That night, the rain had stopped. Drops of water still clung to the edges of leaves and roof tiles, making a faint rhythm whenever the wind passed. The cold air crept slowly into the house, but Mathien stayed where he was—lying quietly in front of the grandmother's bedroom door, his fur brushing against the damp wooden floor.
One ear twitched.
Then he lifted his head.
Faint footsteps echoed from outside. Quick. Too light to be an adult's. Too familiar.
Mathien rose at once.
Click.
The front door swung open in a rush. Breathless air slipped in with the cold wind. Hana stood in the doorway, her uniform wrinkled, her hair wet and clinging to her cheeks. Her canvas shoes were soaked. But her face… her face was tense, as if all day she had wanted nothing but to come home.
"Hana," Mathien murmured softly.
The girl kicked off her shoes in a hurry and ran straight to her grandmother's room. Not a word left her lips.
Mathien followed behind. His steps were slow, but heavy with caution.
The bedroom door was pushed open.
"Grandma…?" Hana's voice was faint, almost breaking. "I'm home…"
No reply.
Only the sound of wind… and the faint scent of dried flowers from the corner of the room, wrapping the space in a silence too deep.
Mathien stopped at the doorway. His chest tightened with a dread he dared not name.
And Hana stood there.
Frozen.
Her gaze locked on the frail body lying on the bed—still, unmoving.
"Grandma…?"
Her voice cracked, barely audible. Yet it seemed to echo through the whole room.
She stepped forward. Her heart pounded hard, too hard, as if it were trying to break free from her chest. Her breath was heavy, her steps frantic.
"I brought your medicine…"
Her trembling hand reached into her small bag. A crumpled pharmacy bag slipped out hastily, nearly falling to the floor.
"I bought it already, Grandma…" her voice broke. "I'm sorry I'm late…"
She bent down, placing the bag of medicine by the bedside. Her cold fingers clutched the wrinkled hand.
But that hand did not clutch back.
"...I ran all the way home. I didn't even buy salmon for Chiro…"
Hana smiled faintly, bitterly, still hoping this was nothing but a nightmare born of exhaustion and the cold rain.
But her grandmother's hand was cold.
A cold no warmth could reach anymore.
Outside, the night sky hung heavy. The last drops of water fell from the roof's edge. And time seemed to stop.
Mathien remained at the doorway.
Silent.
Unable to move.
His eyes stayed on Hana's back, which began to tremble. Her shoulders rose and fell, shaking hard. And then, the sound broke.
Hana's sobs filled the silence of the small house.
Not the crying of a spoiled child. Not the whimper of fear or weariness.
It was the sound of loss.
A broken sound that no longer knew where to stand when the world beneath it had crumbled.
And for the first time, Mathien felt his small cat's body was too small to contain the weight of pain pressing against his chest.
Hana's tears fell into the silence. Her sobs came in short, jagged breaths, as though her lungs refused to work. Her body curled against the edge of the bed, her face pressed close to the one person she loved most—who could no longer answer.
Mathien stepped forward quietly, paws brushing the damp wooden floor. He drew closer to Hana's crumbling figure.
He sat beside her.
No words.
No embrace.
Only presence.
The silence stretched, seeping slowly through the house. Outside, the sounds of night returned—small insects hidden in the leaves, water dripping into the gutter. But for Hana, they felt like echoes from another world. A world where she no longer had anyone left to call "home."
"Grandma…"
Hana gripped her grandmother's hand tighter, her fingers trembling.
"I promised I'd come back quickly."
She bowed her head. Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.
"I brought your medicine…"
The white plastic bag with two blister packs and a folded prescription lay untouched by the bed. Its surface damp from Hana's sweat—or perhaps from the leftover rain.
"I rushed so much today… I didn't even buy a snack… I traded salmon for Chiro… just so I could buy this…"
Her sobs broke again. Softer now, deeper, more shattered.
Mathien lowered his gaze. Inside him stirred something strange—something he'd never had a name for, back in the palace. A fragile tremor in his chest, like a grief that wasn't his, yet felt as though it lived inside him too.
He leapt onto the bed.
Stepping carefully among the folds of blanket covering the old woman's body, he drew near Hana's bowed head. His thick tail brushed gently against her back.
"Hana," he whispered.
She didn't answer.
Her face stayed buried against the bedside, her body trembling still. But slowly, her left hand moved—reaching toward Mathien's fur. Not to pet… just to hold.
A small grasp that seemed to say: don't leave me.
Seconds passed before Hana's voice cracked again—small, fragile, but carrying a desperate hope.
"You… you have magic, don't you?"
Mathien turned his head.
Hana lifted hers slowly. Her eyes were swollen, her face red. But in her gaze, there was still a glimmer. A light refusing to die, even as the world tried to snuff it out.
"Bring her back," she pleaded.
Her voice was raw, her breath short. Her eyes bore into Mathien's with the faith of a child—believing anything was possible, as long as there was still magic.
"You can, right…?" she whispered.
Mathien froze.
His chest felt unbearably heavy. He looked away, toward the still body on the bed. The grandmother's face was calm, showing no pain. No fear. Only peace.
Too much peace.
Mathien lowered himself, sitting between Hana and the bed. His tail curled softly around him. He met Hana's eyes. Her gaze begged without words.
"I can't."
His voice was quiet, flat, and… honest.
"That's not how magic works, Hana."
"But you can turn into a human… you can heal wounds… you can light fires with your paws… you can—"
"Magic can't fight fate."
Hana went silent.
"Once someone has gone, they can't be called back."
Mathien lowered his head, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"If I could… I already would have."
Hana stared at him, waiting, as if for just one small miracle. Just one. But none came. Only silence.
And in that silence, she finally knew. That this time, nothing could save her.
Her shoulders slumped.
She bent forward again, laying her head back by the bedside, letting her tears fall one by one, tracing the familiar lines of a face she once knew so well. Her breath hitched, but there were no more cries. No more screams. Only one thing remained: the truth.
Mathien moved closer.
He rested his head against Hana's back, letting her cry. Saying nothing. Because this time… no words were enough.
And in the stillness of that night, their little home was no longer the same.
No aroma of cooking from the kitchen. No soft cough from the bedroom. No gentle bedtime prayers.
Only a girl who had lost her world… and a being from another world who, for the first time, understood what it felt like to lose a home.
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