After hearing him speak, I couldn't explain why, but I felt a little more at ease. Maybe it was because there was no panic in his voice—only understanding, a bit of fatigue, and a strange familiarity... as if this wasn't the first time he'd been through something like this.
The tall young man suddenly placed a hand on my head and the head of the one who had saved me. His voice rang out like none of this was really serious:
"If you want to survive, you need to eat first. You don't want to be hungry ghosts, do you?"
I almost laughed at his carefree attitude, but the one who saved me only sighed softly. He looked at the tall man like he was used to this strange optimism but didn't argue. The atmosphere between the three of us lightened slightly, though the blood-red sky and distant, shapeless groans still loomed behind us.
Right after that, the one who saved me spoke again, his tone turning serious:
"I need to go fix the barrier and reinforce the damaged sections. You take her inside."
The tall man nodded. "Got it. Come on, beautiful, let's get food ready."
I followed him into a small room that had been converted into a kitchen. It was filled with strange ingredients I had never seen before: vegetables of odd shapes and colors, jars containing softly glowing liquids, and other things I wasn't sure could even be called food.
He handed me a bunch of vegetables and said:
"Chop these up for me."
I nodded and followed his instruction. He started boiling water, seemingly planning to make soup. Silence settled in for a moment, but in my mind, the sound of knocking still echoed—and that chill down my spine hadn't gone away.
After a while, I couldn't keep quiet and asked, unable to hide my curiosity and unease:
"That creature outside the door... what exactly was it?"
He paused for a moment, then exhaled:
"We call it the Knocker."
I hesitated:
"You call it that... because it likes knocking?"
He let out a small laugh, though there was nothing joyful in it.
"No. That name came from me and the other guy. It doesn't knock to ask to come in. It knocks... to lure in prey. Sometimes it mimics voices. Other times, it just makes knocking sounds... steady... like it's just someone lost or asking for help."
He paused, as if recalling something:
"I almost got tricked once. If he hadn't pulled me back... I might've been the next knock it made."
That sent a shiver down my spine. I lowered my head, continued chopping vegetables, trying not to let my hands tremble.
His voice came again, now much deeper:
"Never trust the sounds in this place. And if someone knocks... don't answer. Not because it's arriving—but because it's testing you, to see if you're worth hunting."
When we finished preparing the meal, I went outside to call the other man. But I found him hanging small bells on tree branches and placing two more posts that emitted flickering blue flames. Strange symbols were carved into the tree trunks—most prominently, a large circle containing three marks: a crossed-out ear, a circled nose, and an eye with three overlapping slashes.
He was tying a wind chime when I approached.
"The food is ready. You can come and eat now."
He replied without looking away:
"Almost done."
I glanced at the blue flame posts, then at the symbols faintly glowing:
"What do these mean?"
He finished tying the wind chime and stood up straight:
"To survive. These are wards—layers of protection. Without them, this place would be too easy to find."
I swallowed hard.
"So... what if you can't fix them in time?"
"Then they'll get in. And blood will spill."
His voice wasn't threatening—just stating a fact. Calm, and all the more terrifying because of it.
I asked again, voice softer:
"Those symbols... what are they? They look like religious icons, but they're not."
This time he hesitated, then answered quietly:
"It's a forbidden language. Not meant to be read—but to be felt. Everyone who draws them will create a slightly different version, based on their will and the limits of their mind. They're not symbols to understand, but to believe in."
He pointed toward the tree:
"Like those out there. A circle containing three marks—crossed-out ear, circled nose, and an eye slashed three times. It roughly means: do not hear, do not smell, do not see."
He explained:
"These aren't just prohibitions. They're distortions—for blurring the senses of predators that hunt by sound, image, or vibration. It doesn't stop them completely, but it can slow them down—or make them skip over this place if they're not hungry enough."
"The barrier keeps the monsters out. I set up five blue flame posts around the shelter to recharge the ward and link with the barrier. At night, the barrier weakens—if anything touches it, the blue flames flare up to block and alert us. But it gradually depletes, leading to failure or broken links. Like today—13 of 15 layers were destroyed because three flame posts got damaged."
I pointed at the wind chime:
"And that wind chime... what's it for?"
He answered briefly:
"To ward off the lost. But not the kind who lost their way on the map—those who lost themselves."
I frowned. He tied the last knot, then stood up and continued:
"There are creatures that used to be human," he said, voice low like recounting an old tale.
"But in this world, the human mind doesn't always endure the truth. Some forget their names, even why they want to survive. They break apart, drift... and become the lost ones. They frantically search—believing if they devour someone else's memories, they might find themselves again."
He looked at the chime swaying in the wind.
"That wind chime was made from metal found on the Whispering Peak," he said, his voice like mist. "No one goes there intentionally. Only those who wander in... while searching for something within themselves."
I looked at him. In that moment, our eyes met.
"Some come back. Others don't. Those who lose their identity, their memories, their names—what's left of them is just a shape... a drifting shadow, forever searching for what they've forgotten. And when they meet someone still whole, they latch on, thinking that's the memory they lost."
His voice turned bitter:
"But stolen memories never fit. They only get more lost, more hungry, more twisted."
I turned to the swaying chime, listening to its distant ringing, like the last breath of a dream.
"Metal from Whispering Peak absorbs echoes of true memories. When forged into a chime, it carries those echoes. To someone still sane, its sound helps them remember who they are. To the lost ones... it hurts. Because it's real. And they have nothing real left to hold onto."
He took a deep breath, eyes distant:
"That's why this chime is both an anchor for the mind and a barrier against the forgotten. It reminds the living... and drives away those who forgot they were ever human."
He stepped closer to me and said:
"If one day you find yourself forgetting—your name, your feelings, your reason to exist—stand near the chime. Listen. And hold on to whatever sound reaches the part of you that's still alive."
Here is the English translation of your passage, rendered with fidelity and clarity to preserve tone, mood, and nuance:
---
After hearing him speak, I didn't know why, but I felt a bit more at ease. Maybe it was because there was no panic in his voice—only understanding, a hint of weariness, and a sense of familiarity... as if this wasn't the first time he'd gone through something like this.
The tall young man suddenly placed his hand on my head and the man who saved me. His voice rang out as if nothing was too serious:
"If you want to survive, you've gotta eat first. You're not planning to become hungry ghosts, are you?"
I almost laughed at the carefree tone, but the man who rescued me just sighed. He looked at the tall guy like he was used to this strange optimism and didn't argue. The air between the three of us lightened slightly, even though behind us was still the blood-red sky and the distant groans from unseen places.
Right after that, my savior spoke again, this time more serious:
"I need to fix the barrier and reinforce the damaged sections. You take her inside."
The tall guy nodded. "Got it. Let's prep some food, beautiful."
I followed him into a small room repurposed as a kitchen. Inside were all kinds of strange materials I'd never seen before—vegetables with bizarre shapes and colors, jars of gently glowing liquids, and things I wasn't even sure counted as food.
He handed me a bunch of vegetables and said:
"Chop these up small, yeah?"
I nodded and began. He started boiling water, seemingly to make soup. Silence lingered for a moment, but in my head, the knocking sound from earlier still echoed—and the chill running down my spine hadn't left.
After a pause, I spoke up, unable to hide the curiosity and unease in my voice:
"That creature outside the door… what exactly was it?"
He paused for a moment, then exhaled:
"We call it the Knocker."
I hesitated:
"Because it likes to knock?"
He let out a soft laugh, but it wasn't a happy one.
"No. That name—me and the other guy came up with it. It doesn't knock to ask in. It knocks... to lure prey. Sometimes it mimics voices. Sometimes it just makes knocking sounds… steady… like someone lost or needing help."
He paused again, as if recalling something:
"I almost fell for it once. If he hadn't pulled me back… I'd probably be the next knock it used."
A chill ran down my spine. I lowered my head and kept slicing, trying not to let my hands tremble.
His voice came again, this time low and firm:
"Never trust the sounds in this region. And if someone knocks... don't respond. Not because it's coming. But because it's... testing if you're worth hunting."
Once we finished preparing the food, I went out to call the other guy in. But I saw him hanging small bells on tree branches and planting two more poles emitting flickering blue flames. On the tree trunk were strange markings—most prominently a large circle, inside which were three symbols: a crossed-out ear, a circled nose, and an eye with three slashes across it.
He was fastening a wind chime when I approached.
"Come in and eat."
He replied without looking up:
"Yeah, just finishing up."
I glanced at the blue flame poles, then at the glowing symbols:
"These things… what do they mean?"
He finished tying the wind chime and stood up straight:
"To survive. This is the barrier—and the layered protections. Without them, this place would be far easier to detect."
I swallowed.
"So… what if you don't fix it in time?"
"Then they get in. And blood will spill."
His voice wasn't meant to scare—just a calm, terrifying truth.
I continued in a lower voice:
"Those symbols… are they some kind of language? They look like religious icons, but not quite."
This time he hesitated before speaking softly:
"It's… a forbidden language. Not meant to be read—only felt. Each person who draws it will have their own variant, depending on their will and the limits of their mind. It's not for understanding. It's for belief."
He turned toward the tree and pointed:
"Like the ones out there. That circle—with the crossed-out ear, the circled nose, and the eye marked with three slashes. Roughly, it means: do not hear, do not smell, do not see."
He explained:
"Those aren't just prohibitions. They disrupt sensory perception—blurring the senses of predators that hunt through sound, sight, or vibration. It doesn't block them entirely, but it can slow them down or cause them to skip this place if they're not hungry enough."
"And the barrier keeps the monsters out. I set up five blue-flame poles around the shelter—to feed energy and connect to the barrier. Usually at night, the barrier weakens—if something touches it, the flame flares up as both deterrent and warning. But it will drain, then fail or snap. Like tonight—13 out of 15 layers were broken because three flame poles got damaged."
I asked, pointing at the wind chime:
"What about that wind chime… what's it for?"
He answered briefly:
"To ward off the lost. Not lost as in direction… but those lost from themselves."
I frowned. He tied the last string and stood, continuing:
"There are creatures… who used to be human," he said, his voice low like recounting an old tale.
"But in this world, the human mind doesn't always survive the truth. Some forget their names. Forget why they want to live. They fall apart and drift… becoming the lost. They desperately search—thinking that if they eat someone else's memories, they might remember themselves."
He looked toward the swaying chime.
"That chime is forged from metal found atop Whispering Peak," he said, voice dropping like mist. "No one ever sets out to reach that place. People only end up there… when searching for something inside themselves."
I looked at him. In that moment, my eyes met his.
"Some come back. Others don't. Those who lose their identity, their memories, their names—what's left is just a shape… a wandering shadow, forever chasing what they forgot. And when they find someone still whole, they cling to them, believing that person holds the missing piece."
His voice turned bitter:
"But stolen memories never fit right. They just get more lost, more ravenous, more twisted."
I turned to look at the chime swaying in the wind, its distant ring like the last breath of a dream.
"Metal from Whispering Peak absorbs the echoes of real memories. When forged into a chime, it carries those echoes. For someone still sane, that sound helps them remember who they are. For the lost… it causes pain. Because the sound is real. And they no longer have anything real left to hold onto."
He took a deep breath, eyes distant:
"That's why this chime is both an anchor for the mind and a shield. It reminds the living… and repels those who've forgotten who they were."
He stepped closer and added:
"If one day you feel yourself forgetting—your name, your emotions, your reason for surviving—stand near the chime. Listen. And hold on to any sound that touches what's still alive inside you."