Trauma

Inside the forest, Lance and Sunflower walked slowly along the pathway.

Sunflower carried the unconscious boy with ease, while Lance struggled with the blonde girl slung across his back. Though Sunflower had trained her body all her life and barely strained under the extra weight, Lance’s own injuries from overusing his powers made every step heavier.

“Enough already,” Sunflower snapped. “At this rate, I’ll have to carry you too. Just drop the corpse.”

Lance didn’t answer. He kept moving forward, conserving his strength, refusing to let go.

“What, do you still think she’s alive? Just check her pulse,” Sunflower pressed.

Lance stopped, looked back at her, and said quietly, “I don’t need to. I trust you. If you say she’s dead, then she is. Still… I don’t want to abandon her here. I’ll wait for the boy to wake up and hand her body over myself.” He turned back and continued, his pace slow but steady.

Sunflower sighed, then strode up beside him. With one motion, she lifted the corpse off his back and laid it on top of the boy she was already carrying. “At this rate, it’ll take us weeks to reach the nearest village,” she muttered.

A faint smile touched Lance’s lips. He thanked her, and the two pressed on at a quicker pace.

Hours later, the pair set up a small area to rest and prepare lunch.

“You stay here and rest. I’ll fetch some ingredients,” Sunflower said as she disappeared into the trees.

Lance nodded, then crouched by the unconscious pair. His eyes lingered on their wounds. These don’t look good. If I can bandage them, maybe that’ll help. Closing his eyes, he entered the Void, picturing bandages. When he opened them again, a roll of fabric lay on the ground before him.

Lance’s heart leapt. He reached for it—then pain surged through him like fire. He collapsed, not unconscious, but writhing in agony, fists clenched as he endured.

A rustle of leaves.

“I forgot the bag to carry—” Sunflower stepped out of the brush, stopping dead when she saw him. “Lance!” She rushed to his side. “What happened? Did you use your powers again? I told you not to until you’ve recovered!”

Through clenched teeth, Lance pointed weakly at the fabric. “Please… treat him quickly.”

Sunflower followed his gesture, frowning as she picked up the bandages.

He summoned them… for the boy. A faint smile touched her lips. But as she examined the fabric, her smile faded.

“It looks like bandages. But it isn’t paper. It isn’t cloth, either. What is this?”

A breeze stirred. The fabric shivered—and small holes began to tear across its surface until it broke apart entirely, useless scraps scattering to the ground.

Sunflower’s brows furrowed. So fragile. It looked perfect, yet it couldn’t function like the real thing. First the bread, now this. Is it because he’s weak? Or… was his power only so strong before because of the curse?

Her eyes narrowed. Reality itself weakened after the curse was lifted. Could it be the same for him? I need to warn him before he recklessly tries again.

She turned, only to find Lance already unconscious. With a sigh, she propped him against a tree, then went hunting.

By dusk, Sunflower had returned with two rabbits and some carrots. She cooked a simple stew. Lance woke, apologizing for being a burden and promising not to use his powers again. Sunflower shared her theory, which gave him even less desire to rely on his gift.

As they ate, a voice suddenly broke through the night.

“Ming! Ming!”

The duo froze. The sound came from the boy.

“Don’t worry—I’ll get you out of there!” he cried. His eyes fluttered open. Pain wracked his body, but he forced himself upright, scanning wildly.

“Who are you people? Where’s Ming?”

“Do you mean the blonde girl?” Sunflower asked gently.

The boy nodded. Relief washed over him at the thought she might be safe. We’re outside. Under the stars. We escaped. We’re free. His chest tightened—he wanted to cry. But he wanted to cry with Ming, to share the moment with her.

Sunflower’s lips curved faintly.

 “Oh, her? She’s resting over there. She’s been worried sick about you.”

 “She… she was just eating with us, wasn’t she? Where did she go?”

 “She was in critical condition. But she’s on the path to recovery.”

The boy’s heart pounded, waiting for her to say one of these lines he thought of in his mind. 

But instead, Sunflower quietly stepped aside, revealing the truth.

A corpse lay on the ground, wrapped in blue strips of cloth.

The boy froze. The stars above, the sky he had just admired, seemed to crash down upon him. His knees buckled, slamming into the dirt. His arms hung limp, lifeless. His eyes dulled, his face froze, his soul cracked.

He wanted this moment to end.

Lance moved. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the boy, holding him tightly. He had begun to learn how to read expressions—and the boy’s expression told him everything.

Self-harm.

The boy’s fists clenched, blood welling as his nails dug into his palms. He struck at himself, flailing—but Lance took every blow, letting him rage against his chest.

“You’re useless!” the boy screamed. “All my fault! I couldn’t protect her! I couldn’t—” His voice broke. Finally, the fury bled out, leaving only tears.

“I wanted us to cry together!” he wailed.

And then he wept, sobbing until sleep overtook him.

The duo didn’t ask questions. They simply watched over him, offering food he refused to touch.

The next morning, they buried Ming properly. The boy said nothing, only staring blankly as her body was lowered into the ground.

Days passed. He continued to follow them, silent, withdrawn. He obeyed instructions, helped Sunflower hunt, but never spoke. The trauma clung to him like a shadow.

“Tomorrow we’ll reach Mavule Village,” Sunflower said one night. “It’s known for sending more knights to the capital than any other place. Rest well—you’ll need it.”

Lance studied the boy’s gloomy face, then lay down.

Before he drifted into sleep, a small voice broke the silence.

“Why are you people so patient with me? Why haven’t you cast me away already?”

Lance didn’t turn. He simply smiled faintly. “Because you’re like us. You’ve faced your own trauma.”

The boy’s voice shook. “Trauma? What could be worse than what I’ve lived through?”

“Sunflower lost her entire hometown,” Lance said softly. “Every single person in her village.”

The boy’s breath caught. Shock silenced him.

Finally, he whispered, “And you? What about your trauma?”

A sad smile crossed Lance’s face.

“My trauma… is making her lose all those lives.”