Could a lot change within a minute? Yes. Five minutes? Half an hour? A full hour? Most likely as well.

Hope thought he was a testament to that from when he completed his First Nightmare up to battling life and death to reach Sector Two.

But Hope didn't know how dependent he'd be with time.

Or how much of an enemy it could be.

'1564…1565….1566…'

At first, there was somewhat of a peaceful balance before Hope had started counting the seconds in his head while he pretended to sleep.

All around, the voices of the people hummed in the air with pauses of laughter, the orb lights twinkled like tiny bottled suns above, and food was a hand reach away.

But Hope also noticed that any talk with the old man seemed to lead to personal inquiries.

Every time Hope pretended to wake up to eat more of his meals, the old man was ready to pry on Hope's identity.

Another question about his mother.

Another about his father.

Where did Hope come from? Was Hope brothers with the young boy? How did he manage to survive? Who taught him how to fight? Was there anything else he needed?

'The hell is this guy's problem…'

Do all adults interrogate their guests like that?

At that time, Hope also heard the Clara lady making a ruckus when the young boy had finally woken up. Almost relieved actually.

Her voice rang in the air that could not be missed by any means.

An annoying shrill.

"Oh, you're awake! Here you must eat. Eat! I have some cooked meat just waiting for you. Huh? My name? Why it's Clara! And you're in Sector Two!"

'I'm sure he's only tired. Not deaf.' Hope thought as he glanced over from the open tarp tent.

Her racing words flooded the poor boy as she started to hand him his cooked meal. Later on, she also handed him a jacket as the air slowly chilled towards sunset hour. Although, the jacket she'd given him was worn and stained with black patches; its length passing his waist and fingers from what Hope could see.

"Oh…uh t-thank you.."

The boy made a puzzled and worried expression with no choice but to accept the items placed in his arms.

"Oh, don't you worry a thing, boy. Oh, your name is Adam correct? I think I heard from- From… Oh well! I've heard your name is Adam! Haha just like the Bible, isn't it? Lord's will be done. Fitting for this place really. Now let's not get cold. Tell me anything- Anything that's worrying you and I'll be sure to fix it. We are all quite handy and do our part here."

The lady was quick in laying out empty comforting words left and right as if the boy would cry at any given moment.

He gave a nervous smile. Then his pale cracked lips parted as he took a bite from the cooked meat and a blossom of relief and excitement bloomed on his face.

Of course, there was no mention of any 'brother' or a person accompanying the boy as the lady had promised.

Not that the boy seemed distraught either for his ghost companion.

But all in all…

'He's fine.' Hope had thought.

So, Hope had laid back again and pretended to sleep, prioritizing doing nothing but relaxing, feeling new strength breathe into his sore muscles as time passed; his hand stung less and less, and his stomach and thirst were finally satisfied.

But then came the problem with his cursed Attribute…

Throughout the whole week's journey from the wastelands, Hope had been training his mind a decent amount to not be so sensitive to his thoughts and to all the sights he'd come across.

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Even as Hope relaxed—his body and senses being the most acute—Hope was able to keep the voices at bay; instead of a rush of voices, the voice sea would have whispered like a hushing mist as if tamed. Sometimes it blew too harshly in the corridors of his mind but always returned to its natural volume.

But Hope was a fool to even consider he tamed such a thing.

If there was such a possibility, he didn't have it yet.

As Hope continued to ignore interacting with the old man, as Hope relaxed and became more and more isolated with his thoughts, the number of waking voices that pressed around him started to slowly trigger more of his past. Like pulling a harmless thread, it unraveled but began letting loose thoughts fray out of his control.

'1588…1589…'

Images flitted behind Hope's eyelids like a glitched film, glimpses here and there from tangent conversations, but it was the selective voices that whispered hotly in his ear.

"Have you heard the hunting party had to avoid the southeast tunnel because of some monsters? I can't for the life of me go back out there myself!"

"Neither can I. Sigh…We must avoid the outside…"

'Make sure to lock the doors and answer to no one, Hope.'

"Didn't you smile when that little girl gave you that flower? I swear that children are so innocent with their ways!"

'Here, Hope! I made this for you-'

"Oh I'm so grateful for the Awakened's help. We haven't had this much food in so long you know."

'Let the Awakened finish the job, soldier. They always do-'

'1596…1597…'

Pain was a perfect escape.

Descriptions of his surroundings worked as well.

But if he should retire any of those choices—since he was trying to recover from his soreness and trying to fake sleep—then counting was the last option to train his focus.

"Yes. We've been taking in more newcomers as of late."

"Oh, not that many. But I pity them. Haven't you heard what happened to them-"

"We must not talk of it. It won't do us any good, you know."

'Hope! Why are you so quiet?'

!!!

'Not again-'

But there his sister was again—his sister's smile fleshing out in the blackness like a ghost revealing itself.

Even as he continued to count and forcefully imagine some random clock with hands ticking across dented lines, each failing second that passed her presence livened.

Soon, his body was beginning to be pulled into the memory as well.

The curse. The damn curse.

The Spell.

That Heart God-

'Hope…you can tell me anything you know tha-'

'No. Nope. Shut up.'

Hope gritted his teeth as he quickly sat himself up.

Someone else began speaking: "Haven't you also heard the Awakened-"

Clamp-

But Hope covered his ears.

Riiiiii-

He pressed so hard that he heard ringing in his head.

Oh the curse was even more cruel with other people present.

Well, it was always cruel.

Hope has just not tested all of its limits yet.

At that moment, the old man's arms reared back at Hope's sudden awakening from his pretend sleep.

His face strangely flushed as he buried his hands behind his back.

The old man still sat next to Hope to keep a close watch on him as the Master had instructed. But it was starting to feel like a person on a post rather than a caretaking eye.

"A-are you alright?"

'Not really.'

"I'm fine." Hope said as he rubbed his temples.

"You look awfully pale…Wait just a moment! I know someone who might have some medicine. Don't worry!"

Hope blinked. 'Wait-'

"No. Really. I'm fine- Stop-" Hope reached out to gesture for the man to stop.

But in the man's rushed persistence, he got up and shuffled away, disappearing into the maze of crowded tents.

"…"

Hope sighed and rubbed his face. Were people usually this stubborn when they catch the slightest wrong?

Hope blinked.

'Wait…' Hope frowned at that thought.

He shook his head and took deep breaths. In and out.

Now that Hope's eyes were finally open—this time without hindrance from any distractions—he locked his gaze on the small fire as it popped and cackled in his ears, him watching as the flames rolled and danced—the focus slowly decimating the intrusive voices.

'1…2…3…4…5…6…7…"

The old man had left.

How fortunate and unfortunate.

Hope would have to leave soon because of it.

'…48…49…'

How long did it take for Hope's Flaw to be in effect?

From what he observed from the sneaky eyes earlier, it averaged about a minute or so before they gave up the effort feigning indifference, then repeated their newfound curiosity about him a moment later.

'Time to move then…'

Hope let out an annoyed sigh.

He then reluctantly grabbed his rifle and backpack before walking out of the tarp tent, passing the Clara lady and the Adam boy, passing the gossiping groups, passing sleeping figures, and finally reaching one of the great hall's side walls. A few heads turned and trailed after him, skeptical even, but he paid them no heed.

But the area against the wall had fewer people.

Instead, the wall was clustered with flowers of several unique types Hope of course had never seen before—some began drooping lower as if they sensed the coming night, others raising their heads of a false morning.

Hope paused.

Then turned around and caught sight of the old man talking to someone before collecting an item from them.

When he rushed back, his steps began to slow, and a puzzled expression grew on his face till he turned a corner and reached his tent.

"…"

Hope watched in silence as a fog of confusion filled the old man as he stood at his tent alone, staring between the product in his hand and the spot where Hope sat.

It wasn't a matter of reaction where his guest may have disappeared to. His head stilled, and eyes became fixated on the item he held as if to receive some revelation from it. He did not panic at all as if he hadn't lost a whole person. But was simply puzzled by his actions.

Before, he may have seen a path laid out in front of him to fulfill a task, only for it to be randomly cut off and lead to nowhere.

Leaving him to wonder why he even was acting the way he did in the first place.