was an eyeball covered in long hair.

A hand with bone-stuck legs attached.

Wings fused grotesquely from fingers and toes.

Scales dried up like dead leaves fluttered and crawled, while broken teeth clattered atop a dissolving shell of mud.

All of it — biting, devouring, fusing, clawing — striving to climb even a little higher.

'......'

In all his life, Yuder had never seen anything so grotesque.

The warning bells of instinct screamed in his mind.

He swallowed hard.

At that moment, an eyeball covered in long hair rolled over and stared directly at him.

Immediately, the white-gloved hand grabbed Yuder’s own.

Yuder turned and ran without hesitation, pulled along.

Behind him, a tremendous vibration shook the air.

Something was definitely chasing them.

He ran through pitch-black darkness where not even a step ahead could be seen — a nightmare-like run repeating endlessly.

'...Ah.'

When he came to his senses, he was falling again.

But this time, there was a difference.

The white glove was still tightly gripping Yuder’s hand.

Amid the silent fall, the only thing he could clearly feel was the tactile sensation of the glove — and the firmness of the hand inside, as if it would crumble at any moment.

If he held onto this hand until the very end, what would happen?

The thought flashed briefly across his mind — and in that instant, the glove moved as if trying to slip away.

As if it had read his mind again.

He tried several times to hold on tighter, but it was no use.

That hand — it had merely allowed itself to be held so far.

Whenever it wished, it could easily unravel his fingers.

Yuder gritted his teeth.

The further they fell, the harder it became to exert any strength.

His consciousness grew more and more hazy.

He felt the end drawing near — and yet, he struggled desperately to keep his eyes open, to resist even a little.

And just before that last effort completely withered away, as the white glove slipped from his grasp, Yuder slowly opened his mouth — fixing his gaze on it.

“...You told me not to come...”

'......'

“But I’ll come again.”

'......'

“No matter what it takes.”

Whether those last words made it out properly, he couldn’t tell.

His consciousness was completely swallowed by darkness.

Through his blurred vision, the afterimage of the white glove shimmered like something wet — then disappeared.

***

"......"

When Yuder opened his eyes, he immediately knew it was a familiar time.

Just before dawn — the moment the sun was about to rise.

The calm, dim air lingered around the bedroom.

Turning his head while lying down, he saw Kishiar — sleeping right beside him, arms wrapped around Yuder’s body.

The warmth of the limbs touching him was unmistakable.

Kishiar, like Yuder, had a bare shoulder exposed.

Sensing a gaze, he stirred — then slowly opened his eyes.

The moment their eyes met, Kishiar’s expression instantly sharpened — as if all sleep had fled him.

"...Yuder?"

The familiar, low voice — the sound of it stirred something violently in Yuder’s chest.

He quietly stared at the reflection of his own face in Kishiar’s crimson eyes, still shrouded in darkness.

There, a black-haired man lay helplessly — his emotionless face stained wet.

Yuder exhaled deeply.

Then, sitting up, he wiped his face.

The moisture clinging to his palm — he didn’t know when it had begun to flow.

But it felt like the most undeniable proof that everything he had just experienced wasn’t merely a dream.

"Did something happen?"

As always, Kishiar hadn’t felt anything while Yuder dreamt of the white glove.

That fact brought relief — but at the same time, a complicated turmoil rose within him.

Yuder didn’t immediately respond.

He merely gazed at Kishiar’s face in silence.

Sensing something, Kishiar didn’t press further.

Instead, he simply reached out and gently placed a hand on Yuder’s cheek.

The hand that wiped away the tears felt colder than usual — and faintly trembling.

Feeling that hand, Yuder lowered his eyes, leaning his forehead lightly against it.

Just for a moment — just a little longer like this, he thought.

Perhaps his meaning had been conveyed without words.

Kishiar’s hand remained frozen where it caressed his cheek.

Then the other hand reached out and pulled Yuder’s shoulder closer.

Embraced once again in the chest he had leaned against the night before, Yuder inhaled the familiar scent deeply.

Though Kishiar’s scent seemed more unsteady than usual, the way it wrapped around Yuder — cautious, soft, unprovoking — was just the same as always.

He could read, too, the unspoken patience, the suppressed worry and pain.

He — Kishiar — loved Yuder Aile.

Who else in the world could want and yearn for someone like Yuder to this extent?

That was a fact no one could doubt.

Not even Yuder himself.

Perhaps it was because he knew that — that when he reached the conclusion after erasing everything else, it had driven him almost mad.

Even though it was the same answer he had found before, the pain stabbing through his chest now was unbearable.

Exhaling as if to drive away the pain, Yuder opened his mouth.

"...I met the white glove again."