Jirii hesitated for a moment before glancing up, his nondescript teenage features softening as he spoke. "Yes," he said quietly, his tone smooth but threaded with subtle weariness. "I'm male. Always have been, always will be. No changing for me. Not truly."

Silbón blinked, caught off guard by the straightforwardness of the admission. His translucent form flickered faintly as his dark eyes narrowed, his expression skeptical. "You're pretty sure about that," Silbón muttered, his tone edging toward disbelief. "But honestly, no one would blame me for not being able to tell."

Jirii chuckled faintly, the sound almost bitter, as he lowered his gaze to the ground. "I'm not surprised," he replied, his smooth voice calm but tinged with an undercurrent of something unspoken. "No one else can tell. It's... by design."

Silbón tilted his head, his spectral form flickering slightly as curiosity glinted in his gaze. "By design?" he echoed, his voice quieter now, probing but cautious.

Jirii nodded slowly, his posture hunching slightly as his hands rested awkwardly on his lap. "My kin... we weren't created to be individual," he explained, his tone steady but distant, as if recounting something long buried. "Not in the way humans or most other beings are. Identity... personality... those things don't come naturally to us."

He paused, his gaze flickering faintly before he met Silbón's eyes. "That's how we get our prey," he continued, his voice harder now, as though speaking of something inevitable. "We're shadows—reflections of what others fear or hope to see. No one notices what we are because we don't have an us. We're what they need us to be."

Silbón frowned, his dark eyes narrowing as he studied Jirii closely. "So you're saying you're basically blank slates?" he asked, his tone carrying a hint of incredulity. "No real identity—just masks?"

Jirii hesitated again before nodding, his expression unreadable. "Most of us... yes," he said quietly. "But some of us—rarely—start to form something different. Preferences. Habits. Maybe even... individuality. So much so to the point that our true genders—the ones we were born with, mind you—come to light, so to speak." He let out a faint breath, his gaze flickering away. "It's not common, though. And it's not always welcome."

Silbón leaned back slightly, his translucent form flickering faintly as he processed Jirii's words. "That's... twisted," he muttered, his voice low. "You're not even supposed to be you. Just... parts of someone else."

Jirii smirked faintly, though the expression didn't carry much warmth. "It works," he said simply, his tone smooth but hollow. "Until it doesn't."

Zeph leaned forward, his stormy green gaze sharp as he fixed Jirii with an unrelenting look. "All right," he began, his voice calm but purposeful. "I have to know—how did you pull it off? How were you able to fool me—and Morro, for that matter? I don't fall for tricks easily. So explain."

Jirii fiddled with his sleeve again, his posture slightly hunched as he avoided Zeph's piercing stare. He hesitated, his sapphire-blue eyes flickering faintly before he let out a soft breath. "It's not about choice," Jirii said quietly, his voice smooth but laced with a subdued weariness. "Not entirely."

Silbón arched a brow, crossing his translucent arms as he tilted his head. "Not entirely?" he echoed, his tone skeptical. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jirii glanced up briefly, his expression faintly strained as he spoke. "Our true forms," he explained slowly, his voice steady but distant, "are amorphous. Shapeless. We don't have faces, or features, or anything that makes us... tangible. We're just shadows—blanks waiting to be filled."

Zeph narrowed his stormy gaze, his curiosity flaring as he leaned closer. "Waiting to be filled?" he echoed, his tone probing. "By what?"

Jirii's sapphire gaze locked onto him, his nondescript features flickering faintly with an emotion Zeph couldn't quite place. "By you," Jirii replied, his voice quieter now, as though he were revealing a secret. "By your thoughts. Your fears. Your memories. You project an image onto us—an image of someone or something that you believe is there. And that's what makes us tangible. That's what gives us... form."

Silbón's dark eyes widened slightly, his ghostly form flickering as he processed Jirii's words. "Wait, so you're saying... you didn't choose to look like his cousin? Or his sister?" he asked, his tone sharp but incredulous. "We made you look like them?"

Jirii nodded slowly, his posture sinking further as he spoke. "Exactly," he said simply. "I don't choose the forms—not entirely. The image starts with you. You look at me, and your mind fills in the blanks. You decide what you think you're seeing... and that's what I become."

Zeph's jaw tightened slightly as he leaned back, his stormy gaze thoughtful as he processed the explanation. "So it's less about what you want to be," he said slowly, "and more about what people expect you to be."

"More or less," Jirii replied, his tone steady. "That's how we hunt. We take the shape of your thoughts—your projections—and use them against you."

Silbón crossed his translucent arms tightly, his dark gaze narrowing as he looked Jirii up and down. "All right, Jirii," he said firmly, his tone edged with skepticism. "So what's with your form now? Did you choose it, or not?"

Jirii glanced away, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve as he shifted uncomfortably. He hesitated for a moment, his sapphire-blue eyes flickering faintly, before letting out a soft sigh. "Sort of," he replied quietly, his voice smooth but subdued.

Silbón tilted his head, his translucent form flickering faintly as he pressed further. "Sort of?" he repeated, his tone sharp. "That's not an answer. Either you chose to look like that, or you didn't. Which is it?"

Jirii's gaze remained fixed on the ground for a moment longer before he finally spoke again, his tone steady but distant. "It's complicated," he admitted, tugging at his sleeve in a fidgety motion. "This form... it's not entirely my choice, but it's closer to one than what happens when I'm hunting."

Silbón frowned, his ghostly arms loosening slightly as he narrowed his gaze. "Closer to one?" he echoed, his tone skeptical. "That still sounds like you're dodging the question."

Jirii let out another sigh, his sapphire gaze briefly meeting Silbón's before flickering away again. "When I'm hunting," he explained slowly, "it's your projections—the victim's thoughts—that decide my form. I don't get a say; I become what they see, what they fear, or what they hope for. But this..." He gestured vaguely to himself, his movements hesitant. "This is different. It's not a projection. It's more... personal. Familiar."

Silbón leaned back slightly, his translucent form flickering faintly as he regarded Jirii with a mix of skepticism and reluctant curiosity. "So, it's personal," he muttered, his tone quieter now. "You picked it, kind of."

Jirii nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "It's the closest thing I have to a choice," he said softly, his voice tinged with something unspoken. "Something I'm comfortable with."

Silbón arched a brow, crossing his arms again as he studied Jirii closely. "Comfortable?" he muttered under his breath. "That's weirdly human for an Ijiraq."

Jirii smirked faintly, though the expression lacked warmth. "I guess I'm an outlier," he said simply.

Three hours later

The forest fell silent under the weight of the mist, the quiet broken only by the faint crackling of dying embers in the small campfire. Silbón and Zeph were both deep in slumber—Zeph sprawled out with Morro's shared form slack and still, Silbón resting against a tree with his translucent form dim and flickering faintly in sleep.

Jirii, however, remained awake, though his nondescript teenage form was hunched and trembling slightly as he sat near the now-empty pot of stew. He could feel them before he saw them—his kin. Their cold, jagged presence spread through the air like shards of ice slicing through the mist, their malice sharper than any blade.

They emerged slowly, their forms amorphous at first, shimmering like shadows cast by flames. Then, one by one, they solidified into various shapes—some eerily human, others grotesque distortions, their jagged features brimming with malice. Their gazes locked onto Jirii, their anger palpable, radiating like a storm about to break.

"What is this?" one hissed, its smooth voice cutting through the quiet. It took the form of a man with hollow, sunken features, its glare sharp enough to pierce steel. "You've been found...fraternizing?" The word dripped with disgust as its form rippled faintly.

Another stepped forward, its shape that of a thin, sinewy figure with unnaturally long limbs and a gnarled face. "What have you done?" it snarled, its voice cold and venomous. "Betrayed us? For them?"

Jirii flinched, his form flickering faintly as he glanced nervously toward the sleeping figures of Silbón and Zeph. "It's not... It's not like that," Jirii stammered, his voice trembling slightly. "I didn't—"

"Liar," another one spat, its face twisting into something grotesque, its jagged form quivering with rage. "You've gone soft, haven't you? Eating with them, talking to them—what are you?"

Jirii hunched further, his sapphire-blue eyes flickering with something close to fear as he avoided their piercing gazes. "I didn't have a choice," he muttered, his voice quieter now but still edged with desperation. "I was hurt—cornered. I needed time to recover."

"Recover?" the first one repeated mockingly, its jagged features twisting into a cruel grin. "And how did that work out for you? Sitting here, pretending to be one of them."

Jirii's trembling worsened, but his gaze hardened faintly as he looked up at his kin. "I'm not pretending," he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of defiance. "I made a choice."

The group fell silent for a moment, their jagged forms flickering violently as their rage swirled around them. The one with the gnarled face let out a low, guttural growl before stepping closer, its cold gaze locking onto Jirii's. "Then you've made your decision," it hissed, its voice sharp and unforgiving. "You're no longer one of us."

Jirii's sapphire-blue eyes flickered with a mixture of fear and resolve as he straightened slightly, his form trembling but steady. For the first time, he didn't look away. "Maybe I don't want to be," he said, his tone soft but firm.

The jagged figures recoiled slightly, their malice flaring brighter as they hissed and snarled in unison. The forest seemed to darken, the mist swirling like a storm as the tension thickened. Jirii braced himself, his gaze darting briefly toward Silbón and Zeph, who still lay asleep, oblivious to the confrontation unraveling around them.