(Author's Note: Continuation of the The Discipline of Sorrow)

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The soul of the water that remembers answered my refusal with violence.

It rose in a sudden wall and crashed into me like a blade.

I managed to move away in time, despite my tiredness, but it struck my side and cut.

My flesh parted as if sliced by glass. Blood sprayed across the black shore as I was flung backward, rolling hard against the stone.

Oh, what agony ripped a scream out of my throat.

In my misery, the water only cheered, enjoying my suffering.

I clawed at the ground, gasping, my vision warping as more water lashed me again—this time across my back, my thighs.

Each strike peeled me open a little more.

"You will give me her name," the Soul said coldly, its form towering now, vast and formless, a living storm rising from the lake.

"Or I will carve it out of your pain."

I convulsed as my body shook. Every inch felt like it was on fire.

But still, I held on. Her name.

It was too precious to me... Too sacred.

Chronovore writhed within the flesh I housed it.

It was furious. Unfortunately, it had no true strength.

A thief was all it was.

I was hurt, tired.

So tired, I could not even lift my head.

I coughed blood and collapsed onto my side.

Even right now, words fail me in description of my hurt.

And then the thoughts came.

Death? I was not ready for it. Not yet. How would I face my Elena.

How would I tell her that I was never able to make the Eldritch pay for touching... my precious.

And that was when I saw it.

Near a jagged outcrop at the edge of the shore… a small Soul.

No taller than my knee.

It looked like a living stone mouse—round, rough-bodied, and had tiny crystalline limbs, with dim ember-eyes.

It trembled as it hid behind a rock, peeking out at me.

The Soul of the lake that remembers didn't notice it.

But the little one did something strange.

It whispered.

Not with sound like the lake that remembers —but with feeling.

A quiet, urgent pressure in my mind.

'Trust me.' It said. 'It will work.'

I didn't know why, and I didn't know how.

But I did.

With a broken groan, I forced myself upright. Blood streamed down my arm, soaking the dirt beneath my boots.

"Stop," I rasped.

Surprisingly, The lake stilled.

The towering Soul leaned closer. "Have you reconsidered?" it asked, pleasure dripping from its voice.

I nodded weakly. "I'll… I'll give you the name."

The Soul's surface shimmered, and it could have sworn that a smile formed in its faceless currents.

It extended a hand of flowing water.

I raised my own trembling hand and placed it inside.

The cold burned.

I felt something pulling at my chest, at my skull, and at the deepest place where memory sleeps.

But just before it could take it—

I spoke. "I remember her smile."

The Soul froze.

"The way the wind played with her hair when she read in the garden," I whispered.

"The way her voice softened when she said my name."

"The way my sons laughed when she scolded them, and how they hid behind my legs like I was a wall that could stop the world."

These were the few happy memories I could summon the my miserable state.

But it proved enough.

The lake screamed.

Water exploded outward as the Soul convulsed violently.

Its head slammed into a rock formation again and again.

Its form warped, unraveling.

It shrieked in something between rage and pain.

"STOP—STOP—STOP—"

Then it hit me. These things fed on negative emotions.

It was only natural for positive ones to have an opposing effect on them.

I took the opportunity and tore my hand free.

The small stone Soul waved its tiny arms wildly, motioning.

'Come! Now!'

I had no choose, and so, I followed. I ran.

Stumbling, and still bleeding, and half-blind from the sheer pain, but I did not stop.

I followed the little Stone soul through narrow stone corridors and into a massive cavern.

Inside were dozens more of them—small rock-like Souls, glowing softly. Some were cracked. Some were chipped. Some barely held together.

Chronovore stirred on seeing the broken ones.

But I resisted its hunger.

These stone souls. They welcomed me.

They cleaned my wounds with glowing dust.

They offered me food. The kind a human could actually digest.

It was crystal fruits and warm mineral broth.

I have to admit, the taste was nothing like I had ever eaten.

It was good. Too good. Almost like it was alive as it seemed into my stomach.

As night fell, they sat around me and told stories in gentle, echoing voices.

It was beautiful.

The little Stone soul introduced its family.

Even the wounded ones.

Honestly, I felt… safe.

For the first time since I had bonded with Chronovore, I felt something close to home.

Still Chronovore stirred when it sensed more injured Souls.

'Food', it whispered hungrily.

But I pressed a hand to my chest.

"No," I told it.

Back then, I was too... innocent for the world I had been plunged into.

Too green.

That night, I slept peacefully. However, I woke up screaming.

Ropes bit into my wrists and ankles.

Tied so tight, even a little wriggle felt like my bones would break.

I was suspended over a massive pot of boiling water. Steam scalded my face.

The little rock Soul that had invited me stood nearby.

"Why?" I croaked. As if an explanation would stop my demise.

"I thought… we were friends." I said, filled with injustice.

The little Soul looked sad.

Truly sad.

"I have a family," it said softly. "And wounded ones to feed."

Only now did i look properly, and noticed the wounded ones.

They stared at me with anger and hate.

And then I realized.

The crystal fruits and warm mineral broth I consumed last night.

It was their very flesh... their limbs.

The stone soul had fed me its family?

I stared at it in disbelief.

It replied. "We hurt, but everyone must play their part to survive. Sacrifice breeds success."

I was horrified.

"When we boil you," it continued, "the agony from your death will nourish us for weeks."

Something inside me went hollow.

That was when I understood.

Nothing in this world was actually good.

Only NEEDED as it was NECESSARY.

And a thought surfaced in my mind—one I felt did not belong to me, but to the voice of my late Elena.

> Do not expect the world to be just.

Expect it to be as it is... surviving.

However, Chronovore began to laugh...

(Author's note: Yes. Stories will pop up from time to time. Now, let's begin Volume 2.)

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