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  There are lavenders in the air; smells belonging to a healer’s temple. Raseyla has only been here a few times when she’s terribly sick, not only did someone bring her here―

  She . . . lived.

  But every move, even the act of breathing itself was labor. Raseyla opens her eyes to an unknown ceiling, eyes glued to a spot where they would have hung a chandelier from the ceiling―but was seemingly removed. For a temple the place is opulent, more reminiscent of a manor where a noble would live. The bed itself was the only thing standing apart from the rest of the objects in this room―the frame is reminiscent of a double-bed―and its sheets were seemingly wrapped between two hard beds stacked beside each other; if she rolls in her sleep she might just slip in-between.

  It’d have been less jarring if she woke up in a shared room with the other sick or injured―but this was a lone room, the kind of treatment nobles get.

  “W- w…”

  Why am I here? She wanted to ask out loud, but she couldn't speak so she thought instead. Now that she thought about it, the whole of her body felt all too weak . . . how long―A pair of eyes looked at her, their narrow slits going wider into circles. Even in this far a point of the world, there was a saying that endured through the ages:

  Stare into the abyss, and the abyss stares back.

  The room itself is really dark, as one would expect in a world plagued by perpetual night, and in a room where a patient must rest as much as they can. So she could not be blamed for not noticing . . .

  “. . . Rreooww.” The pitch-black cat loafed up on her chest.

  Huh? Raseyla thought.

  She could only see its two globes for eyes, and the pink of its jutted out tongue.

  Raseyla gathered as much strength and will, “What are you doing…?” Only to speak with a raspy, terribly weak voice.

  But that was a mistake―the cat had perked up, its little paws planting on her collarbone.

  “Huh?” Raseyla finally said out loud, when―

  ▂▂▂▂▂▃▃▃▃▃▅▅▅▅▅――――

  ―Let’s just say the cat did its best to make a morning rooster impression.

  △▼△

  Answering the heretical call of the cat was this Kerus boy, with features of black hair and verdant eyes. He came with this mint-like scent to him, carrying to the room a tea-set on top of a wooden tray.

  “Sorry about the cat, blackie’s a bit too proactive with his job.”

  No kidding, I didn’t even know a cat could make those sounds! Raseyla thought, but it didn’t feel right so…

  “No no,” She shook her head. “For the first time in what feels like a few days… I didn’t have to worry about more serious things, just good old normal…”

  She squints her eyes to try and see where the pitch-black cat went, only to find it huddling up around the boy’s shoulders—as if it were some sort of scarf. Yawning as if it worked an all-day shift just to wake her up.

  As much as she wanted to ruminate on the cat—

  “Okaayy then.”

  —The way the boy responded to her last words roused her suspicions. Alright they’re doing this after all.

  “Just–... give it to me straight. How long was I out?”

  He blinked a few times in surprise, before going: “A month–”

  “A month——”

  Raseyla would have sat up and shouted at the top of her lungs, but then she felt her body elbows limp and weakly slide against the hard bed.

  “Ah…” That’s why she was so weak.

  The boy sighed. “You’re gonna have to regain your strength if you want to move again, until then I’ll be looking after you.”

  “Wow, you sound like–” You’ve been taking care of me after a while… She was about to say, but she got caught up in conversation, all of a sudden feeling her throat grow sore and her stomach hurt from having to push her belly just to speak.

  “We’re understaffed,” The boy said, apparently guessing what she was thinking about. “Dad can’t take care of every patient so I do what I can to help.”

  She couldn’t speak, she couldn’t talk loudly over her warring thoughts and the self-inflicting pain they like to barb against herself. Just as loud as the kindness he gave was the guilt that followed after—she sold her soul and would later cause a disaster, it’s better if she suffers all their hatred.

  From the sounds of it she’s not the only one he’s caring for too, so what the hell… she doesn’t deserve his time—

  “You…” The boy looked at her, mildly annoyed. “Look, I don’t really care whether or not you feel deserving of medical treatment, but simply put I won’t sleep right at night knowing I could have done better with healing you. So zip it, I won’t have this discussion with you.”

  — . . . What a self-serving prick! So he’s only doing this for himself, huh?! Well fine, it’s more bearable that way!

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “And no,” The boy began to stand. “I don’t read minds, you’re practically wearing what you’re thinking right on your face.”

  Then he left the room . . . leaving Raseyla, unable to physically move or even retort back, absolutely baffled. Before that dream eater comes back to reap her soul, Raseyla’s gonna make sure she pummels that boy’s face in.

  . . . Now that she thought about it, what even is his name?

  Recovery is going smoothly.

  “Hey, what even is your name?”

  “Cain.”

  “. . . Huh, what an odd name, must be extremely rare.”

  “It’s one of a kind, mom’s an Alda woman, the origin came from her world.”

  “Exactly what I said.”

  Thanks to his ass, everyday seems just a bit more bearable.

  “By the way, my name’s–”

  “―Raseyla.”

  “How did you even know?!”

  “I’ll tell you once you finish healing.”

  He pisses me off until I can speak for longer, goes completely contrarian, and speaks badly on my favorite dishes just to get a physical reaction out of me.

  “Oohh! I’m going to strangle you one day!”

  “Relax, it’s just food.”

  “Sleep with just one eye open.”

  I hate to admit it, but it’s really therapeutic. “Yesterday’s” problems really seem like a month away―grounding her into today―all so she can sock him a good one.

  “Why’d you give a peasant like me a noble room?”

  “I’ll also tell you that for–”

  “--after you recover.”

  “. . .”

  “You’re getting real predictable– hey where are you going?”

  Day by day keeps passing by, before I knew it I could write, and things got even less boring from there. But honestly? The real star of the show is that weird as hell cat, Cain calls her blackie. I overheard a few patients call her by some other name… void, earthsong, King Reginus the Sanctus venedic… whatever the hell the 3rd. If there’s anyone I’d like to keep nursing me . . . . . . . . . . . .

  △▼△

  . . . Cain helped her set her foot to the ground, guiding her by waist, slowly pushing her to the edge of the bed until her foot touched a soft pair of slippers.

  “Can you stand?”

  “I don’t know…” Raseyla pushes herself up, standing straight for a while, before her knees buckle again. “Sorry…”

  “Don’t worry, you’ve come a long way.”

  Nobody really came to visit, nobody could. But he’s so annoying she could just not think about it as long as he keeps talking.

  He brings her arms over his neck and around his shoulder.

  “Hm, you taking me somewhere?”

  “To the roof, I was thinking you should get some fresh air.”

  She didn’t really care, nor did she mind. All she’s interested in is seeing just how far she could walk today―and each time seemed less scarier than the last. At the start each step a world’s away―

  ―While his steps bounded through those worlds, forcing her to follow. Till’ for the first time in a while, everything transformed around her.

  No longer the same portraits of the Alda Woman that Cain described as his mom. There were paintings in the vast halls of the twisting forests right outside the walls, and a golden prairie of their finest harvests all from the view of a cliff by the valleyside.

  Only this time they were going to the roof―this’ll be a first for her. Right before Raseyla was a whole flight of stairs.

  She swallowed breath―each step a heaven too high to reach―and each impossibility was overcome with Cain’s steadfastness. Before self-defeat could sneak in, he’s already forced her to the same step.

  “Ghh…” Raseyla’s forced to lean on him.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah… go slower please.”

  And he does, until eventually―they at last make it to the roof. He spoke of it before, how it was the best view of the city, how you could see Atner’s march all the way from here, and then see the castle at the heart of the city. But when she got there, there was hardly any of that at all―

  ―High above the sky was a massive comet, streaking light across the dome of the world, leaving miniature stars in its wake.

  The red light of the world that had come from it was gone―now there was only that brilliance. Compared to that amazing sight . . . the city below was mere silent ruins, the immediate buildings to her foreground were unlit and looked on the verge of collapse, and the March in question was still in ruins despite a month having passed.

  “. . . Heh, what a terrible view.”

  “Suck it up,” The boy closed an eye. “You’re only a month and several days late for the ideal view.”

  “Wow, I missed it by a hair.”

  She sucked in her breath, not wanting to laugh, so she ended up sighing. Finding her eyes lost upon the massive tail of the comet up above.

  “Say,” Raseyla began. “I’m plenty recovered enough, right?”

  “Hm… I guess you are.”

  “Right so–”

  “You wanted to know about why I know your name, how your body recovered from your injuries, and why you’ve got a noble’s room.”

  “. . .”

  Golem, Raseyla thought.

  “Well, the first question is part of the reason why I brought you here. It ties in with your last question too. ―You know how whenever someone strong is near you, it’s like the world tells you who exactly they are to make it easier to avoid them?”

  Raseyla was not liking how this was going . . .

  “But I’m not even strong enough to warrant that kind of reaction to the world!”

  “Be that as it may, that’s what happened. Everyone left in the city knows your name, and a whole lot of them believe you’re the one who caused all this, as ridiculous as that sounds. You’re either awakened to some power or were blessed by a God at the last moment.”

  “That’s…”

  It’s not entirely wrong to put the blame on her . . . but they haven’t even met her! Let alone figure out her reasons―all she can trust is the word of a spirit, and spirits are an extension of the world’s nature. Hurricanes cannot lie and pretend to be something else, much like how an earthquake can’t pretend to be a tsunami―

  ―Beings who represent nature in a way cannot lie, and a dream eater represents the forgetting of dreams and possibly the soul. It blames her for being the cause, so it must be true!

  “. . . Hah, there you go again.” Cain sighs again, “Blaming yourself and all that.”

  “But it’s not wrong…”

  “So what? I don’t care if you think that way, I think it is wrong. You’re just… different, and I’ve had enough of people being hated just because they are that way.”

  He surely didn’t say those words just to make her feel better, self-centered as he is, she turned to his eyes and saw the answer for what it was. She’s correct, he said such kind things all for himself. Such kind selfishness . . . acquiring such a thing because of her, because she was there.

  It’s such a tiny, selfish little reason… but for once, it’s nice to feel needed.