The cold was relentless. The once-blooming landscape now lay pale and lifeless, blanketed in a frozen silence. Could the flowers ever return to this field, as they had year after year—or, like the dead, would they never come back? Would people mourn the loss of such beauty when it was gone, or would they simply turn their attention to other beautiful things until there was nothing left?

Nick trudged up the barren hill, his coat wrapped tightly around him against the icy wind. His hands were buried in his pockets, and a scarf shielded his neck from the biting cold. The sky began to darken—a bad omen. But as the air grew dense with fog, Nick took it as a good sign: a river must be nearby. It was the river that ran through the old town he was searching for.

The town was a miserable place, filled with the soulless. But it was also a crowded place, and with enough people, there was always a chance—however small—of meeting someone who was still truly human.

By the time Nick reached the edge of the city, the sky was pitch black. From the hill, he looked down at the sprawling city lights. The town was a chaotic mix of old and new, with houses packed tightly together, filling every available inch of space. Towering, brightly lit skyscrapers stood side by side with tiny, dilapidated homes.

But at the city’s heart lay something magnificent: an ancient wall, once built to defend against invaders, now served as a symbolic divide between the old and the new. Lights illuminated the wall, casting a warm glow over the gothic churches and historic buildings clustered around it.

Nick entered the city when the moon hung high in the sky.

The district he found himself in was the epitome of lost humanity. A gateway to the red-light district led him into a world stripped of essence and soul.

He passed a man who looked like a bloated blobfish, waddling drunkenly through the streets like a sack of potatoes out of place. The man clutched a bottle of something that made his breath smell rotten and his crooked teeth even more visible. He stumbled, singing a cheerful tune before vomiting in the shadow of a nearby hooker.

Disgusted, the woman kicked him in the face with her stiletto, leaving him unconscious and bleeding on the ground. She clicked her tongue in annoyance, muttering curses under her breath. She had just lost a customer.

Shadows were everywhere, moving aimlessly. Lust overflowed, drowning any sense of love. Some gave their bodies for money, their essence long gone. Even the children of the prostitutes were without shape, their essence stolen in early childhood—casualties of soulless men who paid enough money to impregnate their mothers.

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The air reeked of alcohol and tobacco, thick and suffocating. The place felt rotten, stagnant, like a festering wound that would never heal.

Nick wandered through the streets, his eyes scanning the shadows, trying to understand how and when these people had lost their essence.

His gaze fell on a shadow in the form of a prostitute. He focused on her formless figure, searching for the rings. Like the rings of a tree, people carried the defining moments of their lives etched into their souls. For her, it was her 14th birthday—the day her father raped her one too many times.

She became pregnant with her own father’s child, and the weight of it shattered her. She had killed the baby, nearly taking her own life in the process. Homeless and desperate, she roamed the streets. Eventually, she turned to the one thing her father had always told her she was good at.

Her essence was stolen by a man who had already lost his own and sought to reclaim it in the worst way. Over time, she had let the rest of her essence slip away, accepting her fate and ceasing to fight against the life she lived. The money was good, and that was enough for her.

Nick was struck by how clearly this particular shadow told its story. Normally, he would have had to watch the shadow’s movements more carefully, piecing together subtle signs to interpret their past. But now, the story unfolded before him like an open book.

Then, suddenly, pain exploded in Nick’s head. It felt like a drill boring into his skull. He clutched his temples, his vision swimming as the world faded to black.

In the darkness, memories clawed their way back to him—a night he had buried deep within himself.

His mother had tried to steal a part of his essence to replace the part she had lost when she gave birth to him. He saw her clearly now, pinning his arm down with her long red nails as she pressed a cigarette lighter against his skin. Her red lips whispered cruel words: “You deserve this.”

Her blue eyes showed no guilt, only cold indifference. Her fake diamond earrings dangled mockingly as she wore them just to impress others.

Nick had forgotten this moment. But now, he saw it for what it was: a time he lost part of his form.

When Nick awoke, he was lying in a filthy alley. His coat, scarf, and money were gone. Bruises covered his body, and he had been discarded like a drug addict left to rot.

Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, shivering in nothing but a thin, soaked T-shirt. His papers lay in a puddle nearby, waterlogged but still intact. He bent down to retrieve them.

Looking up at the night sky, he saw no stars. Only darkness.

Then, a voice echoed in his memory. His boyfriend’s words, spoken years ago:

“Live will not make anything easy for you, if no one was there before you to pave the way. When we go on the search for essence together you will see that the unpaved roads are the hardest to go, but they have the highest reward in the end.”

Nick took a deep breath, steadying himself. This road wasn’t completely unpaved—there was someone here he knew.

At the far end of the red-light district, he found a crooked house with a crooked door. He knocked firmly.

A woman opened the door, her formless face frozen in surprise. Her smile quickly faded.

“Hello, Mother,” Nick said, stepping inside without another word.