Chapter 7: Scars That Speak

The morning light broke over a village reshaped by violence. Smoke from smoldering fires rose into the air, mingling with the earthy scent of dampened ashes. Atsushi stood near the remnants of the defensive wall, his arms crossed as he surveyed the damage. Villagers moved methodically, clearing debris and tending to the wounded. There was no crying, no loud displays of grief—just the quiet resilience of people who had learned to survive in the shadow of constant danger.

Atsushi’s body ached, his hands still stained with the evidence of a night spent stitching wounds and staunching blood. The battlefield had shifted to the healer’s hut, and he had fought his own battle there, one of life against death. He had won most of those fights, but not all.

The weight of failure lingered as he watched two villagers carry a wrapped body toward the edge of the forest. It was a young man, no older than twenty, who had bled out before Atsushi could save him. The image of his pale face was etched into Atsushi’s mind, a stark reminder of the limits of his skill.

“A loss like that never leaves you,” the elder’s voice cut through the quiet.

Atsushi turned to find the old man standing nearby, his staff in hand. There was no judgment in his expression, only a deep, knowing sadness.

“I should have been faster,” Atsushi said, his voice heavy.

“You did what you could,” the elder replied. “Sometimes, the forest claims what it will. It is not a question of skill or effort. It is the way of things.”

Atsushi didn’t respond. The elder’s words were meant to comfort, but they felt hollow. He clenched his fists, the leather wrappings around the dagger Ana had given him pressing into his palm. He didn’t want to accept that fate held more power than action.

Ana appeared later that morning, her bow slung over her shoulder as she moved through the village like a storm cloud. Her movements were sharp, her gaze focused as she checked on the repairs and spoke with the villagers. She seemed unshaken by the previous night’s events, though Atsushi knew better than to believe her stoicism meant she felt nothing.

He approached her as she inspected the wall, his steps slow and deliberate.

“You didn’t come to the hut last night,” he said.

“I didn’t need to,” Ana replied without looking at him. “The fight was out here.”

“And now it’s over,” Atsushi said, folding his arms. “But you’re still moving like it isn’t.”

Ana finally turned to face him, her expression guarded. “Because it’s never over. You should understand that by now.”

Her words hit harder than Atsushi expected. She wasn’t wrong—the danger wouldn’t simply vanish because they had survived one attack. But her unyielding focus worried him. Even steel could break if it was pushed too far.

By midday, the village had settled into a tense routine. The dead were buried, the wounded cared for, and the repairs to the wall continued. Atsushi found himself wandering the outskirts of the settlement, seeking a moment of solitude. His hands ached from the endless work, and his mind churned with thoughts of what lay ahead.

He was pulled from his reverie by the sound of voices nearby. Following the sound, he found Toma and another young villager, both seated on a fallen log as they cleaned their weapons. The conversation stopped abruptly as Atsushi approached.

“Toma,” Atsushi said, his tone casual. “How’s the arm?”

Toma glanced down at the bandaged wound on his forearm and gave a sheepish grin. “Barely a scratch. I’ve had worse.”

“That’s because you don’t think before you act,” the other villager muttered, earning a laugh from Toma.

Atsushi sat on a nearby rock, watching the two for a moment before speaking. “Do you always joke around after something like last night?”

Toma shrugged, his expression turning serious. “If we don’t laugh, we’ll drown in it. You learn to find the lighter moments, even when things are dark.”

Atsushi nodded slowly, the truth of Toma’s words sinking in. The villagers’ quiet strength wasn’t born from ignorance or indifference—it was a survival mechanism, a way of coping with the unforgiving reality of their world.

That evening, the village gathered around the central fire. It was a subdued affair, the usual chatter and laughter replaced by somber reflection. The firelight danced on their faces, casting long shadows that seemed to mirror the heaviness in the air.

Atsushi sat near the edge of the circle, his eyes drawn to the flames. He had never felt so aware of his own fragility, his own limitations. The modern world he had come from felt distant and irrelevant, its comforts and advancements meaningless in a place where survival was won with blood and grit.

Ana joined him after a while, her expression unreadable. She carried a bowl of stew, which she handed to him without a word before sitting beside him. They ate in silence, the unspoken understanding between them more comforting than any conversation could have been.

After a while, Ana broke the silence. “You’re thinking too much again.”

Atsushi smirked faintly. “Is that your way of telling me to stop feeling sorry for myself?”

“It’s my way of telling you to stop looking for answers you won’t find,” Ana said, her tone softer than usual. “This place doesn’t give answers. It gives you choices. What you do with them is up to you.”

Her words hung in the air, their weight settling over him like a cloak. For all her sharp edges and bluntness, Ana had a way of cutting through the noise in his mind and finding the core of the issue.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like to leave?” Atsushi asked after a moment.

Ana’s gaze shifted to the fire. “I used to. When I was younger, I thought there had to be something better out there. But now… I don’t know if I’d trust it.”

Her answer surprised him. He had expected defiance or a dismissive remark, but there was a vulnerability in her voice that caught him off guard.

“I don’t know if I’d trust it either,” Atsushi admitted.

Ana glanced at him, a faint smile playing at her lips. “Then maybe we’re not so different after all.”

The night deepened, the fire burning low as the villagers began to disperse. Atsushi stayed by the dying embers, his thoughts a tangled web of guilt, fear, and determination. The scars of the previous night’s battle were fresh, but they weren’t just physical. They were etched into the fabric of the village, a reminder of what had been lost and what remained at stake.

As he sat there, he pulled out the damaged device from his satchel. The cracks along its surface glinted faintly in the firelight. He ran his fingers over the fractured metal, his mind racing with possibilities. The device was a symbol of his old life, of the world he had left behind. But here, in this place of raw survival, it felt more like an anchor than a lifeline.

He didn’t know if he could fix it. He didn’t know if he should.

For now, the device would remain broken. Like him, it was a thing caught between worlds, uncertain of its purpose.