The soft afternoon sun lit the room in a dull orange hue, warming it with a quiet sense of calm.
In that room, Ichiro sat upright, balanced carefully by Izumi as he changed the bandages wrapped around his chest.
His limbs, fingers, and toes drooped at the slightest shift, leaving his posture slumped forward with his back slightly arched.
With his chest bare while Izumi worked, the black vein-like patterns spreading across it were impossible to ignore. They stretched over his arms, back, and neck like roots burrowing beneath his skin.
A fresh layer of white bandages was wrapped tightly around his gut, though they immediately began staining red again. Even so, Izumi kept wrapping them carefully.
There were countless scars across Ichiro's body, some thin and faded, others large and jagged. Every now and then Izumi's gaze lingered on them without him realizing it.
"How was I still alive after collecting all these scars?" Ichiro asked suddenly, breaking the silence. "That's what you've been wondering, isn't it?"
"No," Izumi replied quickly, turning his face away. "I wasn't thinking that at all."
"Just be honest," Ichiro said as he raised his head slightly to look at him. "You pity me, don't you? That's why that look won't leave your eyes."
"It's not that, I promise."
Izumi lowered his gaze.
"It's just that I'm ashamed," he admitted quietly. "Ashamed that my carelessness and stupidity led you to this."
"You're being too hard on yourself," Ichiro replied before his expression twisted slightly as Izumi unconsciously tightened the bandages. "You've only been an apprentice for three months or so. I definitely wasn't expecting perfection from you."
"But still," Izumi muttered, tightening the wrap even further without noticing, "that's a mistake even a fool couldn't make."
"You got caught up in the heat of the moment," Ichiro said calmly as he tried to move his hand, only for his fingers to twitch weakly. "So don't beat yourself up over it."
Izumi noticed the failed movement immediately.
After tying off the bandages, he slowly moved back before bowing deeply.
"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice trembling. "You might never move again… and it's my fault."
Ichiro didn't know how to answer that.
So he simply watched as Izumi remained bowed before him.
Then suddenly a wave of exhaustion washed over him. His body tipped sideways as his eyelids drooped heavily.
Izumi quickly caught him before he could fall and carefully lowered him onto the bedding.
Looking down, he noticed the fresh red stains spreading more clearly through the bandages.
"Are you okay?" Izumi asked as he gently shook him, trying to pull him out of his delirium. Ichiro's eyes remained half-lidded.
"I'm fine," he replied in a surprisingly calm voice. "But where's Miyuki? I haven't seen her since I woke up."
"She went to wash up and told me to change your bandages while she was gone," Izumi answered. His voice sounded slightly off, though he tried not to show it. "Do you want me to call her for you?"
"Sure," Ichiro said weakly. "But a little quiet to myself wouldn't hurt either."
"Hang tight," Izumi replied as he rose to his feet. "I'll go get her. Just try not to strain yourself until then."
The wooden door slid shut, leaving Ichiro alone as he stared up at the ceiling of the quiet room.
He shifted his neck from side to side, but aside from that, his body refused to move.
Then the sunlight crept across his face, forcing his eyes to squint.
Turning slightly to avoid the glare, he caught sight of someone sitting in the corner of the room.
The light still obscured his view, but he didn't need to see clearly to know who it was.
"So you've come to visit me again," he said in a low voice that softly echoed through the room.
The figure didn't answer. They didn't move either. They simply sat there, their expression hidden beyond the sunlight.
"You still won't talk to me, even now," Ichiro said again with that same dull calmness. "Then why do you keep coming here if you won't even say anything to me?"
He let out a quiet breath.
"Try sitting somewhere I can actually see your face for once," he continued. "Not knowing what kind of look you're giving me is making me anxious."
Still nothing.
"You're the one who filled my head with all those crazy ideas," he said, "so the least you could do is tell me whether I did good or not."
He slowly lifted his head toward the ceiling again as the sunlight over his face was swallowed by shadow.
"Am I strong enough? Am I kind enough?" he asked quietly. "Am I a good enough father?"
He turned back toward the corner.
"I've wanted to ask those questions for a long time now."
His gaze lingered there.
"I used to stare at that corner in the dead of night hoping you'd be there to listen. But now that you are… you still won't answer me."
A weak twitch ran through his fingers.
"Or do you hate me for leading our daughter down the same road that took your life?"
His voice faltered slightly.
"I turned her into someone who fights and sheds blood."
Silence lingered between them.
"What else could I have done," he whispered, "when she cornered me with those pleading eyes of hers?"
A faint smile almost formed before fading again.
"It's always that look that throws my heart into a loop. Why is that?"
He paused.
"I'm afraid," he admitted at last. "Afraid she'll lose herself chasing something impossible."
His fingers twitched rhythmically against the bedding.
"But what can I even do now?"
The figure remained silent.
"I wish I could turn back time," he said after swallowing dryly. "Then maybe I never would've filled her head with any of this."
His fingers suddenly stilled.
"What was I even thinking?" he muttered.
"There's nothing I can do to stop her anymore."
His eyes softened.
"All I can do now… is hope she survives long enough to reach the end of her rope alive."
The shadows slowly crept further across the room.
He stared more intently at the figure as the darkness drew closer, trying desperately to make out her face.
"Even so…"
His expression twisted faintly.
"I'm grateful, Nanae."
His voice was barely above a whisper now.
"Grateful that you gave me the chance to change the way you did."
A slow breath escaped him.
"And grateful that you gave me a reason to keep living despite everything."
The shadows crawled closer still, enough for him to almost make out the shape of her lips.
But the moment he blinked—
the corner was empty.
Nothing sat there except shadow.
Ichiro let out a long sigh before turning away and staring back up at the ceiling once more.
The door slid open.
He turned his head to see Miyuki walk through, her expression exhausted but still twisted in fear.
From behind her, he could make out the others though they didn't step in themselves.
Miyuki sat down beside him as they closed the door.
She immediately lifted up her sleeves and lifted up his robe to see the bandages.
"No what's happening," she thought, "why do these stitches keep coming off, or are they too thin."
"That doesn't matter. I'll just stitch them again as many times as I have to," she said aloud without noticing it.
"You seem troubled," Ichiro said as he tilted his head to her, "have you been eating and getting enough sleep or do you still insist on sitting here throughout the night."
"How could I possibly sleep," she replied, "knowing that my weak spells and stitches keep breaking up."
"I have to be here," she continued, "I promised that I would protect you and that means stopping you from dying here at any cost. Sleep and food come after I know that you're okay."
He sighed before turning his head back up.
"Promises... How many promises do we have to break before we stop trying to dictate the future," he said in a low voice, "or is it preset into human nature to hope for a future where one's desires are fulfilled, is that what optimism is?"
She didn't say anything, being too busy redoing the stitches, but she stopped whenever he finished a sentence, only for a moment before picking up again.
"Now that I think of it, is it a derogatory flaw or is it the only thing that motivates people to move forward," he continued, "what are your thoughts on it?"
"I don't think optimism is pointless because it gives people something to strive toward," she replied even as she kept up her focus, "without it you're reduced to nothing but an empty vessel."
"Maybe the question itself is flawed," he mumbled, "maybe it isn't meant to dictate the future but shape the present, but even then it can seem pointless-"
He began coughing rapidly as his neck jerked up and down. She dropped her needle and steadied his head, turning him to his side where he coughed again, this time spitting blood.
"You're getting worse," she said, panicked, as she put her left hand over his gut, "the stitches keep coming off and I don't know what to do."
"The villagers won't even talk to us," she continued, "they're too busy fixing their houses, but even if they weren't, I'm sure they wouldn't even bat an eye."
"Why?" she asked, her eyes tearing up, "after we saved them why are they treating us like this?"
Ichiro's left hand started twitching, and when she noticed it she held it with her right hand and it calmed.
"It's okay," he said evenly as his nose started bleeding, "don't let that break you down."
"How can I stay calm," she shot back, her voice sharper.
Tears started running down her cheeks.
"It's okay," he said again as he looked into her eyes.
"But there is so much that I haven't shown you yet," she mumbled amidst her tears, her voice softer, "you still haven't even heard how my release works yet."
"That's right," he said, his eyes drifting away, "why don't you tell me about it."
Why did everything suddenly feel muffled? He thought, his eyes blurred even as he tried to keep them fixed onto her.
He felt a mist take over his mind and suddenly his sight was clouded.
Looking around, he couldn't see anything but mist. He reached out his hand expecting nothing but was shocked when he saw it rise in front of him.
He looked down to see himself standing on his own two feet, and what's more there were no bandages on his body.
He placed his fingers over his chin and it felt bare and for some reason he felt full of vigour.
He took his first step unsure, then another, his expression frozen in disbelief.
When he took his third step he felt his bare feet step into the cold water of a puddle. He stepped out of it but also watched as the rippling waters slowly grew still.
That was when he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the water. His eyes seemed distant and his face was smooth except for a few scratches here and there.
To him he looked exactly like he did before he met her.
A gust of wind set his hair aflutter and something drove him to raise his head.
There he could see it past the mist just standing there. As soon as he noticed her she turned and started to walk away.
He hesitated for a moment before rushing to catch her almost as if he forgot he could walk.
She seemed so distant from him and even when she looked back he still couldn't see her expression.
The mist grew into a thick fog and as he chased her, he slowly began to lose sight of her.
He reached out his hand in desperation but he couldn't say anything, so he only watched as her silhouette vanished past the fog away from his reach.
For a moment he stumbled and he almost fell to the ground but he forced himself upright and kept chasing. He didn't care whether he couldn't see what was ahead anymore, he was intent on finding out what was beyond that fog.
Suddenly the sun began to pierce through the fog and as it did the path ahead became clearer.
He found himself walking barefoot on a grassy field with a familiar tree in front of him.
The sounds of the waterfall suddenly made him falter. He was afraid.
What was beyond that misty tree?
Despite his fear he felt compelled to see it so he marched on, this time with slow hesitant steps.
Once he was close enough he glanced past it, ready to look away if he had to, but that glance quickly turned into a wordless stare.
Beneath the shade of the tree they were sitting there, eating food and chatting away happily without him.
Their smiles seemed genuine and he found himself entranced by them.
She was facing in the other direction but once he took a step toward them she stopped and turned behind to see what was there.
His eyes met hers but it was as if she couldn't see him. He felt frozen not knowing what to say but before he could even say anything she turned away.
He tried to reach out and call her but then he felt a sharp pain run through him.
He didn't look down and instead passed his hand over it and surely enough it was blood red once he looked at it again.
With that same hand he passed his fingers over his chin and it felt rough with hair.
Then he heard a whisper in the direction of the stream beneath the waterfall.
When he turned his head he saw nothing but he couldn't escape the feeling that it was something that he desperately needed to hear.
The mist started to come back and when he noticed it he immediately turned back but there was no one there.
And so he found himself standing alone by the misty tree as the fog took over.
Looking back down he saw his robe stained red as blood dripped down from his hands.
Then he heard the whisper again, this time away from the stream, so he followed it.
It was soft but he could still hear it as it called out to him over and over again.
He felt his legs weaken and his heart race and soon he couldn't walk ahead anymore.
His hands felt limp and so did his feet but he still somehow stood upright.
The wind felt colder and colder on his skin until he couldn't feel it anymore.
He clenched his fists frustrated at himself--
-that was until he heard it again.
This time it wasn't a whisper.
To him it was so loud but he didn't shudder.
Instead his face took on a bright smile and he loosened up his fists.
The sound was a melody to his ears, so soothing that he felt it ring deep in his heart.
He heard it again even after the whisper was gone.
"Thank you, sir."
"Thank you, master."
"Thanks a lot, teach."
And the one he cherished the most above all others.
"Thank you so much, father."
He started to feel a sensation again on his hand.
It was warm and soft and he never wanted it to end.
She held onto his hand tightly, tears streaming down her eyes but she said nothing and just watched as all the light faded from the room-
-and from his eyes.