It was midday when they left, the sky was clear, as if rinsed clean by a late night rain.
"Well, that was him," one of the tall guys muttered to the others, watching from the shade of a half-broken arch.
"You sure?" another asked, squinting.
No reply - just a quiet grunt and the tightening of a jaw.
"Follow them. Find the location. If they're alone, we move in."
"Be careful," another added. "Last time, he slipped away like a damn fish. He's probably still injured though. Better odds for us."
Unaware they had been spotted, Mike and Kuro kept riding.
A figure stepped into view - a familiar one. It was the same guy Kuro had seen when running from those three thugs near the market weeks ago.
Noticing the stranger, one of the gang members nudged the leader with a sharp elbow.
"Oi," he whispered. "Weird guy at nine o'clock."
"Huh?"
The leader turned, eyes narrowing - and locked onto the figure.
"Well, well... look what we've got. A fresh meal today, boys."
But the strange man only smirked, faint and mocking. Without a word, he snapped his fingers.
"Next time, you guys will have a chance." he said, almost bored - then turned and vanished into the street haze.
The three gang members collapsed where they stood.
…
Meanwhile, Kuro and Mike passed places they knew well: an old tech station, a dry canal, the sugarcane shack where they used to hang out after class. All of it unspooled like a faded film reel.
There was no easy way to describe the feeling. But yet, strangely it brought a sense of peace, like they had lived out an entire chapter and were ready to turn the page.
The trees shimmered with droplets that had not yet dried. The air was sharp, not from cold, but clarity.
The path felt like a map being unfolded after years.
The city shrank behind them in a shimmer of silver and silence. No farewell. No announcement. Just two figures on modified e-bikes, cutting through the quiet.
Mike didn't say much. He preferred it this way - less talking, more tracking.
Kuro rode behind him, not out of habit, but because he liked watching Mike steer. It grounded him, somehow. Made it feel real.
Mike and Kuro left without leaving a note. Not because they feared anyone would stop them, but because they didn't want to make anyone worry. And the truth was, they hadn't even named this journey.
Calling it an expedition felt childish. Calling it a search for answers didn't quite fit either. All they knew was this: if they didn't go, they would remain trapped in questions with no end.
They still felt a sliver of fear, remembering Mr. Than's words. But they were young. They held a quiet belief that if things went wrong, they could always run.
Kuro carried his old canvas backpack, stuffed with notebooks, printed maps, and a collapsible baton he'd quietly gotten from a maintenance engineer.
Mike, as usual, carried a heavy sling bag filled with handmade sensors, micro-energy detectors, a UV lamp, and a coil of insulated wire for emergency repairs.
They were heading toward the old brick break, where Luxios infrastructure dissolved into wild terrain.Beyond that lay the territory officially marked "Unfit for Settlement". But locals called it "Hollow's Edge.". And buried in old registry maps, they had found its forgotten name: Extroma.
They got off, packed their bags in silence, and turned around - just once to look at the road behind them.
"Almost healed" Kuro said, rotating his shoulder. "Just a few bruises left... but this one's being stubborn."
"Take it slow," Mike replied. "We're not in a hurry."
They followed the old road, winding along the forest's edge and over stone slopes. The dirt bore faint traces of wheel marks from students long before them.
Mike took the lead, map in hand.
It wasn't much - a rough sketch they had drawn over several nights, to find the safest place.
A little pressure, huh? Kuro thought.
They'd gone into the wild before.
But this was the first time it was just the two of them.
Wind streamed through their hair, chilly enough to stay alert, but not cold enough to bite. Whenever they passed a thin forest patch, Kuro felt like he was sliding past the contours of youth itself.
"There," he said. "Looks like someone camped."
It was barely visible - a shallow hollow etched into the stone, shaded by the wide arms of an old blackwood tree.
Inside, soot-stained rocks hinted at fire. Not recent, but not ancient either. Someone had been here. Someone who left quietly.
Mike knelt and unrolled their map, layering it over a plastic sheet to keep it steady in the wind.
Kuro took a slow sip from his water bottle, eyes fixed on the ridgeline ahead - a jagged line drawn by nature, like an unfinished sketch waiting for meaning.
For a long moment, neither spoke. They didn't need to. The stillness between them carried a truth too sharp to say aloud.
If Kuro didn't go, curiosity would haunt him. If Mike stayed behind, doubt would slowly unravel the framework of everything he believed.
Mike circled three points on the map: Mr. Than's supposed valley, their current makeshift campsite, and the location where they had left the e-bikes.
Mike finally broke it, his voice low.
"We stop here before sunset," he said, pointing to a knoll that overlooked the basin.
"Tomorrow, we go on foot to the blur point."
They pressed forward.
They crossed a shallow stream, the water clear as glass, mirroring a pale sky above. Kuro dipped his hands in, watching the ripples widen.
For a moment, those ripples felt like energy fields, centered, expanding, and affecting everything around them.
Interesting!
"This must be the place," Kuro murmured.
"Shouldn't we bring the fishing rod?" he added, half-grinning. "If we're camping here, might as well make it fantastic."
Mike didn't answer immediately.
He stepped forward, eyes scanning the terrain - evaluating slope, wind, distance from the ridge.
Then he nodded once.
They moved with quiet coordination.
Mike set up a tent. Kuro fetched water and laid out a cloth for their instruments. The sensors powered on, faint lights blinking like newborn stars.
Their base camp stood on high ground, overlooking the sunken land below.
"I'll go find some firewood," Kuro said, already making his way toward the lower brush. "We'll need a few sticks to keep the fire going overnight."
Mike looked up from the stove.
"If anything happens - hit the button. No hesitation."
Mike sat on the ground, glancing now and then toward the far ridge.
The sunset climbed the horizon in deep strokes of rose and amber.
It painted everything it touched with a quiet heat, igniting something wordless in both of them.
A flicker of awe.
Of belief.
The light receded, slowly, like it was being drawn away by unseen hands. And the world surrendered to the rule of darkness.
Dinner was simple: ration bars, warm water with a splash of honey, and a tiny stove Mike had crafted during survival class.
They sat afterward, not too close, but near enough to feel the same drifting thought: this might be the last still moment before the unknown.
They fed a small fire beside the tent. Dry sticks cracked in amber light. The fire danced across their faces.
Kuro broke the silence. "Do you believe in ghosts?"
Mike gave a tired smile. "Depends on the kind."
"When I was little," Kuro said, voice low, "I once heard someone calling my name in my sleep. But when I woke up, no one was there. It felt like something familiar was waiting for me to remember a memory I never had."
Mike said nothing. The fire flickered in his eyes.
Kuro shared a few more fragments, unclear images, odd midday scents, shadows at the corner of his eye.
They made no attempt to explain them away. They just sat there, listening as if remembering the stories of an old friend.
Kuro leaned back on his pack, staring at the stars. Mike sat upright, still flipping pages in his notebook.
"You know," Mike suddenly said, "I used to think anything that couldn't be measured wasn't real. Ghosts, for instance. Just fiction."
"And now?"
He paused. "Now I wonder… if they weren't real, why would we keep leaving traces behind?"
Kuro smiled. Not in mockery, but in recognition.
The night deepened.
The moon rose. Mist clung to the ground in pale streaks.
Suddenly, a wolf's howl echoed from somewhere beyond the hills. Low, drawn-out, vibrating through the slopes.
They heard it clearly. But neither stirred.
They weren't fearless.
They simply learned enough to know their camp was on high, dry ground, away from water or heavy cover. Wolves rarely came close to people at night here. The howl was just a reminder that nature was still out there. Not a threat. Just presence.
"If we die tomorrow morning," Kuro muttered with his eyes closed, smiling, "don't regret anything."
Mike replied softly, as if it were routine. "Worst case, we die together."
As sleep finally took them, a breeze passed through the rocks, carrying a scent that was hard to place.
Old wood? Damp paper? Or the smell of memories returning from a dream that never ended?
A sleepy murmur broke the silence of the night, as the fire quietly faded to embers.
Above, a single star blinked. Then vanished.