Marcus sat down on a bench, though he couldn't quite remember when or how. His feet had brought him there, away from the noise and clutter of the others, as if guided by something unconscious. The place didn't matter. Nor did the time. Only the silent chaos inside him did.
He stared at the ground—not searching, but simply because he didn't want to look at anything else.
"What drives people to do anything?"
The question rang through his mind, sudden and uninvited, as if someone had planted it there and left it to bloom.
"Why does my father keep searching? Why does the grocer wake up every morning? Why am I even breathing right now?"
His gaze drifted, as though chasing a wisp of smoke that wasn't there.
"Maybe... because they want something to happen. They want to leave something behind, to eat, to survive... to live."
A faint smile played on his lips, barely there, like the first light of dawn that never touches the earth.
"People want to feel alive. That's all. As for me..."
His thoughts paused, as if waiting for a verdict.
"I don't have some grand cause. No noble dream. Right now, nothing seems more interesting than becoming a Walker."
He lifted his head and stared into the emptiness ahead. Then, briefly, he closed his eyes.
"And that's enough."
But silence is a fragile thing.
A calm voice, slightly coarse, came from beside him:
"You think too much."
Marcus opened his eyes slowly. He turned toward the voice and saw him sitting there—as if he had always been there.
Haroun the Silent.
There was nothing particularly striking about his appearance, nothing hostile in his tone. But his presence… it was strange. Like the air around him had thickened.
Marcus didn't reply. There was nothing to say.
With unnatural quiet, Haroun stood from his seat, not sparing Marcus a glance, and walked away. His steps made no sound, as though he wasn't walking but slowly vanishing.
Marcus watched until he was gone.
Then, as if struck by a long-lost memory, he murmured:
"Ah… him. He was in the inner battle just minutes ago."
He squinted, trying to recall the details. Yes—he had been there, standing in the chaos. Unmoving. Untouched. As if the battle had happened around him, not to him.
"Why didn't I notice him before?" he whispered.
"Or... why did he notice me now?"
A chill crept down his spine. Not fear—something else.
An awakening.
As if something inside him had opened its eyes for the first time.
A fleeting moment…
But not a meaningless one.