AKIHIRO ATLAS
The silence that followed that moment... wasn't actually silence. Rather, it was a void where everything's voice was forcibly suppressed; the indescribable pressure emanating from Magnus had permeated every fiber of the environment, and with every second I managed to breathe, I felt more acutely how abnormal, how "unnatural" this was. My knees were still touching the ground, but I knew now that this was more than just a physical collapse; it was a result of my existence being forced to accept this pressure. I tried to lift my head, and my eyes fell back on him... and at that moment, every thought inside me suddenly fell silent. Because what I was looking at... wasn't power. Power has limits, it has a source, it has a feeling. But what emanated from Magnus... was unlike any of these. It was as if an will that said "you are wrong" to existence itself was suppressing everything in its path, erasing meaning, and forcibly rewriting the fabric of reality at its very core. Standing next to him... wasn't like trying to look at the sun; it was like trying to look into a void that denied the sun's existence. My eyes were burning, my mind was clouded, my thoughts were scattered, yet I couldn't look away. Because something inside me wanted to understand what this was... and at the same time, it was screaming that I shouldn't understand.
My breathing was labored, but I forced myself. Because if I did nothing now... it would only get worse. And I had just sensed where this could lead. "Magnus..." I said, but my voice didn't sound like it belonged to me when it first came out; it was as if it had been crushed under pressure, shattered, and forced out against my will. I tried to clear my throat, but even that felt difficult. I planted my hands on the ground, pushed myself up with my trembling arms, and when I managed to stand, I realized that this wasn't a success but a necessity. Because if I remained on the ground... I felt I would completely disappear under this pressure. I took one step. Then another step. With each step, that aura grew heavier, more intense; it was as if my presence was rejected more and more the closer I got to it. But I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.
"Magnus…" I said again, this time a little clearer but still in a fragile voice. "You're going to destroy this place completely. You're going to harm an entire city! " The moment I said this sentence, I realized how ridiculous it was. Because saying that what was in front of me would harm someone or something didn't change the truth. He didn't care that much about it. But I still continued. "If this continues..." I got stuck on my breath, but I forced it out, "nothing will be left here." I didn't take my eyes off him. I was afraid. Yes… I couldn't deny it. It was a fear unlike anything I had ever felt before. But beneath this fear was something else—the possibility of losing him. After six long months, finding one of my own from my homeland wasn't exactly making me happy... "You need to stop this," I said, my voice harsher this time, but the harshness stemmed from desperation. "I don't know what just got you angry, but you have to stop this nonsense immediately! "
As I said these words, my eyes involuntarily shifted to Israfel. And seeing him like that... once again shook the foundations within me. That being who had just mocked everything and made me feel belittled with a single look... was no longer the same. It had retreated. Only slightly, almost imperceptibly... but it had retreated. Its wings were slightly closed, its shoulders tense. This was not a preparation for attack. This was... a cautious retreat. Their eyes were on Magnus, but for the first time there was something clear in that look: caution. Perhaps... the closest thing to fear. He wasn't speaking. Because he knew the conversation was pointless. Because at this point, he too understood that words wouldn't change anything.
And this… shook me even more.
Because even if he…
If he reacts this way…
Then Magnus' current state is…
It was truly beyond limits.
I forced myself to regulate my breathing and took another step, trying to suppress the rhythm of my heart. Now I was very close. That pressure... was almost unbearable. But still, I raised my hand. It was shaking. Uncontrollably, visibly shaking. But I didn't stop. Slowly... I reached out toward his shoulder.
"Magnus…" I said one last time, this time my voice was much softer, almost a whisper. But inside… everything was there. "If this is really you… then you're the one who can stop this." I didn't close my eyes. I didn't run away. "Because if you don't stop…" my breath shook, "…I can't stop you. "
The moment I said that sentence…
Something inside me became completely clear.
I...
I really couldn't do this.
And this is the truth...
It was even heavier than fear itself.
While I was focusing on my own thoughts, Magnus suddenly turned his gaze towards me.
He seemed like he was about to say something.
"You don't know anything about me, Aki… and you shouldn't. Because trying to understand me is one of the slowest and most painful ways a person can destroy themselves. I am not something that can be explained by a single concept; I am neither a savior nor a destroyer, neither a guide nor an enemy. I am... the living remnant of an error that once knew what it should not be, yet crossed that boundary. That's why trying to get to know me will only lead you to the wrong answers. And in this universe... wrong answers are sometimes more dangerous than the right questions. "
He paused for a brief moment, continuing to speak without looking away from me but without seeming to look directly at me; his voice neither rose nor fell, but each word seemed to settle somewhere inside me.
"But you…" he said slowly, "…are what my greatest mistake was trying to achieve. " For the first time, there was a very subtle change in his voice as he said this sentence—neither regret nor pride, but rather… an indescribable heaviness. "Once upon a time… I thought I could intervene in existence. I thought I could change it without disrupting the balance, fix things without bearing the consequences. I was wrong. Because this order… operates not only through power, but also through cost. And I... learned too late what that price was. "
His gaze deepened for a moment, then fixed again.
"As for you…" he continued, "you are not the direct result of that mistake. But you are the form that took shape in the void left by it. " He took a breath, this time slower. "That's why turning my back on you and walking away… is not possible. Because if I leave you to your own devices, you will either end up where I fell... or you will break before me. "
He took a step closer.
But this approach did not carry any pressure.
It was more of an inevitable closeness.
"That's why…" he said, his voice gaining a very slight note of determination for the first time, "I will be with you during this process. Not to protect you. Not to guide you either. " He bowed his head very slightly. "To show you... what you shouldn't do. "
A short pause.
"Because sometimes..." he said finally, "…the only way to save someone is to help them understand what they could become.What will I become? Who am I? What have I become? What was I going to become?
Magnus's breathing was still uneven, but that uncontrolled, predatory rhythm was gradually beginning to break down. At first, it was a very small change—a subtle relaxation so slight it was hard to notice, almost imperceptible. But then... that pressure, that overwhelming weight of presence, began to recede. Not suddenly. Not explosively. It was unraveling slowly, resisting, as if being reluctantly torn away from every point where it had been anchored. The invisible burden on my shoulders lightened, the foreign weight pressing down on my lungs slowly lifted, and for the first time, I felt like I could truly breathe. My knees were still shaking, but this time I didn't fall. I remained standing.
When I looked around, the state of the room was… indistinguishable from a wreckage. Shattered objects, split surfaces, objects that seemed to have lost their meaning… but what truly caught my attention was the fireplace. That black flame... it was there with all its might just now. Now it trembled... shrank... and vanished as if it had never existed. Not a trace of smoke or heat remained behind. Only... emptiness.
Magnus had bent his head forward slightly. His shoulders slumped, as if he had shed the weight of the moment, but this wasn't relief. It was more like a retreat. It was as if he had forcibly suppressed something within himself, chaining it back up. He didn't speak for a few seconds. It was as if he had to choose his words.
Then he lifted his head.
His eyes turned to Israfel.
"For now…" he said, his voice still deep but free of the overwhelming tone it had just moments ago, "we will stop here. " A brief pause. His eyes did not waver for a single moment. "What you have to say… is sufficient at this point."It didn't sound like a request. But it wasn't an order either. It was more like... a boundary-setting decision. "We're ending this matter here. "
Israfel didn't move.
But when I watched him, I noticed—she was still careful too. She didn't seem to believe that Magnus had completely calmed down. Her wings had relaxed slightly, but they hadn't fully relaxed. The old sarcastic expression was gone from her eyes; in its place was a more measured, more calculated look.
Magnus continued.
"Later…" he said, his voice slowing down a bit, "we will speak with the angels again. " This time his words were clearer. More precise. "This matter… will not be settled here. But…" his eyes narrowed slightly, "…right now… it's not the right time. "
There was a short silence.
Then, very gently, he tilted his head to the side.
"I request you to leave, Israfel."
The tone in this sentence…
It was interesting.
There was no threat.
Nor was there any weakness.
Just…
A clear boundary.
Israfel looked at him for a few seconds. There were still unresolved things in that look, but this time she didn't speak. She smiled... but it wasn't like the one before. It was a more faint, more controlled expression.
"How... impressive," she said at last, her voice soft but every word as if deliberately slowed down and savored. "The fact that you were able to pull yourself together... is truly admirable, Magnus." She tilted his head slightly to the side and continued speaking without taking her eyes off him. "In the past, when you lost control, all that was left was destruction. Now…" a brief pause, followed by a subtle smile, "…you can suppress it. This must be what we call development. "
Her wings opened slightly behind it and then closed again; this movement seemed more like a reminder of its presence than a farewell.
"I accept your request," she said, this time in a clearer tone. "For now. " He emphasized this word specifically. "Because, as you said... the time is wrong." Her eyes darkened for a moment. "But that doesn't mean the matter is closed. It never was. "
She took a step back.
But her gaze was still fixed.
"And the next time we meet..." she said, her voice no longer carrying that sweet tone but becoming sharper, "I won't be alone in front of you." Her lips curved up again, but this time there was a clear threat in that smile. "The angels… have not forgotten you, Magnus. And they have no intention of forgiving you."
A brief pause.
"Everything about you…" she continued, "…is an unfinished business for them. "
She lifted her head slightly.
"And believe me…" she said finally, her voice losing none of its sharpness even as it almost turned into a whisper, "they will not give you peace of mind until that account is closed."
She chuckled.
But this time…
There was no warmth in that voice.
And at that moment…
I couldn't help but speak.
"Wait a second. "
My voice still wasn't quite steady, but it wasn't shaking this time. I lifted my head and fixed my eyes on Israfel. I still had dozens of questions inside me. I wasn't sure I'd get answers. But…
If I don't ask…
I was going to stay with this.
"Before I go," I said, catching my breath, "can I ask one last question? Israfel didn't even bother to turn her head. She just glanced at me with the corner of her eyes and made a motion that seemed like a nod, confirming me.
The moment I stood up, I wasn't sure if my knees still belonged to me; the weight that had suddenly crushed me had completely disappeared, but the mark it left... was still within me. My breathing had returned to normal, yes, but that state of disorientation in my mind had not passed—on the contrary, it had become sharper. What I had just heard, seen, and felt—all of it had piled up on top of each other, pressing down on a single point within me: meaning. This must have meant something. Otherwise... what was I carrying? I slowly lifted my eyes and looked at Israfel. He was still there—the same calmness, the same distance, the same unapproachability. But when I looked at him now, what I saw had changed. I no longer saw only an "angel." I saw a being whose one side had been portrayed as sacred, while the other side was soaked in blood within reality. And this contradiction... was tearing something inside me apart.
I took a step. My voice got stuck in my throat before I could say anything, but this time I didn't stop. Because this question... wasn't just for him. It was for myself. It was a question asked in response to that inner crack, that uncertainty, that disintegration.
"For an angel..." I said slowly, choosing my words but unable to suppress their weight, "...what is the meaning of existence?"
Silence.
But this time, that silence wasn't empty.
This… was something that was waiting.
I did not take my eyes off him. "You... are described as holy beings," I continued, my voice having settled down compared to the first sentence, but the underlying break in it was more pronounced. "In people's eyes, you are saviors. You are a symbol of balance, order, and 'the good'." My lips tightened slightly. "But I... just saw what happened." My eyes flickered for a moment, but I didn't run away. "You mentioned wars. From the Sacred Domains. Of kings, queens, interests... and the people caught in the middle of those wars..." My breathing grew heavy. "I know you're dead."
This word...
It didn't linger in the air.
It returned to me.
"So then..." I said, this time my voice was lower but much sharper, "what is the meaning of your existence? " I took another step. "Saving someone? Or sacrificing them for someone else?" My hands clenched involuntarily. "Sacredness… is this what it is? Killing for the sake of self-interest… but calling it 'order'? "
Something inside me broke.
But this time, that breaking point... was silent.
"If so..." I whispered, "...then you... are no different from us. On the contrary, you are just evil."
The moment I said this sentence, something inside me shifted. Because it was the first time I had thought about it this clearly. The first time... I had seen so clearly how thin the line between "them" and "us" actually is.
Israfel…
She didn't move.
But she looked.
This time... she looked different.
For the first time, that mocking glint in his eyes was replaced by something else. This… wasn't disdain. This… wasn't rejection either. It was more like a look that accepted something but didn't try to fix it.
Her lips slowly parted.
"How much..." she said, her voice as soft as always, but this time with a different undertone, "...a human-specific question. "
She tilted his head slightly to the side, her wings moving softly behind him.
"Meaning…" she said, her voice heavy as if he were rolling the word around in his mouth, weighing each syllable separately. It wasn't conveying anything; it was examining the idea of conveying itself. "Your kind… tends to chain existence to a 'why.'"
Their gaze was fixed on me, but it wasn't just a gaze; it was as if it was displacing every reference point within my mind, one by one. "For something to stand, you look for a justification, a foundation, a root beneath it. "
She paused for a brief moment. Even in that silence, it was as if she were feeling out the edges of my thought.
"We…" she said, almost letting the word trail off in a straight line, "we are not like that. "
This sentence seemed simple. In fact, at first glance, it was ordinary. But it carried such a clear, such an inevitable truth that even its simplicity became a kind of oppression. As if the world could no longer remain the same after hearing this sentence.
"For an angel, the meaning of existence is..." she continued, her voice slowly dropping to a deeper tone, "is to exist. "
She paused for a moment. There was a very brief, almost imperceptible, shift in focus in her eyes—not an emotion, but more like an awareness. "But this… isn't the empty answer you think it is."
She took a step forward.
But this movement was not an approach. There was no threat in it. It was as if one were leaning forward to get a clearer look over the edge of a cliff; neither was one afraid of falling nor planning to fall. One was merely… seeing.
"Every being…" she said, her voice now had a rhythmic quality to it, as if the words were not being spoken but read from somewhere, "wants something. "
The weight of the words spread through the air. "This desire… is sometimes hunger. Sometimes mercy. Sometimes it is merely the sound of the void within existence itself."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"But desire… is always there."
The shadow of its wings fell upon the ground. Even that shadow seemed alive; even without moving, it conveyed something. Even its very existence was an argument.
"And a request…" he continued, his voice becoming even calmer, almost reaching a ruthless serenity, "the moment it turns into a chance for gain…"
A brief pause.
"…conflict becomes inevitable."
That word—conflict—echoed through the room as if it were a physical thing. As if an unseen collision had already occurred but its sound had only now been heard.
My heart slowed down.
But this was not a relief. It was more like a rewriting of the rhythm. It was as if my body was abandoning its old pattern to adapt to a new reality.
"You..." he said, his voice taking on a slightly more "human" tone for the first time, but even this closeness felt foreign; "you call this a contradiction. "
She bowed his head slightly. It was as if he were examining my thought system as if it were an object.
"But that's just... a matter of perspective."
She paused for a moment, then concluded his sentence more solemnly:
"Sacrificing one person to save another... is a loss in your mind."
Their eyes seemed to be fixed directly on my mind now; it was more than a physical gaze.
"But on another plane..." he said, his voice deepening further, "...it's a balance. "
I clenched my teeth.
I wanted to answer. To say something. To reject this idea. To tear it apart. But the words couldn't take shape in my throat.
Because… for the first time, I wasn't just listening.
I was beginning to understand.
And this awareness... wasn't comforting.
On the contrary, it was silently shifting the ground beneath me.
Israfel continued.
"Everyone..." she said, her voice widening again, "is a savior in their own story. "
This sentence was not a statement. It was like a judgment. It was as if it had been written a long time ago but was being read now.
"Some save themselves," she said. "Some save others. "
A short silence.
"But every rescue... requires an observer."
Her gaze shifted slightly. It was as if she were addressing an invisible crowd.
"Because…" she said, her voice now almost a whisper carrying a massive reality, "being someone's savior can turn into disaster in someone else's story. "
That sentence hit me hard.
Not just as a thought. It's like the sound of something breaking.
Something inside my mind cracked—an idea, a belief, perhaps the way I perceive the world.
Israfel fell silent for a moment.
This time, the silence wasn't emptiness. It was something full. There were no answers inside, but there were possibilities.
"And some…" she added, her voice softening again, but this softness was not a consolation, but a sharper awareness, "…can never call this 'right.' "
The last word hung in the air.
True.
As if even that word no longer belonged to a single thing.
Silence fell.
This time, no one interrupted him.
I didn't speak.
Because something inside me had gone beyond words. Something had broken, yes—but that break wasn't like an end. It was more like... the beginning of a new form.
And the worst or the best part was this:
I couldn't undo what I had seen anymore.
Perhaps the things I want to save have no end. If I met someone who was truly better and more valuable than most people, someone with spotless behavior who never harmed us, and who was of a different race, and if that person were one of those titles I despise—a King or Queen—...
Would I still want to kill him?
Her question was over... but my mind wasn't quiet. On the contrary, Israfel's answers had sparked new questions within me, turning into a chain of thoughts, each one refuting the previous one or pulling me deeper. It was as if the entire structure of meaning I had built within myself began to crack at a single touch; "balance," "self-interest," "inevitability"... these words were not merely explanations; they were concepts that took things away from me. My breathing had normalized, but the pressure in my chest didn't disappear—it wasn't the pressure of fear anymore, but rather the weight of a mental collapse. Because I realized that... the more answers I got, the less relieved I felt. On the contrary, every answer led me deeper into uncertainty. When I looked up at Israfel, my gaze contained not only curiosity; it also held suppressed resistance, a desire to still salvage something.
"One more thing..." I said, my voice this time was more tired, heavier, but more determined. "What does good and bad mean to you?" I spoke the words slowly, weighing each one carefully, because the answer to this question would determine the last remaining point of balance within me. "And what does this distinction mean to races like yours?" The moment I asked this question, something inside me clung on for the last time—because I still wanted to believe that these concepts had meaning somewhere. I still wanted to believe that things could be truly "good" or "bad." Because if this too is an illusion... then I would be left with nothing.
Israfel looked at me. This time her gaze was longer, deeper; it was as if she was reading not only my question but the entire conflict behind it. Her lips parted slightly, as if he were about to answer… but then they closed. She tilted his head very slightly to the side, and that familiar, subtle smile returned. However, this smile... wasn't sarcastic like before. It was more like the expression of someone gently refusing something unnecessary. "Unfortunately..." she said, her voice as soft as always, but this time with a distinct distance in it, "...I only promised you one question. " This sentence... was simple. But the impact it had on me was not like that. Because at that moment I realized—I wouldn't get that answer. And that was heavier than an answer.
Her eyes slowly shifted. To Magnus. "Moreover..." she continued, her voice carrying a subtler tone this time, "you have someone by your side who could answer this question a billion times better than I could."" These words did not remain unheard; they struck directly into my mind. "What I say... remains only on the surface compared to his. " This sentence did not merely refer to Magnus. It also brought to light how superficial I had been. My gaze involuntarily shifted to Magnus, but I couldn't say anything. Because at that moment... I really didn't know. What I think of him, what I feel for him, what he could become... none of it.
When Israfel raised her hand, reality bent one more time. The air split thinly, the fabric of space warped as if tearing from the inside, and within seconds, that familiar passage formed. But this time, when I looked at that passage, what I felt was not curiosity. It was more like watching something drift away from me. Israfel took a step, then stopped. She looked at me. This look... was unlike any I'd seen before. "One day…" she said, her voice simpler, more direct, "…I think the angels will want to see you. " There was a brief pause, then he added: "And when that day comes… I wonder how many of your questions today will still be the same." These words... were not a threat. But they were more serious than a warning. 'Be prepared,' she said finally.
Magnus spoke up before Israfel stepped into the portal. "Take my greetings to Kyrael. May his hatred be renewed. "
Israfel paused for a second just to listen to his words, but without any additional reaction, she leapt through the gate.
And then... she left.
The passage closed. That twisted feeling of reality dissipated. The room fell silent again. But this silence... was not empty. It was a silence in which something was missing. I bowed my head slowly. My eyes were fixed on a single point, but I wasn't actually looking at anything. That last vestige of resistance within me... that small, stubborn belief... was slowly dissolving. Good. Bad. Holy. Sinful. These concepts... had just lost their meaning. And the worst part... I couldn't prevent it. My hands clenched involuntarily, my nails dug into my palms, but what I felt wasn't physical pain. It was... the feeling of losing something.
"So…" I whispered, my voice almost inaudible but echoing inside me, "…it was never that simple. " I closed my eyes. And in that moment… for the first time, I truly accepted: the things I believed in weren't as solid as I thought. And maybe... they never existed at all.
"So... it was never that simple..." As these words slipped past my lips, I realized I wasn't saying them to anyone, but to somehow get that torn-apart thought out of me. My voice was almost foreign to me; it was neither a genuine whisper nor a tone that truly wanted to be heard... rather, it was like an confession leaking out from within my own mind. I bent my head a little lower, and as my eyes wandered aimlessly among the broken pieces on the ground, my breathing became irregular. "I..." I continued, but the word got stuck there; because I didn't know how to finish that sentence. I couldn't clearly state who I was, what I believed in, what was right and what was wrong... none of it at that moment.
"I really... what was I believing in?" I murmured this time, involuntarily, without thinking. It wasn't a question anymore—it didn't expect an answer. Rather, it was the weight of a belated realization. My hands relaxed slowly, but this wasn't a feeling of relief; on the contrary, it was the emptiness that came with accepting that the things I held on to were slipping away from me. "If what I call 'good' is just something I want to see... if what I call 'bad' is someone else's obligation..." My lips went dry, the words came out with difficulty, "...then what side am I on? "
I fell silent for a brief moment.
But my mind wouldn't quiet down.
"Or else..." I said.
When I said this word, my voice was no longer merely an expression of a thought; it was as if something that had been accumulating in my mind for a long time had finally found a crack to escape through. At first, it was uncertain, almost as if it were about to recede. But when the word's continuation arrived, that fragility gave way to a sharper awareness. Still, this clarity wasn't entirely solid; there was still a subtle tremor within it, as if it might collapse back in on itself at any moment.
"…was I just deceiving myself? "
This sentence came from me, but it didn't feel like it belonged to me. Even while saying it, it was as if it had come out of someone else's mouth and I had merely caught its echo. But the real problem wasn't the sentence itself—it was the gap it left behind. Because that void was revealing, one by one, all the meanings I had hidden behind my thoughts. What I called saving, what I called protecting, everything I referred to as "doing the right thing"—all had suddenly turned into the shadow of a single possibility: justifying myself.
And this possibility created something that settled silently within me. It wasn't a loud collapse. There was neither a cracking sound nor dramatic destruction. Rather, it was like the gradual loss of support within a structure I had long held up. From the outside, it still looked like it was standing, maybe, but inside... it was starting to empty out.
I closed my eyes.
My eyebrows involuntarily furrowed. My breathing momentarily lost its rhythm; it was as if even my body couldn't keep up with what was happening in my mind. My thoughts were tangled together. The word "save" no longer held the same clarity it once did. Each syllable transformed into the face of another possibility. Every well-intentioned memory could, viewed from a different angle, turn into a selfish choice. And worst of all, I could no longer deny it.
"To save..." I whispered.
Even saying this word caused a different feeling in my throat. It felt foreign, as if the word wasn't mine. I continued, "I just..." but the sentence wasn't completed, because as I went on, something became clearer: the boundaries of the story I was telling myself.
"…I just thought I was saving them. "
This wasn't like an admission. It was more like a belated revelation. The sudden but silent shift you feel when you realize an equation you'd long believed to be correct was actually wrong... that's exactly what I felt inside. The mistake didn't emerge suddenly; it was already there. I was the only one who chose not to see it. Because seeing it brought with it something else: the redefinition of responsibility.
And that's when I realized... maybe the only thing I was doing wasn't saving, but thinking I was saving. This thought had become more important than the action itself. Because it gave me an identity. "The person who saves.But now that identity was slipping away from me, leaving only a bare possibility: perhaps I was merely trying to preserve my own meaning.
Something inside me collapsed silently.
This was not a scream, nor was it a scene of trauma. It was something more frightening: the first form of acceptance. Because collapse sometimes occurs not to destroy but to reveal. And what collapsed within me was not destroying me—it was opening me up. It was revealing all the layers, all the justifications, all the definitions of "right" that I had hidden inside me.
Israfel's words still lingered in the back of my mind. Desires, balance, conflict... These were no longer theoretical concepts. Things I had previously seen as abstract were now working directly within me. It was as if every choice I made, every rescue attempt, every intervention, had already been calculated within this mechanism. I had only thought of myself as the center.
And that center... didn't actually exist.
Just as the weight of this realization settled on my mind, another voice broke the silence.
"There's nothing wrong with wanting to save everyone."
Magnus.
This sentence did not fill the gap left by Israfel. It did not cancel it. Nor did it add another layer to it. It simply... stood from a different place. From a place that was more solid, more weighty, more inevitable. It was as if they weren't judging, but at the same time they weren't making anything lighter either.
The tone in his voice seemed to acknowledge a fact rather than make a statement. There was neither consolation nor protest in it. Just clarity. And this clarity was sometimes the harshest thing.
Something inside my brain involuntarily latched onto the sentence he said. It was as if my thoughts, which had been on the defensive for so long, had momentarily lost direction. Because Magnus's sentence wasn't accusing me. But it wasn't exonerating me either. It was just dropping me off where I was.
"There's nothing wrong with wanting to save everyone."
But there was no continuation.
And this omission was more serious than the sentence itself. Because it was not a judgment of "good" or "bad". It was merely a bare statement of acceptance. It stood side by side with the fact that one's intention does not change the outcome.
"I understand you, Aki."
This second sentence stood in a different place than the first.
Because the word "I understand" here was not an approval. Nor was it a comfort. It really meant, "I've seen you completely, but I'm not trying to change you." And that was one of the most vulnerable points for a person.
I still hadn't opened my eyes.
Because at that moment I realized: being understood did not lighten one's burden. On the contrary, it made one's entire weight visible. Nothing I had kept hidden within myself could now claim to have been "misunderstood." Everything remained as it was.
And for the first time, I didn't want to run away.
But staying wasn't easy either.
I was just stuck in that moment. There was neither the old me left nor anything new had emerged. There was only an undefined transition in between.
And within that transition, for the first time I truly felt this:
The story I was trying to save myself from... wasn't mine anymore.
END OF CHAPTER