Her voice grew softer, slower, as if she were speaking more to herself than to him. "But also comforting. I find comfort in the unknown. I don't know what will happen if I die... The world will continue, of course. I'm not special, not the main character or something. But this world will end for me. What will happen after it? Was I good enough?" She let out a quiet, self-aware breath. "No... not really. But I have no idea what I was supposed to be. How should I be able to know where to move to when the destination is unknown to me and the way is foggy?" He listened without interrupting, his cigarette burning low, a faint trail of smoke curling into the night air between them. When she paused, he spoke, his voice rough but quieter than she'd ever heard it. "Maybe the point isn't to know where you're going. Maybe the point is to keep walking until the fog clears." She turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting his in the dim light. "And if it never clears?" He held her gaze, steady and unblinking. "Then you learn to see in the dark." Her voice was soft, almost childlike, as she whispered the words into the night. "But I want to reach the light." She looked at him, her eyes searching his face in the dim glow of the moon. "I don't want to just learn to see in the dark. I want to find the light. I want to feel like I'm moving toward something, not just surviving the dark." He was quiet for a long moment, his cigarette burning low between his fingers. When he spoke, his voice was low, rough at the edges. "Then keep moving. Even if the fog doesn't clear. Even if you don't know where you're going. The light isn't always a place—it's the direction you choose."

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