Frey stared, his eyes widening slowly in disbelief.
They were scattered across the world ... in ancient ruins, forgotten relics, hidden paintings no one had ever been able to decipher.
Nameless had found many of them during his journey.
"It’s as if someone placed them deliberately... leaving behind clues for whoever comes after... someone searching for the Aether," he said, a faint frown crossing his face.
Frey remained silent, trying to process what he was seeing.
He saw figures cloaked in darkness, gathered along the edges of the paintings—each one emanating sparks eerily similar to that strange energy Nameless wielded.
Men and women... all following a single woman, drawn larger and more prominently than the rest.
Darkness spread around her like living shadows, and from her hand surged a spark far greater than all the others combined.
On the opposite side of the painting, Frey saw something else.
A dense, creeping mist—alive, as though it breathed—within it glowed eerie golden eyes that seemed to drag all who gazed upon them into oblivion.
Frey turned to another painting.
There, the same woman stood again... smiling faintly.
Before her sat a broad-shouldered man with long black hair ... his presence radiating strength, warmth, and quiet authority.
Beside him were two children, one older than the other—their backs turned, their faces unseen.
It looked as though she was teaching them something. Before them stood an enormous library... filled with countless books.
Frey’s breath hitched.
That library... it resembled the one he had seen within Nameless’s mask. It felt almost identical.
He turned away abruptly, a strange bitterness rising in his chest... an unfamiliar pain tightening his breath.
Yet another painting caught his gaze.
A castle... or perhaps a massive, shadowed manor ... its interior revealed in haunting detail.
A long dining table stood at the center of a vast hall, its black stone walls built in a style unlike anything Frey had ever seen.
Seated around it were the same man... and the same woman.
Surrounding them were many children—yet their faces were blurred, as if deliberately erased.
The longer Frey stared, the heavier his breathing became... even though he was nothing more than a phantom within these memories.
All of them carried a suffocating presence.
But that woman... stood out above all.
She was... overwhelming.
"Endure it," Nameless said quietly, his expression mirroring Frey’s. "These traces... were left for us."
There were countless paintings... more and more of them stretching endlessly before his eyes.
Each one depicted a different scene, a different moment—distinct, vivid, and unsettling in its own way.
But what caught Frey’s attention most... was that many of them revolved around that woman—and the older child he had seen before.
She hovered around him like a ghost.
Her long black dress trailed across the ground, wrapping around him like a spider’s cocoon, enclosing him from all sides.
She whispered into his ear... from the right, from the left ... her presence inescapable.
And each time... the child moved according to her rhythm.
They walked together, hand in hand, as she guided him through the vast library—teaching him things Frey himself could not comprehend.
Until finally... they arrived before one of the largest paintings Nameless had ever discovered.
In it, the child sat upon a wooden chair, his face completely obscured.
Behind him stood the terrifying woman, her shadows enveloping him entirely, her slender hands resting gently upon his shoulders... a gesture that spoke of an unbreakable bond.
Before them lay a table... and upon it, an open book ... dark, strange, and deeply ominous.
To their right, the man appeared, reaching out toward the child.
His face was hidden, but his posture betrayed something unmistakable... fear, urgency, concern.
Behind him, the other children stood at a distance, watching in silence.
To their left, the dreadful mist surged once more, stretching toward the child as well...
Yet the woman repelled it violently, as if the mist itself feared her... feared her very existence.
The painting felt alive.
Frey’s body broke into a cold sweat, his breathing growing uneven, unable to understand the source of his overwhelming unease.
"What the hell is this...? What are these paintings supposed to be?"
He clutched his chest tightly, struggling to remain standing, refusing to fall to one knee.
"Why... why do I feel this emptiness... this bitterness every time I look at them?"
Pain coursed through him.
Nameless stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Frey slowly raised his head... only to realize Nameless felt it too.
The difference was... Nameless endured it.
He suppressed it... controlled it.
"This, Frey..." Nameless said quietly, his voice heavy, "is the evidence that led me... to the truth."
Frey’s eyes widened.
"Did you... uncover it? The meaning behind these paintings... the truth of your existence... and mine?"
They stared at one another, tension thicker than ever.
And everything shifted... the moment Nameless nodded—slowly, heavily, as if carrying the weight of worlds.
Frey was stunned.
The truth... was already within their grasp.
Yet the Nameless before him did not look like someone who held that truth.
He looked... just as lost as Frey.
And there was a reason for that.
"I found it," Nameless said, his voice quieter now. "But I couldn’t bear it... not back then."
The memory changed.
Frey watched as Nameless reached into himself... and tore something out.
A fragment of memory. Of power.
Something radiant.
Something important.
"I removed it... and entrusted it to the one person I trusted more than anyone in this world."
Before Frey’s eyes, Nameless handed that fragment away.
To the man who believed in him without hesitation.
To the one he trusted completely.
Nameless... gave it to Gehrman.
He entrusted him with it.
Told him to protect it. To hide it... until the day came when it must be returned.
He told him to guard it with his life.
And Gehrman... obeyed.
Nameless let out a faint laugh at the memory.
"I never expected him to follow my words so literally," he said. "He hid that power within his own body... fused it with himself, so no one could ever take it from him."
"He did it... knowing full well what it meant."
"That he would die... when the time came."
Nameless’s eyes trembled.
For a brief moment... he almost broke.
"He threw his life away without hesitation... carried out the impossible task I gave him... enduring a suffering no one else could ever understand."
"Perhaps you hated him for most of your life..."
"But he was... the only person I can truly call..."
"A friend."
More than that, even.
Gehrman’s death... was necessary.
Only through it could the memory be released ... so it could return to Nameless now.
That memory had become part of Gehrman’s very existence.
Which meant... the moment it was reclaimed ...
Gehrman ceased to exist.
Gone.
Even Nameless’s mastery over life and death could not bring him back.
Gehrman died... with no return.
And that truth carved something deep into both Nameless... and Frey, who now realized that all this time...
He had never truly understood the blue-eyed man.
The man who made this moment possible.
The man who paved the way... for the truth.
The memory was now open.
The path stood before them.
Frey and Nameless stepped forward ... toward it.
Toward the truth.
A truth bought... by the sacrifice of one man.
At the same moment, both of them clenched their fists.
Their resolve sharpened.
And together...
They walked into the light.
Whatever awaited them beyond it ...
They would face it.
Together.