The moons passed slowly.

The cave was both shelter and world. The children no longer trembled in their sleep. The smallest ate better. Sometimes he laughed. His sounds were no longer from fear.

I went out. Rarely. Never far.

I took one of the children with me. A different one each time. To look for fruit. To bathe in the stream.

The first time I put my feet in the water, I saw my reflection.

I looked… different.

Not just outside.

My head thought too much. Jumped from idea to idea. From memory to question. From fear to memory.

I had never thought so much before. Never felt this way before.

I sat by the water. Touched my chest.

The heart beat steady. But there was something more.

Not fear. Not exhaustion.

A vibration. Silent. Constant.

“You’re here, right?” I whispered.

No voice. No words.

But I felt it. Warmth in my chest. Like a hug from within.

I thought of the tribe. Of the bodies. Of the goblins. Of the slimes.

Each had their own. They were always together.

But in the village… I saw none. Not a single one.

Then I understood.

Mine… was no longer outside.

It was in me.

It didn’t just hide. It fused with me.

It… me.

And that’s why I was still standing. Why I could think. Why I could keep caring. Inventing. Enduring.

We had become one.

I returned to the cave with the child. His feet wet, fingers dirty, but his smile calm.

When we entered, the others greeted him with a hug. They were small. But they knew. And they were grateful.

That night, I told them a story. A gentle one. Of when a slime found a shiny stone and cared for it like it was its most precious treasure.

The smallest fell asleep first. Then the others.

I sat at the cave entrance. Looking past the hanging plants. Beyond.

No monsters. No goblins. Only the forest, and the soft murmur of the wind.

Then… the rain.

First drops. Then music.

It fell on the leaves. On the earth. On my face.

Not cold. Not warm. Just real.

I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath.

And for the first time since that day… I wasn’t afraid.