Ashes (4)

While the remaining knights in the church poured water over the ash and swept it away, checking to see if anything was hiding or if anyone had been assimilated, Leonardo brought me to the fountain where the holy water pooled and stripped off his shirt.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't have anything suitable."

He soaked the cloth in the water, rinsed it several times, and then wrung it out. He sat me down beside him and carefully touched my neck with the damp cloth. Hmm, is this a healing act?

Soon, his expression grew serious.

"It's not working."

There was no need to ask what he meant. It meant that the holy water that had instantly healed his broken arm didn't work on my injuries. I had felt it since my injury remained even after the reset: in many ways, my body seems to be walking a different path from the laws that flow in this world.

Leonardo murmured slowly.

"Even the priests can't heal their own bodies. They lack the ability to contain water within themselves; they can only draw it out and pour it into the vessels of others. So, is this also part of your nature?"

He was completely misinterpreting me as an apostle. His hand rubbed my nape and then slid down my shoulder. As I flinched at the ticklish sensation, Leonardo's fingers wrapped around my right wrist, where the wounds were. It seemed he had memorized the locations of all the scars on my body. Leonardo added softly, 

"Why do you keep getting hurt when I'm not looking? It makes me scared to take my eyes off you."

Before I could jokingly retort, asking if he was scared of anything, Orlie approached us, spinning his spear to shake off the ash.

"Are you both alright?"

Orlie was particularly focused on me. He did glance at Leonardo afterward, but it seemed he was genuinely worried about my well-being, which made me feel uneasy, wondering what value I held for the writers to be so concerned.

Instead of welcoming his fencing master, who he had fought alongside for the first time in a while, Leonardo stayed close to me. Each time I saw his consistent, protective behaviour, I couldn't help but find it amusing.

[Assistant Writer: Can we talk for a moment?]

The long-awaited sea. I signaled with my eyes and naturally suggested to Orlie.

"Thank you for saving me, Sir Orlie. If you don't mind me asking, could you help me look for the escaped mules? I'm a bit hesitant to go alone since I think they might still be inside the church. You're the only one I can talk to about this comfortably."

"Ah, of course."

At that moment, Leonardo shot me a bewildered glance and firmly asserted,

"I can go with you."

"You need to guard the wagon. You can't just leave it to anyone else."

Are you planning to leave your corpse lying around in the church courtyard for everyone to see? Someone might come to move our wagon and discover the coffin, yelling, 'These damn transporters!' as they drag us away.

Leonardo pouted, still seeming unwilling, but after I lightly kicked his foot, he reluctantly nodded. Orlie took the lead, and we walked past the knights busy with the aftermath, making our way to the shaded areas of the church.

"…I hope you understand that I cannot explain much about this situation."

Orlie was the first to speak. I replied with half a mind to press him and half pure curiosity.

"Is there a reason you can't say?"

The answer flowed out without needing to be spoken by Orlie.

[Assistant Writer: This is part of the stage as well. And actors do not speak of stories outside the stage. It breaks the immersion.]

'Is it a warning not to break the fourth wall?'

Thinking about it, Orlie's words—"I'm sorry I can't explain this situation in detail"—could also be interpreted as a clichéd apology from a church figure regarding the disaster that has befallen Sinistra, rather than a matter between the writers.

In that case, I should play along.

"Well, how can humans stop a calamity with their own power? It's unfortunate. I wonder if God cannot whisper everything into our ears after all."

'This implies, "Can't you just explain everything through that chat window?"'

Orlie hesitated for a moment before responding.

"We have many questions in life. However, answers don't always come, and it seems that some questions are designed to remain unanswered forever. Sometimes, not knowing is more beneficial for the seeker, and I believe that's how it came to be."

He elaborated on the saying that ignorance is bliss.

"Moreover, the voice of God is also called a revelation, which is often granted to those under the watch of the heavens. If one cannot hear it, it means that they are still lacking in their practice, does it not?"

Under the watch, huh? It reminds me of a spotlight. Is he suggesting I should stand out more?

"I see. If I become someone who shines brighter in this world, will I be able to hear His voice more often someday?"

"Yes. I believe so."

Then there was a moment of silence. We wandered near the church's walls, pretending to search for the mules while scanning for hoofprints or bent grass.

After a while, Orlie added, "Such events will often occur, I suppose. God might give revelations in advance during such times, but perhaps the devil could be eavesdropping and bring about even greater trials."

The devil likely refers to the "sub-writer 1", who has taken an antagonistic stance against them. It seems that the information typed in the chat could potentially leak to the sub-writer.

"Is that so? This is precisely the moment when I need a revelation the most. The inn I was running has completely collapsed, and I feel lost."

"That is truly unfortunate. I understand you must have put immense effort into maintaining that place."

"Just thinking about it is already overwhelming, but should I try to rebuild it?"

[Assistant Writer: Sinistra is no longer safe. Since it has already been breached once, this event's narrative may create a plausibility for an even greater disaster to strike next time.]

[Assistant Writer: If things continue this way, there is a possibility that the stage could be damaged, so we intend to close the 'Sinistra' stage.]

The protagonist, bearing the attributes of a hero, is always the subject of trials. Consequently, the place he resides in will eventually become a target of conflict. This is why so many heroic poems follow the footsteps of heroes and sing about their lives. Wherever he treads, there is always a crisis.

To protect Sinistra, it is time for the protagonist, the cause of these crises, to leave the stage and open a new one.

"Perhaps this could be another opportunity. Since you narrowly avoided a great disaster, it might be good to take this chance to rest and recharge back in your hometown."

"My hometown is far away."

"Then, how about your husband's hometown? There, you could perhaps receive some help from his family."

Husband? Out of the blue?

I stared at Orlie with a puzzled expression, then finally recalled Leonardo's 'darling' incident from before.

Ah, he means Leonardo. Leovald was a wandering boy with no information about his hometown, so he must be referring to the Ertinez family. This information coming from the assistant writer could be considered a revelation. I've essentially received a spoiler from the script notes.

"Thank you for your kind words."

Then we heard rustling in the bushes. Two mules, with their fluffy ears perked up like rabbits, blinked their innocent eyes at us. Carefully, I reached out and grabbed their reins. I was worried they would remember me as the worst rider and kick me, but surprisingly, they obediently followed. Orlie and I each led a mule back to the courtyard of the church.

Leonardo, who was perched on the wagon, sprang to his feet upon seeing us approach. In the meantime, he had properly dressed himself. As Leonardo took the reins from me and began reconnecting the harness, Orlie handed me the reins of the other mule and spoke gently.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help to you. Wherever you go, I will always think of you. Please take care of yourself until we meet again."

'So, the writer will keep an eye on me and wants me to stay safe.'

Though I didn't know exactly what role they expected me to play, in that moment, I felt trust and goodwill. So, I simply nodded. It was a fairly beautiful farewell until Leonardo hurriedly approached us.

"Let's head back quickly."

"Huh? Uh, wait, don't rush...."

"Travel safely," Orlie said.

Leonardo hoisted me onto the wagon and firmly declared, "We're leaving."

As we set off, I looked back. Orlie stood at the entrance of the church, watching us with a complex expression in his eyes. I waved to him in a final farewell.

Leonardo sighed and sat beside me. 

"Wherever you go, I'll protect you. I won't leave you alone."

Smiling, I nodded. "Thank you, Leonardo. Let's head towards a new journey together."

And so, we began our new journey, leaving Sinistra behind and heading towards a new stage where another story would unfold.

***

Nothing remains in the place where the fire has trampled. 

If anything is left, it's merely a shabby framework, or something burnt and meaningless scattered as ashes.

Vittorio gasps for breath. The pale purple curtains, the warmth of the brick walls, and the footsteps of visitors creating a circular imprint on the threshold—all of it has been transformed into grey, and now it is only grey, nothing more.

"V-Vittorio."

The street urchin calls out to Vittorio in a panic.

Since the innkeeper told him to run, Vittorio had been leading his group away, but at some point, he noticed a thick, dark smoke rising from the alley in a familiar direction and stopped his escape.

He could be criticized for his lack of responsibility. He could be scolded for not being fit to lead his group. But Vittorio had to turn back to that place, leaving everything behind. Even if he had known that discovering the inn engulfed in flames would leave him feeling so ragged, he would have made the same choice.

His breath quickened. A jar filled with candies that a jovial man used to occasionally give him. The expensive glass jar was placed among the ashes, reflecting the dying embers, sending out a light so bright it felt blinding. The light made him squint reflexively, bringing to mind the moment when blood soaked his eyelashes. Vittorio confronts the memories of the underground. When he was kidnapped…

Vittorio did not expect help. He had not been granted a life innocent enough to believe in such things.

'But you came to save me.'

You saved me, time and time again.

'You trained me to be this way.'

Now, when someone reaches out a hand toward me, I worry about getting hit instead of expecting the warmth that comes with closed eyes.

The child cried. Crying was an act that revealed weakness, something he had long since cut out of his life. He couldn't understand why he often found himself needing to empty that dried-up well.

Drops of water fell from the dusk-lit alley, plopping down like little beads. It was a sudden rain shower that soaked a person quickly before moving on. As Vittorio cried, the street urchin, who had been fidgeting nervously, suddenly brightened at the sight of a tall shadow approaching from ahead.

"Kid?"

It was a startled voice.

***

Upon discovering us, I was first startled to see Vittorio crying like a child.

I comforted him and urged him to get out of the rain, sitting him down on the wagon, before finally checking the state of the inn, which caused a second wave of panic.

Fire does not allow anything to be left behind. It's a common trait of many disasters. I know this well, perhaps too well, which is precisely the problem. But witnessing it firsthand is a different matter altogether. I stared at the inn. I had hoped that the brick walls might still be intact, but the roof had collapsed, bringing down the heavy beams along with the exterior walls. A giant must have stomped through this place. That giant's other name is disaster.

As I vacantly watched the dying embers in the downpour, Leonardo glanced at the state of the inn, then looked back at me, unsure of what to do.

"If I had dealt with that guy properly in the beginning…"

"It's okay."

I patted Leonardo on the shoulder, knowing that there was nothing he could have done to stop it. This was just another one of the sub-writer's tricks. To have something means that one day you will lose it, so there's no need to be disappointed.

While I was lost in those thoughts, Leonardo suddenly wrapped his arm around my shoulder and said firmly, "I will take responsibility."

"Even if it's not your fault," I sighed and tapped Leonardo's hand lightly. "How do you plan to take responsibility?"

In response, Leonardo dramatically knelt down on one knee, brushing off his pant leg with a serious expression on his face.

"...?"

What's with this atmosphere?