An unexpected identity crisis struck Luciel like a cudgel. Most of his childhood memories were gone, but he had always presumed his personality hadn't deviated much compared to now.
To call this a terrible discovery was an understatement. Luciel couldn't even imagine himself a recreant, an imbecile, anything near pathetic. He'd lived on the edge of the world, calculating every situation to the smallest detail. He built himself to handle the possible, avoid the impossible, and survive efficiently.
To say Mira had protected him while he was nothing but a burden? Ludicrous. But... what if it was the truth?
'Was Mira the protector all along? This is too laughable.' Of course, he didn't laugh.
He had believed he was forged hard from the start, but the ungrateful truth was that he had been soft, and she had hardened herself around him until the shape felt like his own.
That explained the mask she wore to conceal her fear. The smile she reserved to protect his puny soul, to convince him everything would pass soon. But Luciel of the past hadn't care enough to see through that mask. It was old, convenient blindness.
'Is this why that monster kept repeating those words? I guess it actually knew more than me.'
The thought of his cowardice being the reason for her sacrifice became more convincing, and it clawed at him.
What could he even say? He had ignorantly basked in her sunlight until it vanished from the horizon, never to return. And worse, he had forgotten it, instead of mourning it.
Still following behind her, Luciel felt guilt gnaw at him, though it was fleeting. The past couldn't be changed. There was nothing to do but let the memory play through.
Yet his heart rebelled. It told him that this wasn't a matter of cold calculation but of feeling. Like always, though, the brain took the reins and suppressed it before it could spill over.
The thought barely settled before Mira faltered. Her foot caught on a loose, protruding stone, and her body went sprawling with a startled gasp.
Luciel froze as their hands divorced from each other. Past Luciel's instinct told him to keep running, to watch her scramble her way up again like she always did.
'Yeah. Just let it play,' the brain justified calmly. 'You knew the script. You've seen the end. Watching is enough.'
For a long second, she lay there trembling, her knuckles white from withered dust as they pressed against cracked stone. Then, like a practiced reflex, her head jerked up, lips curling into that same bright gin.
"I'm okay! Just clumsy, that's all."
Mira pressed her grazed palms to the ground and pushed herself up like it was nothing. She grabbed Luciel's hand and continued running.
The scene would have looked normal under his old, dusty glance, but now he could clearly see the stuttering at the corner of her lips, the limping as she barely ran, and the blood trailing from her knees.
Luciel's face crumpled in denial. 'Let it play,' the brain repeated once again, coldly and cruelly.
But the more he looked away, the more he noticed drips of fear seeping through her mask: a child's fear, plain and raw, asking permission to exist, to survive. It resembled him, who erased a part of himself just to barely maintain sanity.
Mira never had a chance to reestablish her life.
Maybe Luciel became this twisted survivalist as an attempt to mirror her brightness and will to live. Maybe she had been living in the innermost part within his heart as guidance, because if he were to carry all this regret, pain, and misery, he couldn't imagine living to see Aurelleth again to take revenge and pay homage to the dead.
As his heart started to sway, the horrors of the night screeched, as if bragging about the death of their prized prey. He watched Mira stumble a second time. This time, the mask slid a hair lower, exposing more of the frightened face she kept hidden for his sake. That was all it took.
"It's a-alright!" she said, trying for brightness, only to land somewhere near it. "Don't worry. We're almost—"
"Stop saying that."
The words broke out of him, harsher than intended. He couldn't bear to observe this miserable excuse for an act anymore. It wasn't to pin the blame on her. It was directed to an utterly useless boy, who was late by years.
Her head jerked back, the grin faltering as her eyes darted to Luciel's face. She must be confused, surprised, as if she'd just heard a stranger speak through the boy she thought she knew.
And she would be correct. That boy, no, that version of him was long gone. For the first time, he decided to listen to his heart.
Luciel squeezed Mira's hand as he took the lead, refusing to let it slip again.
"You don't have to pretend anymore."
She blinked at him, stunned. Her mask caught halfway between a grin and a grimace. She opened her mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to reassure him again, but her legs betrayed her. The limp turned sharper. The wound pulsed as blood rushed out nonstop.
Luciel's jaw tightened at the sight. He immediately dragged her into the shadow of a collapsed wall. The bellowing of those abominations were muffled by distance.
Puzzled, Mira tried to pull away, insisting, "We don't have time—" but he pressed her down gently.
"Quiet."
Luciel removed his shirt and wrapped it firm around her bleeding knee. Having many near-death experiences under his belt, he had mastered every first aid skill essential to his survival. His hands moved fast, practiced, like a skilled doctor reincarnated into a child's body.
Mira winced, biting her lip, but managed to stay still.
"There," Luciel muttered, knotting it tight. "It'll still be painful, but the bleeding will slow down."
When he looked up, she was staring at him intently. A sharp hiss slipped through her teeth as the cloth bit into the wound. Still following the script, she swiftly forced the smile back into place.
"I-I told you it's nothing serious. But thank you—"
Luciel didn't wait for her to finish. He crouched, hooked an arm behind her knees, and swept her up against his chest. Then he ran.
Mira's eyes widened.
"Luciel—what are you—"
"You can't run in that state," he said, his voice flat. "Hold tight."
The night roared around them, the air thick with the putrid smell of burned bodies and the shrieks of those Hollow Creatures, but Luciel felt none of it. The weight in his arms wasn't heavy despite possessing this delicate body. What pressed against him was something else entirely—the raw terror she had tried so hard to bury, and the warmth she'd carried for him anyway.
Mira clutched at his shirt and looked at him, her eyes wide while her mouth trembled. "Luciel... I can still—"
"No," he cut her off, gaze locked forward as he tightened his grip. "You've carried me long enough. I'll carry you now."
For a moment, her small gasp hit his ear as she buried herself into his embrace. He thought she'd argue again, but no words came except a faint shudder running through her shoulders.
Luciel glanced down to see that... the mask had melted away. Her dirt-smeared cheeks glistened as tears leaked uncontrollably, rolling down from his collarbone.
No matter how she tried to hide it by muffling her sobs against him, the tremors said otherwise. That stubborn grin had always been a wall built for him, and now, finally, it crumbled to dust.
Luciel maintained his pace, steady and unrelenting. He didn't whisper comforts nor tell her to stop crying. He only held her closer, letting her weep while the ruined streets bathed under the bloody moonlight.
Not once did Luciel attempt the impossible.
However.
'Even if it breaks me. Even if this is only a memory. I'll drag you past the end this time.'
The tears of a stupid, stubborn girl gave him courage to defy it.