The Final Confession

The garden was quiet, the soft rustle of cherry blossoms in the breeze the only sound. The old man sat on a bench near the koi pond, his frail frame hunched forward, his trembling hands resting loosely on his knees. His tears had dried, but the weight of years spent in regret lingered in the deep lines of his face. He stared into the still water, watching the faint ripples as the koi swam lazily beneath the surface.

"I think I'm ready," he said finally, his voice low and steady.

Tagitsa stood a short distance away, his hands folded behind his back as he observed the man. His emerald eyes were calm, unwavering, but his presence carried a faint sense of expectation. He stepped closer, taking a seat on the bench beside the old man, though he kept a respectful distance.

The old man let out a shaky breath, his sunken eyes reflecting the koi pond before him. "It's strange," he murmured. "The closer I get to understanding, the more I see what I missed… and what I took for granted."

His trembling hands moved to clasp each other, his fingers interlocking as though trying to steady himself. "There was a moment," he began, his voice soft but steady, "when he was just a boy. Maybe six or seven years old."

He smiled faintly, his eyes distant as he stared into the pond. "I was sitting in my chair after a long day. Tired, angry… not at him, but at life. Bills piling up, work draining me… everything felt so heavy."

His voice wavered slightly as he continued. "And then, out of nowhere, he came up to me. He didn't say anything. He just… hugged me."

The old man's hands tightened around each other, his voice breaking as he spoke. "I didn't know what to do. I just sat there, frozen. I didn't say anything. I didn't hug him back. I just… let him go when he pulled away."

He looked down at his hands, his lips trembling. "I didn't even look at him. I didn't say thank you. I didn't tell him how much that moment meant. And now… now I wish I had held on tighter."

Tagitsa remained silent, his emerald eyes steady as he watched the old man. He didn't interrupt, allowing the words to come at their own pace.

The old man let out a bitter chuckle, his frail shoulders shaking slightly. "It's funny, isn't it? How the smallest things—the ones you don't even notice at the time—are the ones that stay with you."

He turned to look at Tagitsa, his watery eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and longing. "I didn't deserve that hug," he said, his voice trembling. "Not after the way I treated him. But he gave it to me anyway."

Tagitsa's voice was calm when he spoke, a steady anchor to the old man's storm of emotions. "You held on in your own way," he said. "You carried it with you, even if you didn't know how to show it. That moment stayed with you because it mattered."

The old man shook his head, his hands tightening around each other. "But I never gave him one back. Not once. Not when he needed it most."

Tagitsa leaned forward slightly, his emerald eyes unwavering. "You're giving it now," he said simply.

The old man's lips quivered, his watery gaze turning back to the pond. The koi swam in lazy circles, their vibrant scales catching the sunlight. He let out a deep, shuddering breath, his frail body trembling slightly as he released the tension he had held for so long.

"I hope he felt it," he said softly. "Even if I never said it. I hope he knew."

Tagitsa's voice was firm but gentle. "He knew. But now, it's time for you to know."

The old man turned to look at him, his expression conflicted. "How do I let go of something I've held onto for so long?"

"You already have," Tagitsa replied, his tone unwavering. "Now you just have to let it leave."

The old man let out a shaky breath, his frail hands falling back to his lap. He straightened slightly, his hunched frame finding a small measure of strength. The cherry blossoms around them stirred gently in the breeze, their petals drifting softly to the ground.

He closed his eyes for a moment, his lips moving silently as though saying a final prayer. When he opened them, there was a faint glimmer of peace in his gaze.

"Thank you," he said quietly, his voice steady.

Tagitsa nodded, his expression calm but purposeful. The old man's form began to glow faintly, the light growing brighter as the soft breeze carried the petals around them.

"I hope I see him again," the old man murmured, his voice filled with quiet hope.

"You will," Tagitsa said simply.

The glow enveloped the old man, and he disappeared with a faint warmth, leaving the bench empty. The cherry blossoms continued to fall, their gentle descent a quiet reminder of the peace he had finally found.

Tagitsa sat for a moment longer, his emerald eyes fixed on the spot where the old man had been. He murmured softly to himself, "418,293."

As Tagitsa made his way back through the quiet streets, the soft crunch of petals beneath his feet seemed louder than usual. The lanterns swayed gently overhead, casting faint shadows across the cobblestones. The town was as it always had been—unchanging, timeless—but there was a faint shift within him, subtle and unspoken.

The old man's words echoed in his mind, unbidden and persistent. "I just wanted him to do better… to be better than me."

He stopped in his tracks, his gaze lifting toward a nearby row of cherry trees. Their branches stretched high into the pale sky, their blossoms in full bloom. A single petal broke free, drifting slowly to the ground. Tagitsa's emerald eyes followed its descent, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever.

And yet, something stirred beneath the surface.

The garden came into view as he turned the corner, its vibrant colors untouched by the passage of time. The koi pond shimmered under the soft light, the water rippling faintly as the fish moved lazily beneath the surface. The rows of flowers swayed gently in the breeze, their petals bright and alive against the stillness of the world around them.

Tagitsa walked the familiar paths, his steps slow and measured. He reached out occasionally, brushing his fingers lightly against the petals of the flowers he passed. Their soft texture felt the same as always, yet there was something about their fragile beauty that seemed different.

He paused near the koi pond, his gaze lingering on the water's surface. The ripples formed faint patterns, their movement steady and unhurried. His reflection stared back at him—white hair, emerald eyes, and the faintest shadow of something he couldn't quite name.

The old man's voice returned to him, faint but insistent. "I didn't mean to hurt him… I thought I was helping."

Tagitsa closed his eyes briefly, the words threading through his mind like fragments of a memory he didn't know he had. He recalled the way the man's hands had trembled, the weight of regret that had pressed down on his frail frame.

Regret. It was a word Tagitsa understood on some level, though it had never truly touched him. Not in the way it had touched the souls he guided. And yet, in the quiet of the garden, with the blossoms drifting around him and the ripples of the pond moving softly, he felt its faint edges brush against him.

He turned away from the pond, his gaze lifting toward the cherry blossoms above. Their vibrant pink hues stood in stark contrast to the pale sky, their petals falling like fragments of a forgotten dream.

"I just wanted him to do better…"

The words lingered, not as an accusation but as an echo of something deeper. A truth that seemed both foreign and familiar. Tagitsa's hands moved instinctively to adjust the scarf around his neck, the fabric soft against his fingers. The motion was automatic, a habit born of centuries, yet this time it felt heavier.

The scars hidden beneath the scarf were a mystery to him, their origin lost to the void of memory. But as he stood beneath the cherry blossoms, the faintest flicker of something stirred within him.

He reached out, catching a falling petal between his fingers. It was delicate, its edges soft and fragile, and for a moment, he simply held it, his emerald eyes fixed on its pale hue.

"Did you ever tell him you were proud?" he murmured, echoing his own words to the old man. The question hung in the air, unanswered, its weight settling in the quiet of the garden.

He released the petal, watching as it drifted to the ground. The faint ripple of movement it created in the air mirrored the ripples in his thoughts—small, subtle, but undeniably there.

Tagitsa turned back toward the heart of the garden, his steps slow and deliberate. The stillness of Purgatory wrapped around him, but this time it felt different. Not heavier, but… fuller.

He reached one of the flower beds, kneeling to tend to a cluster of blossoms that had shifted slightly in the wind. His hands moved with practiced ease, yet his mind lingered on the old man's words, on the faint echoes of emotion that had stirred within him.

The garden thrived under his care, its vibrant beauty eternal and unchanging. But as he worked, the faintest hint of a smile touched his lips—not visible, not yet—but there, deep within the quiet corners of his being.

As the cherry blossoms continued to fall, Tagitsa rose, his hands brushing the earth from his knees. He glanced toward the path leading back into the town, the faint shimmer of energy in the distance signaling the arrival of another soul.

He turned toward it, his expression calm, his presence steady. But as he took his first step, a single thought lingered in his mind.

"I just wanted them to know I cared."

And for the first time in centuries, it wasn't just their words. It was his.