The sand dragged beneath Ken's boots as he passed the man, heartbeat slow, breaths heavy.
Just keep walking… don't give him a reason…
He had made it a few steps beyond the stranger when the man's voice stopped him cold.
"Why are you passing through this desert?"
Ken froze.
That voice wasn't angry. Just… curious.
But he had no answer.
He didn't even know what year it was. Or where he was. Or how many times he had died already.
Ken turned his head slightly, lips dry, mind blank.
"I… I don't know."
The man stared at him, expression unreadable.
Then, without a word — he moved.
Fast.
A blur of motion.
Ken barely flinched before he felt it — something sharp sinking deep into his chest. His body jolted.
He looked down.
A blade. Cold. Clean. Straight through his heart.
You have died.
Ken gasped, eyes snapping open.
The desert again. Same place. Same sun. Same pain.
But the man?
Gone.
"He doesn't even remember me," Ken whispered.
His voice was trembling — not from fear.
From the pointlessness of it all.
"Why are you passing through this desert?"
That question stuck in his head now. Not as a whisper. Not from magic. Just memory.
And he still didn't have an answer.
He stood up again.
And started walking again.