The Bonfire In The Rain

Nion ran through the maze of trees, the moonlight barely lighting the way in front of her. The sky rumbled, and the heavy rain bounced off the muddy grass. A storm smothered the heat from the bonfire in the square, greying the world around her.

Drops of rain struck her skin like shattered glass, exploding into millions of fragments upon impact. She tried to shift her focus away from the chaos she had left behind—the incident at the main gate, the people she had abandoned. The old woman and her people, left without surveillance at the precipice of Clogwyn, were now certainly running free, while the masked man continued his slaughter, turning against his own.

Frustration and guilt gnawed at her. She had let her heart decide instead of following Mitera's System as she had been trained. Not only had she disobeyed orders and deserted her assignment, but she had failed at everything... Her heart ached with regret—regret for failing to fulfill a single task, for breaking her own accord she made to the mother of two, and for the self-imposed vow to find the youngest brother and bring him to safety. In the end, she abandoned him too.

Tormented by her ignorance and lack of self-confidence, she finally started to grasp how little she truly knew—about the outside world, and most of all, about herself. The so-called perfect world created under Mitera's oversight now seemed nothing more than a pristine fish tank, trapping its inhabitants in sterile, lifeless waters. The realization struck her like a blade: she was nothing but a clueless girl, utterly unprepared for the gravity of the responsibilities she had been given, unable to discern between pure logic and complex, rational decision-making.

The cold rain seeped through her clothes, weighing her down. The mud clung to her ankles, dragging at her with every step until she could run no further. Bent over, chest heaving, her heartbeat thundered in her ears, nearly drowning out the distant storm. She needed to return—but her body begged her to stop, to surrender to the fatigue.

Exhausted, Nion stumbled to a halt in the heart of the darkened forest, the towering trees loomed around her, their skeletal branches clawing at the storm-ridden sky as if reaching for something beyond their grasp. Shadows pooled beneath the dense canopy, swallowing the world in an abyss of silence, save for the distant rumble of thunder rolling across the heavens.

She stood there, alone, the thick mud sucking at her boots as if the earth itself wished to drag her down, to swallow her whole. The cold air wrapped around her like a specter, chilling her to the bone, but she could not move—not forward, not back. Her body had given up, her mind fractured under the weight of everything she had seen, everything she had done.

The wind whispered through the trees, the rustling leaves sounding almost like voices—taunting her, reminding her that she had nowhere to go, that no path ahead could undo what had already been set in motion.

"What am I doing, damn it... What am I even supposed to do now...?" she sobbed.

For the first time in her life, she longed for something real—something beyond the rigid constructs of her world. Desperate, she tore the Kanjōga device from her neck. The moment it came off, a flood of foreign memories and emotions crashed into her mind, overwhelming her senses. Her body jolted as if struck by lightning, muscles seizing, breath hitching—then, everything went dark as she collapsed into the mud.

Flashes of unknown lives burst through her mind—an onslaught of experiences that did not belong to her. She saw through countless pairs of eyes and felt emotions both foreign and impossibly familiar—love, rage, sorrow, joy. The sensations stormed her all at once, too vast, too intense. Too many voices. Too many emotions. Too much. She fought to anchor herself, to separate her own memories from the endless stream, but it was impossible. And yet, beneath the chaos, something deeper stirred—an emptiness. A hollow space where fragments of herself should have been. She could feel them, buried somewhere beyond reach, waiting.

Time unraveled as she lay in the rain, the storm pressing down with the weight of a collapsing sky. Black clouds churned above, dragging the heavens toward the earth. Clogwyn was six kilometers away—an impossible distance when her body refused to move. Her Kanjōga lay forgotten in the mud beside her.

A burst of static crackled through her collar.

"This is Seconda. Quarta, do you hear me? What is going on? Are you safe?"

Seànn's voice cut through the storm, sharp and urgent. But Nion was far beyond hearing.

Then—footsteps. Swift, deliberate. Seànn emerged from the darkness, her silhouette briefly illuminated by a break in the clouds. Rain slicked her face, tracing the sharp lines of her features. Without hesitation, she dropped to her knees beside Nion, fingers pressing against her throat before striking her cheeks, trying to pull her back from the void.

"Are you hurt? What happened?" Seànn's voice was steady, but urgency edged her words.

Nion blinked, awareness creeping back in. But the sight of her superior officer sent a jolt through her chest. If Seconda herself had come, the situation had spiraled beyond control.

Seànn reached for her hand, ready to pull her up. The moment she did, she felt it—Nion's body was unresponsive. Her legs gave out, and one knee sank into the mud. Before she could collapse entirely, Seànn caught her, steadying her with a firm grip.

She eased Nion back onto her feet, studying her closely. "What happened here? Can you walk?"

"I... I'm fine," Nion said, the words strained, barely convincing.

Seànn didn't argue. She simply turned. "Then move. You shouldn't be here." Her voice was detached, cold.

Nion fought to stand, but her body betrayed her. Her legs trembled violently, refusing to support her weight, and the moment she tried to shift, a searing pain shot through her muscles, forcing her back down. But the sight of Seànn standing over her struck a deeper wound. If Seconda herself had come, then the situation would have turned into the worst possible disaster. That realization alone sent a fresh wave of panic through her.

Being rescued was one thing. Being seen like this—broken, helpless, stripped of all control—by Seànn of all people was another. Her superior. Her idol. The one person she had always sought to prove herself to. And now, here she was, collapsed in the mud, barely clinging to consciousness, barely holding herself together.

Her mind raced, thoughts moved too fast to catch. Shame, frustration, helplessness—too many emotions flooded inside her mind, threatening to crush what little will she had left. She could feel herself unraveling, on the verge of breaking down completely, but she bit down on it, forcing herself to breathe, to move, to do anything other than succumb. She had to stand. She had to regain control.

Seànn extended her hand again, offering support.

"I am fine!" Nion slapped it away. Her body betrayed her with every attempt to stand. The moment she forced weight onto her legs, they collapsed beneath her like a marionette with its strings cut. Frustration twisted inside her, a storm of rage and humiliation that burned hotter with each failure.

"Damn it! Damn it all!" she screamed, slamming her fist into the mud.

The cold, wet earth splattered across her face, mixing with the heat of her shame. She didn't care. She let herself fall forward onto her knees, fists trembling at her sides, refusing to meet Seànn's gaze.

"Leave me alone," she whispered, voice unsteady.

"Cannot do that. I've been ordered to bring you back." Seànn's tone was void of emotion as if her mission was all that mattered.

"Well, tell Aleksithimia that I'm coming back on my own. I don't need your help! So just go—do whatever!" The words tumbled from Nion's lips as she spat the words at the mud, unable to look Seànn in the eye.

Seànn sighed, kneeling before her, leveling their gazes. "Look," she said evenly, her voice steady against the storm. "I don't know why you left your post at the precipice or what's happened to put you in this state. But..." She reached out, her gloved fingers brushing against Nion's cheek, wiping away the mud that streaked her face. "Mission or not, I cannot leave you here."

Nion flinched at the touch, her body tensing as if Seànn's words had cut deeper than she intended. Her breath hitched, the weight of everything pressing down until she could barely contain the fury boiling inside her.

"Huh?! What state?" she spat, her voice rising in defiance. "Do you even know what you're talking about? Oh! Are you talking about that?" She jabbed a shaking finger at the detached Kanjōga lying in the mud.

"I am not talking about that..." Seann replied but got interrupted by Nion.

"I have never felt so miserable and useless in my whole life!" Her chest heaved as she glared up at Seànn, eyes burning. "Out of anyone in the world, why did it have to be you?!"

Her voice cracked, the weight of her words, something beyond anger. The longer she spoke, the harder she sobbed, her body trembling under the sheer force of emotion. It was as if everything she had locked away, everything she had forced herself to endure, had finally broken free—wild, uncontrollable, and unrelenting. Each sob wracked her frame, and no matter how much she tried to stifle them, they refused to be silenced.

Seànn didn't flinch. She didn't scowl or sigh in irritation. She simply stood there, watching as Nion trembled with anger, grief, and exhaustion. Her unreadable expression was infuriating—calm, detached. But there was something else, buried beneath the stoic mask. Something that made her hesitate, just for a fraction of a second.

"Screw that 'Utopia'…" Nion spat the word like venom. "He's created the most pitiful country on this planet!"

Her voice faltered, but she pressed on, her fury fueling her strength. "Do you even have the right to speak about things you can't begin to understand?! Do you remember what it feels like when your heart bleeds from the inside out—when you're forced to slaughter the innocent just to maintain someone's twisted version of peace?" She locked eyes with Seann. "No, you don't!"

"Have you ever, even for a moment, questioned your sanity? No… You never did, did you?" Nion's words came out like daggers, dripping with anger and frustration. She didn't care anymore—tomorrow wasn't hers to worry about. Today was her last, and nothing that came after it would matter. "Are you even aware of what you've become because of that thing?" Her trembling finger jabbed in Seann's direction, pointing accusingly at her collar. "You've got nothing to say, huh? Do you know why? Because you can't feel a damn thing! All of you—each and every one of you—are nothing but empty vessels, blindly obeying Mitera and whatever twisted command 'he' gives you."

Her breath came in ragged, desperate gasps, her chest rising and falling violently as her words turned into a frenzy. "That's what you are… That's all you will ever be… His puppets."

Seann remained still, her face unreadable, but the faintest flicker of concern passed through her eyes.

"Of course…" Nion let out a bitter laugh, the fire in her voice dimming into sheer exhaustion. "Nothing to say… All you care about is fulfilling your damn mission…" Her voice dropped lower as she spoke, her gaze drifting to the rain-soaked ground, watching the droplets splatter against Seann's shoes. "Have you ever asked yourself—why are we here? What are we doing?" Questioned Nion, as if letting go of the last of her pent-up fury. "I think about the past. I think about the future. I question what's right, and what's wrong. That's what makes me different from all of you. I'm trying to be what we used to call a human…" Her gaze fell to her hands, watching her fingers curl inward, her nails caked with mud. "At least… I pretend to be."

Seann stood, her eyes lifting toward the sky. The moon began to pierce through the rain clouds, casting a pale, ghostly light on the drenched earth.

Nion swallowed hard, her voice quieter now, more fragile. "Pathetic, aren't I?" She shook her head softly. "I don't know what disgusts me more—being in this wretched state or letting you see me like this. You… of all people." She trailed off, unable to finish the thought, her disbelief hanging in the air like the dying rain.

A minute of silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating, wrapping around them like an invisible shroud. It was the kind of silence that hung heavily in the air, oppressive and palpable, the kind that felt like it could choke the life out of everything. Every drop of rain hitting the ground seemed louder than it was, echoing the emptiness that lingered.

Seann didn't speak—she stood there, still, her expressionless, yet the quiet space between them told a story of its own. Her eyes flickered toward Nion, not with judgment, but with something else—something that might have been empathy, or perhaps a moment of quiet understanding. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but in the way Seann stood there, just listening, Nion felt something shift. The silence became less of an absence and more of a space where words weren't necessary, where Seann's presence alone conveyed more than any retort could.

But the silence didn't last forever. It lingered, stretched thin, like the last lingering note of a song that had already faded away. And then, finally, Seànn spoke.

"You sound like you've been through some hard times…"

Nion lifted her gaze to the sky, her expression distant. "Yeah... You could say that."

The words felt small compared to the storm raging inside her. The weight of everything—the mission, the choices, the blood on her hands—pressed down on her like an unbearable force.

"I think… I'll quit being a Keeper..." Her voice trembled, yet there was finality in it. "I want to leave, to go somewhere far away from this place."

Seànn tilted her head slightly. "Your reason lies in whatever happened today?"

Nion hesitated, her fingers clenching into fists. "I just… can't do this anymore," she admitted, barely above a whisper. "I've had enough of pretending everything is fine when it's not."

The moonlight shifted, illuminating Nion's face. She turned her head slightly, trying to escape its brightness, and in doing so, her eyes met Seànn's. For a fleeting moment, the reflection of the moon in her irises made them glow like amethyst gemstones.

Seànn studied her carefully before speaking again. "You are a brave and courageous person. If this is the path you have chosen, I trust that you have thought it through. Whatever your conclusion, I will respect it."

Nion said nothing, only staring at the endless sky. The weight of her emotions had drained her, leaving only silence in their wake.

Seànn was quiet for a long time before she finally spoke again. "Once, someone important to me told me… 'Enduring deepening pain is how you ascend.'"

Something in her tone made Nion pause. There was an unusual softness to Seànn's voice as if she were speaking more to herself than to Nion.

A dim, blinking light caught Seànn's attention. Her gaze drifted to the mud, where Nion's broken Kanjöga device lay half-buried. She picked it up, turning it over in her palm.

"Sometimes, I wish I could get my old self back," Seànn admitted, her voice quieter now. "The times when I could love and be loved. When I could feel like a human being... It may be a little thing, but I wish I could naturally smile again..." A faint, bitter smile crossed her lips.

Seànn was an enigma, a figure wrapped in disciplined silence and unwavering devotion to the country's reconstruction. No one truly knew who she was beyond the legacy she had built—her achievements, her precision in battle, her tireless work in shaping the new order. Rumors surrounded her like a veil, but they were just that—fragments of speculation, empty whispers in a world that had long stopped questioning. Even Nion, who had admired her for years, realized that she knew nothing about the woman behind the mask of the Seconda Keeper, the second most powerful unit in the nation. No past, no origins—just a relentless force molded by the very system Nion had grown to despise.

"I've killed so many... Too many to count," Seànn confessed. "You were right about one thing—I don't feel pain. I don't feel pity. Slicing through a human body is no different than cutting butter. My only concern is not getting my clothes dirty… And it's okay this way. Because I chose it to be like this. Because if I didn't do it—someone had to."

She glanced at Nion, her expression unreadable. "I used to despise what I've become, a monster. That's why I decided to forget, to stop caring..."

Her voice was steady, but something dark lurked beneath the words—something unspoken. It was the first time Seànn had ever revealed even a glimpse of her past, and Nion had no idea what lay beneath the surface.

"Every morning, when I wake up," Seànn continued, "I spend minutes—sometimes hours—staring at my reflection, wondering if today will be my last. If there will ever be a reckoning… a moment where the weight of my actions finally catches up to me."

She gazed into Nion's eyes, the intensity in them like a hypnotic clock spiraling down to her soul. "Maybe it's still time for you to take another path, to enjoy life far away from here—somewhere you can be loved and cherished."

Nion's breath hitched, hesitation lacing her words.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "For what I said before. I didn't mean to yell at you like that."

Seànn let out a quiet breath, unreadable as ever. "You know… every time I see you express yourself so freely, there's a part of me that envies you."

Nion opened her mouth to respond, but Seànn wasn't finished.

"I suppose Aleksithimia never told you about this…" She touched her collar, fingers running over the sleek device. "Mine is directly connected to my brain. Unlike you, I can't remove it anymore."

Nion's stomach twisted.

"I still have the remnants of my old consciousness," Seànn admitted. "And those remnants… they let me taste—just barely—the complexity of the emotions you're drowning in right now."

The temperature drop became evident, each breath curling into the air as a fleeting wisp of fog, a ghost dissolving into the night. "In the end, I made my decision, and I have no regrets."

Nion lowered her gaze, guilt settling deep in her chest. "I was selfish… I only thought about myself…"

Seànn shook her head. "Don't worry, everything I've learned about life, I've learned through joy... pain... loss—far too much of it." Her voice softened, almost distant. "That is my essence of life."

"Then… what is my essence of life?" Nion asked.

Seànn met her eyes. "Only you can find that answer. And to do that… you must live. You have to learn about the outside world—its beauty and its ugliness… all of it."

The once-heavy storm had done its work, washing away the blood and soot, leaving only the scent of damp ash lingering in the air. In the distance, the thick smoke that had once choked the sky began to thin, revealing glimpses of the destruction left behind.

Yet, the bonfire still burned.

Though weakened by the rain, its flames clung stubbornly to the charred remains, embers pulsing like dying stars in the night. The fire had lost its monstrous roar, yet it continued to flicker, casting grotesque shadows over the skeletal remains of the village. The smell of scorched wood and burnt flesh still tainted the air, refusing to be washed away so easily. It stood as a final defiance against the storm—silent, but unrelenting.

Seànn turned toward the horizon, her gaze sharp. "What's going on over there?"

Nion followed her eyes, her heart hammering in her chest. The village was still smoldering, its ruins barely visible through the thinning smoke. The weight of unfinished business pressed down on her.

"I'm sorry… but I can't go back yet," she admitted her voice firm despite the exhaustion dragging at her limbs. "I need to finish what I started. There's someone who still needs my help. Maybe… maybe it's not too late…"

Seànn remained silent for a moment, studying her carefully. Then, she extended a hand.

"If you believe there is still something to be done, then so be it." Her voice carried no judgment, only resolute understanding. "As your superior, I permit you to proceed to Elpida for an urgent mission. I will return to sort out the situation at the precipice."

Nion hesitated for only a second before reaching out, grasping Seànn's hand. It was steady, and for the first time in a long while, she felt grounded. As she pulled herself up, her muscles protested, but she forced them to obey.

"We don't know each other," Nion admitted, her grip tightening briefly, "but… thank you. I just wish we could have had this conversation under different circumstances."

Seànn gave a small nod, a rare flicker of warmth in her usually impenetrable expression. "Come back safe, and I shall invite you for a coffee."

Nion managed a faint smile. "I know a great coffee shop in the old town."

Seànn exhaled a chuckle—something almost human in its simplicity. "Be careful."

Without another word, both figures turned, their silhouettes disappearing into the darkness, splitting in opposite directions like shooting stars. Seànn surged westward, vanishing into the shadows of the precipice, while Nion raced back toward the remnants of the burned and desolate village, where the ghosts of the past still lingered, waiting.

The silence was heavier than the smoke that curled into the night sky. Nion's breath came shallow, her body moving on instinct alone, each step sluggish as if she were wading through an ocean of ghosts. The embers from the smoldering ruins cast flickering shadows against the warped walls, distorting the remnants of the village into twisted silhouettes—haunting echoes of what once was.

The bonfire ahead pulsed like a living thing, its glow licking at the air, hungry even after devouring so much. It stood there, undisturbed, towering over the village like a grotesque effigy of death. The flames crackled in soft, insatiable whispers, their murmurs filling the void left behind by the absence of screams. There was no one left to cry for help. No one left to save.

A numbness settled over her, thick and suffocating, pressing against her ribs. The exhaustion seeped into her muscles, her limbs dragging as she moved forward. The world around her blurred, edges smudging together like an unfinished painting. She stumbled, her boot catching on debris—wood, maybe bone, she didn't bother to check. Nothing here mattered anymore. Yet she kept walking.

The weight of the air around her grew unbearable, pressing against her chest with an invisible force. Nion's breath hitched as she took another step forward, the sickening reality before her coming into sharper focus. The wooden cross stood solemn, an unholy monument to madness and cruelty. The ragged piece of flesh, stretched and pinned like parchment, bore grotesque carvings—letters crudely sliced into the skin, dried blood forming jagged borders around each word.

She could almost hear the blade working through the flesh, feel the slow, deliberate strokes of a hand that had carved not just a message, but a nightmare. The heat from the bonfire had baked the blood into something brittle, the words barely legible beneath layers of blackened gore.

"Look up, my little mouse. I knew you would come back. Just so you know… I choked him first."

Her stomach twisted violently. Her pulse pounded so hard it drowned out the soft crackling of the dying flames.

The rain had completely ceased, leaving behind a silence that felt louder than any scream she had ever heard. The buildings around her—hollow, broken shells of homes—stood like mourners at a funeral. The wind snaked through the ruined village, slipping through shattered windows and rotting beams, making the ruins groan as if whispering, warning her - Don't look up.

Every instinct in her screamed not to. The weight of dread pressed down on her shoulders, keeping her gaze fixed on the ground. The village itself seemed to beg her to turn away, to leave before she unraveled completely. But she knew she wouldn't. She had to see. Slowly, trembling, she lifted her head.

In Nion's world, "hope" was a cruel illusion—an ember that flickered in the darkness only to be snuffed out by the cold hand of reality. The wisdom of the Four Emperors dictated two choices: hope and agitation, or hopelessness and calm. A false dichotomy, designed to pacify those who clung to the former and break those who dared to defy the latter.

They preached that hope was fearless, that it could bloom even in the abyss, and that it could fortify the soul against the impossible. But no one ever spoke of how fragile it truly was—how easily it could be ripped apart, shattered beyond recognition.

No one warned of the devastation that came when hope was snatched away, not suddenly, but piece by piece, until all that remained was a hollowed-out shell, a body moving forward out of habit rather than will. How easy it was to destroy a person, not by taking their life, but by crushing the last remnants of their belief that life was worth enduring.

Time slowed to a crawl the moment Nion began lifting her head. Her heart pounded against her ribs, each beat a deafening drum echoing through her hollowed chest. Dry tears, remnants of anguish too deep to manifest properly, traced slow, burning paths down her face. The weight of inevitability bore down on her, pressing against her lungs, crushing the last vestiges of hope she didn't even realize she had been clinging to.

Her eyes climbed toward the top of the pyre, and with each fraction of a second, hysteria bubbled violently inside her, clawing at the walls of her throat, demanding to be unleashed. Every atrocity she had witnessed, every failure, every second she had spent chasing a child who no longer had the luxury of being saved—it all pressed down on her.

The bonfire loomed before her, an infernal monument of suffering and loss, its flames licking hungrily at the corpses stacked within. And at the very top, bathed in the cruel glow of moonlight and fire, was a small, charred silhouette.

A boy.

His body was swallowed by the fire, the relentless heat peeling away his flesh in blackened, jagged wounds, his small frame contorted in silent, unthinkable agony. The flames had climbed him like ravenous beasts, devouring him from the feet up—slowly, mercilessly—ensuring that every nerve, every fiber of his being had screamed for salvation that never came.

Yet his face—his face remained.

Untouched. Frozen in time, as if the flames themselves had spared it, preserving the final echoes of his terror.

And that was how she knew.

Asta.

Pipola's son.

The boy she had sworn to protect.

The child she had failed.