𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔦𝔭𝔦𝔱𝔶

"If a thousand paper cranes could buy one miracle, I would trade it all for a single second beside you."

- Commentary, Tales of the Transmitted Strange

There was a call.

It was a call, slipping between the layers upon layers of darkness pressing down on Sevran's eyelids, slipping into the thick void where his consciousness had long since sunken, and touching a place very deep, very distant, where he thought he had locked away forever.

He curled himself deeper into the darkness, like a beast retreating into a cave to lick its wounds. Not real, he thought. Just another illusion. An illusion real enough to make him believe, and then, the moment he reached out his hand, it would dissolve, and he would once again stand alone in the middle of that corridor.

"..."

He heard it. Of course he heard it.

But he had endured enough.

Then there was a hand.

Small, warm, and very real.

Those five fingers pinched his cheek, not gently, not softly, but pinched for real. The kind of pinch of a child annoyed because a grown-up is pretending to sleep. That pain pierced through the fog of sleep, through every layer of defense he had built up, and pulled him back.

Only then did he bring himself to open his eyes.

He let out a shout--not in words, just a hoarse sound bursting from his throat, rough and panicked, like the sound of someone who had just been dragged up from under water after having sunk for too long. His eyes flew open, pupils contracting in the dark, his hands raised instinctively, as if about to ward off a blow.

Those eyes.

Sevran froze.

He recognized the little girl, looking at the child in the dark, and realized that even in the midst of hell on earth, the innocent eyes of a child were still a mirror reflecting the purity that mankind had lost.

The little girl blinked.

"You..." Her voice dropped, wide-eyed with wonder, as if she had just discovered something unbelievable. "You... you can speak now?"

Like meeting again.

That thought fell into his mind, gentle and cruel. Not meeting someone new. Not looking at a strange face. But meeting again--the sensation of a person who had walked very far, for very long, through countless nights, and suddenly caught sight of a lamp he had thought extinguished since a past life.

"Is this..." His voice cracked, hoarse, thin, unlike his own voice. "Is this a dream, Kau'i?"

Sevran swallowed. His throat ached.

"Or is... all of that... just a dream?"

"..."

"I don't..." He shook his head, as though it were too heavy. "I don't know anymore. I don't want to know."

And then, he pulled the little girl into his arms.

It was the embrace of a drowning man clutching his last piece of driftwood. His trembling arms tightened around her frail frame, burying his face into her tangled hair. He squeezed his eyes shut with all his might, terrified that the moment he opened them, she would scatter into dust.

Kau'i froze in surprise.

"Brother..." The little girl patted his back, clumsy, uncomprehending.

"Brother, what's wrong? Ah... why are you so sad?"

She tilted her head, trying to make out his expression in the gloom. Then she spoke, her tone turning very solemn--the earnest gravity of a child trying to solve a grown-up's sorrow:

"We've only known each other for nine days. What happened to make you cry like this?"

Silence.

"Don't worry," she whispered, thumping her own chest in a brave display that dwarfed her tiny body. "Whoever bullied you, I'll help you get even. We'll sneak in and take his things. But..." She hesitated, adding with sheer honesty: "...if he's too big, I might not be able to help much."

Sevran loosened his grip.

Then, his knees abruptly gave out.

He collapsed onto the cold stone floor like a tree severed at the trunk. He bowed low, his forehead striking the stone with a dull, hollow thud that echoed into the dark.

His tears burst forth like a shattered dam. Everything he had swallowed down during that eternity in the corridor--the sleepless nights, the faces he couldn't save, every time he had rasped just hold on, just one more step--spilled over now. Hot, bitter, uncontrollable, tearing through him without mercy.

He would not allow himself to wail aloud. Yet his whole body shuddered violently, his fingernails scraping against the stone until his knuckles turned bloodless and white.

Kau'i watched him.

She didn't pry. She didn't say another word. She only laid a small, gentle hand upon his shoulder, pressing down with infinite softness.

"Lie down, brother," she said quietly.

He didn't even notice himself curling inward as the tears kept falling, silent and unending.

Kau'i sat down beside him. Pulling the hem of her frayed, dirt-caked tunic, she dabbed at his cheeks. She wiped away his tears slowly, patiently, as if she had all the time in the world.

"Brother," she murmured, her hand never stopping. "Tell me, what happened?"

Sevran stared up into the darkness above. He spoke as if speaking to the empty air, or to someone standing beyond the reach of time.

"I dreamed... I dreamed for so long. I dreamed that in another life, I saved countless souls. I crossed treacherous peaks and endless oceans, searching through crowds across all four corners of the world, fighting to the very end just to bring hope to the lost..."

His voice cracked down the middle. "...Yet you... you were the only one I could never save."

A lingering, suffocating silence fell between them.

"Even if everything I achieved... vanished into smoke in the blink of an eye..." His voice grew smaller, so small it barely remained a voice. "...it still couldn't be traded for a single second to see you."

Kau'i did not fully understand.

She was only eight or nine years old. She couldn't fathom what countless souls meant, nor the crushing weight of fighting to the very end, nor how vast the mountains and oceans were.

Yet she heard the ending. She heard that she was the only one he could not save.

And she did not ask why.

She merely rubbed his forehead, like a habit, as though she had done this many times, in some place, in some lifetime.

"If only..." Sevran said, his voice so thin it was almost nonexistent. "If only time could stop at this moment, how wonderful it would be."

The little girl continued to listen, hand gently rubbing his forehead.

"But what if I wake up..."

"I once only wanted to leave forever without ever looking back. But if only... if only you hadn't smiled at me that day. If only I hadn't dropped that piece of turnip that day..."

His voice choked.

"I can't let go. I'm like someone trapped in a bottomless abyss--clawing frantically to climb out, but never reaching the light."

"...I'm terrified, Kau'i."

"I'm terrified of losing you all over again."

He turned his head toward the child. In the gloom, his eyes glistened with wet grief, tears continuing to spill without end.

"Even though I paid the ultimate price, even though I lost so much along the way, even though I once tore everything apart... I still could never reach you."

His voice was so small it was almost a breath.

"... I don't want to. For this dream alone, I don't want to wake up."

"I don't want to keep walking anymore. I've walked continuously, run continuously along that long corridor. I can't hold on any longer."

"I... I am so exhausted."

"I only want to protect you. Don't leave me again... please?"

Kau'i did not answer. She didn't know how to answer. She only placed her hand on his forehead, and kept it there.

Sevran closed his eyes.

"I don't care whether this is dream or reality anymore."

"Just... stopping right here... is enough..."

...

...

Kau'i watched him quietly for a long time. When she finally spoke, it wasn't to offer empty comfort. It was simply that she wanted to share her own story. As if to say: If you have walked through ten thousand dreams, then I, too, have a little dream of my own.

"I was born when my parents' faces were still young and smooth," the little girl murmured.

She swallowed softly.

"Our town was so small, I used to think it was the whole world. You could run from one end to the other in a single breath."

"There was an old rocking chair on the front porch. It creaked every time I climbed on. Mother told me to stop or it would break, but I loved sitting there anyway. The creaking sounded like music."

She smiled faintly at the memory.

"The wind would blow down so many leaves, and I would chase after them to pick them up. The neighborhood kids were always loud, shouting and running around. I never liked the noise, but I loved watching them run. Sometimes, I'd run right behind them."

Her voice slowed down.

"I got to do whatever I wanted all day. Waking up in the morning, eating, running outside, gathering leaves, sitting on the rocking chair, listening to it creak, taking a nap, then running again. No one told me what I had to do. No one told me what I had to become."

"But then..."

She paused for a very long time.

"Smoke, so much smoke. From the east, then the west, then everywhere. I didn't understand anything. I only saw father pulling me along, running, mother running behind. A sound of something--I didn't know what to call it--was so loud, louder than all the noise of the neighborhood kids combined."

"Father used to tell me I was a good girl."

The words slipped out softly, carried by a quiet urgency--she needed to say them now, before she forgot how to say them at all.

"Mother always bought me sweets, too. She'd hide them in her apron pocket and wait until my nap was over to slip them to me. She always told me not to tell Father."

She laughed. This time out loud, very softly, then it faded.

"But after that time, I never got to eat another piece of candy."

"That year I left my hometown, my parents hid me so I managed to escape, and I ran, ran for so long that I couldn't remember how long. Then I was captured."

"Back then I still thought... as long as I tried hard, I could still change everything. As long as I was good. As long as I was obedient. As long as I didn't cry. Then one day I would return home, would sit on the rocking chair again, would hear it creak again, would have candy again."

She looked up. Looked at Sevran. In the dark, her eyes were dry. There were no tears.
Perhaps she had cried them all out long ago. Perhaps there were no tears left to cry.

"But the rocking chair must be broken now."

Then she fell silent.

Her hand rested on Sevran's forehead again.

As if nothing had happened. As if she had just told a bedtime story. As if the world were still whole, and tomorrow the leaves would still fall, and the kids would still be noisy, and mother would still hide candy in her apron pocket.

Sevran said nothing.

He only held that small hand, holding it very tightly.

Then Kau'i spoke again. Her voice changed. It was no longer a storytelling voice, but the voice of a child trying to say something very big, very heavy, in her own small language.

"You know, I always hoped I'd have a bright future. Mother told me I was good, and that the stars in the sky would answer our prayers."

"Yet life taught me to accept what was given."

"Until I met you, brother."

Sevran opened his eyes. Looked at the child. In the dark, that small face was far too serious for her age. As though she had lived far longer than eight years. As though she had carried something very heavy for a very long time, and was only now setting it down.

"Surely in your dreams, I also always reminisced about when we met like this. I wonder, if you hadn't reached out your hand that day, then back then... I would have escaped from this world."

"Kau'i... oh, Kau'i..." Sevran wept openly, tears pouring like relentless rain.

Kau'i did not stop. Her voice remained steady, as if she had rehearsed these words countless times in the dark of lonely nights.

"It was you who made me brave. Wanting to find a way out. No longer wanting to live like a tiny leaf. I feel that in the nine days we met, every single day was so joyful. Even though life was bitter, you still patted my head whenever you scavenged leftover scraps of food. It was you who always deliberately dropped them and found ways for me to see."

Sevran froze.

"You... how long have you known...?"

Kau'i smiled. It was a tiny, faint smile, yet it illuminated the dark.

"You knew I loved watching the stars, but that I was scared of the dark. You knew that sometimes I hid and cried alone, like a lost bird."

She tilted her head gently.

"It was you who made me like an Epiphyllum blooming at midnight without fearing withered decay before dawn breaks. It was you who made me forever fearless. Always moving forward. The me of right now desires to fulfill that dream. It is because I met you at just the right time that I was able to hold onto these beautiful memories."

Her voice grew softer.

"Therefore, brother. I always feel that being able to have these moments is lucky enough. And I expect nothing more than that. I truly feel happy because you wanted to save me. But you have already realized it. I cannot stay here any longer."

Sevran shook his head violently, desperately, as if denial alone could shatter reality.

"In those dreams, are you still healthy?" Kau'i asked. "In those lives, are you still like you are now, still continuing to be strong like this?"

Sevran choked on his breath, unable to form an answer.

"Brother, even if we end up worlds apart, please don't hurt anyone for my sake. And please... don't cry for me anymore."



...


...

"It's time, brother. I have to go now."

"Stop," he begged, his voice cracking. "Stop it! I can't lose you again!"

Kau'i looked at him with an unnatural calm for an eight-year-old child. It was the calm of someone who had accepted her fate long before he arrived--before the scrap of turnip was left upon the stone, before the first lullaby ever echoed in the dark.

"Why did everything turn out like this," Sevran said. His voice was no longer a voice. It was a groan. The cry of a trapped beast biting into its own leg, not to escape, but because it didn't know what else to do. "Why is there no way to change it... I cannot bear to give up... Please... don't give up on tomorrow."

His tears streamed unhindered.

"In this broken world, all I ever wanted was to see you smile again. I wouldn't care if I had to walk through every nightmare in existence just to see you!"

He tried to push himself up.

His limbs refused to obey.

He tried to reach for her, but his arm felt weighed down by cold iron. His fingers strained outward, trembling, only to fall limp against the floor, never quite reaching her hem.

He bit down into the dirt, grinding his teeth until his lips tore and the bitter tang of copper flooded his mouth, dragging himself forward millimeter by agonizing millimeter.

Kau'i watched him with bright, clear eyes.

"If the road is too heavy, brother," she murmured, resting her small hand upon his tangled hair, "then just put it down. You don't have to carry the whole world."

Sevran could not answer. He could only weep into the dirt.

"Stop punishing yourself," she said softly. "You gave me the turnip. You sang me the lullaby. That was more than enough."

She leaned down, her forehead gently touching his:

"I won't disappear. I'll always be waiting right here, in this quiet corner, whether you come back or not. So please... don't hurt yourself anymore. When you wake up, just live a good, warm life. Only then can I rest."

Sevran released a soundless scream. It caught in his throat--a raw, scraping sound like stone grinding against stone. He strained with all his might to lift his chin, to look at her one last time, but the veil of tears and blood blurred his vision as the dark began to swallow her outline.

...

"Brother," Kau'i said. Her voice was very distant now. Very distant. Like echoing from the end of a long hallway. "Time rushes by, but you must not lose your future. You must keep moving forward. No matter what it takes from you."

Silence.

...

"I will still wait for you."

Then she added. Like a final string tied around his wrist before she let go.

...

"And until then, you have to tell me your real name."

Sevran screamed in despair.

Yet very quickly, drowsiness swept in, like a colossal hand pressing down on his eyelids, like a heavy blanket covering his entire body, like darkness pouring into his lungs, gulp after gulp, until there was no air left to breathe.

He wanted to resist. But like every dream before, he couldn't.

He bit viciously into the inside of his cheek, but the flesh knitted back together instantly. His body was no longer his own; the dream would grant him no pain, allow him no wakefulness, grant him no way to hold on.

He bit down hard on his tongue--blood welled in his mouth, yet there was no sensation, no agony. The wound vanished before the shock could register.

He slammed his forehead against the stone. Once. Twice. Three times. But the stone felt like air, or his skull turned to iron, or the illusion simply denied him the right to bleed.

No sound of impact.

No blood.

Tears streamed down his cheeks, pooling into the stone.

Then, through the lingering silence, he felt a touch.

Kau'i knelt down beside his limp, outstretched arm. From the hem of her frayed, dirt-caked tunic, she reached into a secret place, drawing out something tiny--a little piece of candy wrapped in faded, crinkled paper whose edges had softened with age. It was worn thin from years of being carried, treasured like a sacred relic of a life that once was.

With infinite tenderness, she pried open his stiff, trembling fingers. She laid the small, round sweetness into the center of his palm, then gently folded his fingers closed around it, pressing his hand against his chest.

"You've been very good too," she whispered softly, her eyes clear and gentle in the gloom. "So I'm giving you this candy. It's the only one I still have left from back then."

Her small fingers lingered on his knuckles for just a heartbeat, warm against his freezing skin.

Only the cold, creeping dark remained, and a fading murmur drifting away into eternity:

"Good night, Sevran."

As Sevran sank into the depths of oblivion, the world dissolved.

The stench of coal, the sharp tang of raw ore, the smell of sweat and dried blood--all of it faded into nothingness. As if it had never existed at all. As if there had never been a slag camp, nor a sunless corner, nor half a rotten turnip resting upon cold stone.

...

Only Kau'i remained. Only the child, and the darkness, and a silence wider than any ocean.

She raised her head.

There was only darkness. Yet she continued to look. As if she knew that somewhere, above all these layers of darkness, something was listening.

She spoke very quietly, very softly. Just enough for herself, just enough for the dark.

"Dear God."

Silence.

"Can You let him feel my warmth?"

Silence.

"I feel like we are caring for each other. Even if it's just a fallen leaf, or a gentle touch."

Her voice trembled. For the first time, she was afraid that no one was listening, afraid that this prayer would fall into nothingness, like all other prayers, like all the pieces of candy mother hid in her apron pocket, like all the creaks of the rocking chair.

"I hope that... my answer will guide him in the right direction."

Silence.

Then she spoke the final sentence. Very light. So light it almost didn't exist. So light that if someone stood a single step away, they would not hear it.

"Even if... I am forgotten..."

The darkness did not answer.

No hand rested upon her head. No piece of candy was placed into her hand.

Only silence.

She sat down.

And she waited. Because that was all she had left.

Father often told me I was a good girl.

Mother always bought me sweets, too.

And I am still here.

And I am still good.





.........