The brief days that followed seemed to flow in a seemingly monotonous loop. Every morning, they woke up early and met at the village gate, where the dew still clung to the grass and the cold, damp tiles of the roofs.
Then, together, they walked along the dirt paths, the traces of rough cart wheels still visible, quietly advancing into unfamiliar lands, where the grass grew thicker, the forests wetter, and the sounds of wild creatures echoed faintly on the wind.
They hunted small monsters, completed simple tasks like escorting villagers to the fields, checking the paths leading to the mine, or cleaning out rat nests in the old warehouse.
Though the work wasn't glamorous and the rewards weren't great, each step, each strike, each light clash of swords and armor slowly transformed the three into a true team.
When the evening sun descended, the last rays pierced through the canopy, casting the shadows of the three of them onto the uneven stone path leading back to the village.
They stopped in front of the familiar blacksmith shop, where the old blacksmith would always look up with a smile when he heard the doorbell, followed by the small restaurant tucked under a trellis of purple bougainvillea.
There, Yuna always ordered hot soup with a slice of toasted bread, Nautilus would quietly finish his meal and then sit down to write a few notes in his notebook.
Ren, on the other hand, leaned back in his chair, flipping through the quest log interface, still reminding, "Tomorrow, let's try the western side. I heard there are some missing monster sightings there."
Once, while the three of them sat resting on a raised patch of land overlooking the fields, the wind blowing gently causing their cloaks to flutter, Yuna suddenly asked, her voice as if meant for the wind alone, "Do you think… we'll ever truly get used to this place?"
Ren glanced over, not answering immediately, his eyes focused on the sky, now tinted with orange and red.
He spoke slowly, "Life is like this. Humans, they're an extraordinary species. We never lose the desire to survive, to see the next day, and the next.
That creates an unimaginable kind of adaptation…"
Nautilus nodded slightly. "We're alive, at least for now."
Yet, within what seemed like an endless cycle of repetition, change began to subtly emerge, not loudly, not explosively, but like the gentle sound of water flowing through a small crevice in the rocks.
Slowly, but unstoppable. The footsteps that had once been disordered gradually fell into rhythm as they passed over a slope.
The hesitant words were now replaced with short but sincere reminders, and the eyes that once avoided each other in battle now knew to look directly at each other with a simple nod of understanding.
None of them named this connection. There was no need to.
But in every action, every silent moment resting by the roadside, in the heavy breaths after a brief battle or the tired laughter echoing through the forest, something had begun to sprout—trust... even if fragile.
And more importantly, the feeling that they were no longer fighting alone.
Ren glanced at Nautilus and Yuna, his eyes briefly stopping on each of their faces, like a light touch of a gaze instead of an examination, before gently drifting down to the small lute that Yuna always carried on her back.
The straps, worn from continuous use, but did an item truly grow old?
Ren had no answer. His own gear always returned to pristine condition after fully recovering durability.
But that wasn't what mattered. Above all, it was like a silent trace of repetitive performances that were never meaningless.
"Tonight…" He spoke, hesitating for a moment, as though considering whether it was necessary to ask the question, then finally voiced it, softly like the early morning wind sweeping across a dewy field. "Will you two continue performing at the village center?"
Yuna blinked in surprise, not because the question was too unexpected, but because it came from Ren, the one who had always kept his distance, now showing interest.
However, this time, she didn't turn away or shy off as she did before. She just nodded lightly, her hand instinctively reaching to touch the body of the lute, a small gesture that was enough to calm her.
"Probably," she replied, her smile appearing slowly, hesitant but sincere.
"Yesterday, some players came and asked me to play some old songs. Besides…" She glanced at Nautilus, "…it's more fun there than sitting still in the inn, listening to the walls creak with the wind."
Nautilus sat nearby, still flipping through his notes in the old, worn-out notebook, the edges frayed.
He didn't answer immediately, but the slight curve at the corner of his mouth spoke volumes, an unspoken agreement, much like how he always supported Yuna without needing to be mentioned.
Ren nodded, a barely noticeable gesture, then fell silent, looking towards the village of Medai, where the lantern lights began to flicker through the evening mist.
The sounds of chatter from the small restaurant, the rhythmic pounding from the blacksmith's forge, and even the faint sound of some melody still mixed in the air, becoming an inseparable part of each day.
He felt torn. Lately, Ren had been practicing at the training grounds in the village. His proficiency level was about to reach the next rank, but progress had slowed down for a while.
It was almost at a standstill. Clearly, it was 99/100, but nothing was changing… recalling Klein's teachings, perhaps… he needed a break.
Then, a gust of wind blew through, whisking away the hesitation.
"Then I'll probably come watch," Ren said, his voice not loud, as though speaking only to himself, but the words didn't drift away with the wind. They silently lingered between the three of them, like a small light igniting in the stillness.
Yuna looked at him, and this time her smile was clearer, warmer. "Yeah. But if you come, you have to sit still and listen to the whole song, no leaving in the middle."
Ren shrugged, his lips curling into a faint smile that almost no one would notice. "As long as you don't make me sing along."
Nautilus laughed, a short, husky laugh, genuine and not one to fill the silence, but a laugh because his heart was less guarded.
And in that moment, even though the night hadn't fully settled, the gentle light between the three of them was enough to bring peace, as if standing beneath a sky with the moon, where no one would feel lost in the long night anymore.
The evening in Medai village, once just a quiet break between the two halves of the day, gradually became a moment everyone looked forward to, like a reward after hours of hard-fought battles, quests, or simply surviving in this harsh world.
Everyone was waiting for an invisible reward, a warm and gentle gift to be opened as the sun set.
When the sunset withdrew behind the deep purple mountains at the horizon, and the tall trees began to cast shadows on the ground, the lanterns hanging on the eaves, and on the rough wooden lamp posts around the village, were lit one by one.
The orange-gold light meandered through the thin mist, clinging to the cobblestones, shimmering as if touched by a dream.
And right at the heart of the village, where the small square still kept its ancient look, with weathered stone steps and the old well that no longer flowed.
Yuna sat there, on a simple wooden chair borrowed from the corner shop, her light brown wooden guitar resting across her lap, as if it were an inseparable part of her.
The strap had worn out, and the corner of the guitar was slightly scratched from constant use.
Under the lanterns swaying gently in the breeze, her hair cascaded down, and her cloak fluttered slightly, blending into the scene as if she didn't belong here, but rather came from another world, not a player trying to survive, but a wandering artist carrying music like light through the long night.
And then, as her slender fingers began to lightly strum the guitar strings, the first sound rang out, pure and soft, like water breaking free from a crevice after a long winter, like the wind gently brushing the fresh leaves at the start of a new season.
The whole square seemed to hold its breath. All other sounds suddenly faded away.
Footsteps slowed, unfinished words swallowed by the throat, and the gazes of everyone one by one shifted towards her, towards where the soft guitar notes spread, dissolving like morning mist in the lantern light.
Yuna's voice followed, not the kind of practiced voice honed over years, not one meant to show off or stir the crowd, but a sound so raw and genuine, it felt strangely pure.
It carried a silent sadness like clouds drifting over mountain peaks, tinged with a soft tenderness like a lullaby from a distant countryside forgotten by time.
She didn't tell a specific story, but each note, each word, felt like a fragment of a memory everyone had, the longing for home, fragile hope, and dreams, no matter how small, that had never let go.
Since the first time she sang here, Medai village had never been the same.
The players who once huddled, sitting by the roadside with eyes full of worry and despair, now gathered around the square, holding pieces of bread or water bottles, gazing at her as though warmed from within.
Some tapped their fingers lightly in time with the music on their thighs, some smiled quietly, others turned to speak with each other, something they once hesitated to do.
Faces that had once been pale with an unknown fear now radiated something different...hope.
Faith, something that seemed shattered on the first day they were trapped here, was being slowly stitched back together by Yuna, bit by bit, with her music and gentle presence.
No one really spoke it, but everyone felt it, that just by hearing her sing once, they could take another step, endure another day.
And standing in the midst of the crowd, in the broken darkness illuminated by the golden light and the sounds of the guitar, Ren remained silent.
He didn't say anything, didn't move much, simply watching. Watching the gentle shake of Yuna's head when she elongated a difficult note, watching the movement of her hands when she changed chords, and for a moment, all the weight he carried seemed to lift, not forever, but enough to breathe, enough to feel alive.
Tonight, there were no dazzling lights, no grand special effects, no heroic sword fights.
Just a girl, an old guitar, and a small but steady voice, like the only star in the dark night. But perhaps it was because of this simplicity that it touched the deepest parts of the heart.