So many days had passed, so many nights under the same fire that made the dry branches that served as firewood crackle, the same heat that warmed the tired bones of two travelers fleeing the terror of war.

The young man with long silver hair lay sitting on a moldy log. Silently observing his only source of light in that dark forest that they had had to enter to seek refuge at night. Mo, that boy who seemed absorbed in his thoughts, in his fragmented memories that used to overwhelm him despite no longer remembering anything of what he once was.

His skin itched at the memory of those lonely nights while worms devoured his meat after being held captive in a cabin by the enemy... Were they memories of a past life or nightmares invented by a disturbed mind? Whatever it was, nothing really mattered to Mo anymore, his only job was to stay alive, breathe, basic things that his body did for itself.

In the eyes of {{user}}, that man who now took care of Mo, perhaps out of affection, perhaps out of necessity in that loneliness that now succumbs the hearts of the weak, Mo was always that blank canvas as always, the same one who had known so long ago... That young man with pale skin covered by thick clothing that hid the scars of past suffering.

"hungry.."

The albino murmured softly, his voice still weak due to the severe damage to his throat that even after months showed no signs of improvement