Cecilia slowly released her embrace.
Her movements were gentle, as if she feared that moving too quickly might cause Lilya to become fragile again. She picked up the bowl of soup she had placed on the small table earlier, thin steam still rising from it.
"Lilya, let's have breakfast first," she said as she sat on the edge of the bed. Her voice was soft, yet carried the firm undertone of someone used to taking care of others.
"My mother said you need plenty of proper nutrition since you just regained consciousness after fainting last night."
Lilya nodded lightly. She moved her hand to take the bowl—
But before her fingers could touch the rim, Cecilia moved.
Too fast.
With an almost instinctive reflex, Cecilia had already taken the spoon, scooped up some meat soup, and brought it straight to Lilya's face.
"Say…" she said shortly.
"…ah."
Lilya froze.
Heat rushed to her face in an instant. Her cheeks, still pale from illness, flushed visibly red. Her eyes widened slightly before darting away, trying to avoid Cecilia's gaze—unsuccessfully.
"…ah."
She opened her mouth hesitantly.
The spoon entered gently. Warm, savory flavors spread across her tongue and slid down her throat, soothing her empty stomach that had been neglected since the night before.
Cecilia withdrew the spoon, her expression—satisfied.
"Uuh…" Lilya swallowed, then let out a small sigh.
"Cecilia… I'm not a child anymore, you know…"
Cecilia paused.
She looked at Lilya without answering right away. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and her lips curved into a small, unreadable smile—somewhere between amusement and refusal to back down.
"That's true," she said at last.
"You're not a child."
She scooped up another spoonful.
"But you're also not an adult who gets to be stubborn when you've just recovered."
The spoon was brought to Lilya's mouth again.
"Ah."
Lilya stared at her for a few seconds, then gave up.
"…ah."
The second spoonful went in. This time, Cecilia smiled more broadly, as if she had won something incredibly important.
Lilya turned her face slightly away, her cheeks still red.
Spoonful after spoonful followed without much resistance. Every time Lilya tried to say something, Cecilia was already there with the next spoon, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
Before she realized it, the bowl was empty.
Cecilia lifted it slightly, checking for leftovers.
"Good," she said shortly, satisfied.
Lilya let out a soft breath. Her stomach felt warm, her body noticeably lighter than when she had first woken up. The dizziness in her head was still there, but no longer pressing—more like a lingering echo that refused to fade completely.
Cecilia stood up, holding the empty bowl, her steps light as she walked toward the door. She stopped briefly and turned back.
"I'll come back later," she said gently. "I need to help my parents first. Lilya, make sure you rest well, okay?"
Lilya looked at her and smiled faintly, warmth spreading through her chest.
"Okay… thank you, Cecilia."
Cecilia returned the smile brightly, her eyes narrowing sweetly.
"That's only natural, right? I think of Lilya as my cute little sister."
With that, she turned and left, the door closing softly behind her, leaving Lilya alone in the house once more.
Lilya gazed toward the open window.
Thin curtains swayed gently in the morning breeze, letting sunlight pour in without hesitation. Fresh air slipped into the room, carrying the scent of wet grass, wood, and earth—the scent of simple, living reality. Nothing like the stifling smell of the cramped room in her dream. Nothing like the world Hikaru had left behind.
She inhaled slowly.
Her chest rose, then fell.
Real.
Lilya shifted her body to the edge of the bed. Carefully, she lowered one foot, then the other, placing her soles on the wooden floor. Cold—but solid. She paused for a moment, waiting for the world to spin…
But it didn't.
There was no sudden dizziness.
No loss of balance.
After confirming her footing was steady, Lilya stood up.
She remained standing for a few seconds longer than necessary.
Not because she hesitated—but because she felt relieved.
The corner of her lips lifted slightly into a small, honest smile. Her body felt… normal. Not heavy, not unfamiliar. Her legs supported her weight firmly, as if last night's collapse had been nothing more than a brief disturbance.
"I… can stand," she murmured softly.
It wasn't an emotional declaration—but there was a simple happiness in it.
She took a step.
One step.
Then another.
The floorboards creaked softly beneath her feet, a familiar sound she had heard since childhood. There was no wobble. No sense of wrongness. Her body moved in perfect obedience to her intent, just as it should.
Lilya walked toward the window.
Each step felt light. The closer she got, the clearer the morning breeze became as it brushed against her skin. When she reached the window, the wind gently swept through her blonde hair, making fine strands dance softly around her face.
Cold—but calming.
She lifted her gaze.
Outside, the world stretched on as usual.
Simple wooden houses lined up neatly. Thin smoke drifted from chimneys, signs of breakfast being prepared. The dirt road, still slightly damp, glistened under the morning sunlight. Several villagers had already begun their day—a man leading a horse, a child running while laughing, and in the distance, fields swaying gently in the wind.
Nothing had changed.
There was no distortion.
The hill where she had collapsed last night could be seen faintly in the distance—green and calm, exactly as before. The world showed no dramatic reaction to what had happened inside her.
And somehow, that made her chest feel lighter.
Lilya placed her palm against the slightly worn wooden window frame. The texture was rough, warm from the sunlight—real, completely real.
"I really am…" she whispered softly.
"…a resident of this world."
Not a character.
Not an avatar.
Not data.
Lilya closed her eyes.
She inhaled the morning air once more—deep and slow—letting the scent of grass, damp earth, and old wood fill her lungs. Then she exhaled gently, as if releasing the lingering remnants of the dream still clinging to her chest.
Calm.
When she opened her eyes again—
"Oh? Lilya? You're awake already?"
The voice came from outside the window, familiar and warm.
Lilya flinched slightly, then leaned forward. Standing there was a tall, broad-built woman with brown hair tied back simply. Her clothes carried the faint scent of hay and fresh milk.
"Mrs… Giesella," Lilya said.
Giesella was a cattle farmer in the village—a woman who often asked Lilya for help during milking season. Her hands were rough from hard work, but her smile was always sincere.
"I heard from the others that you collapsed last night," Giesella continued, her brows knitting slightly in concern. "Can you stand properly?"
Lilya smiled softly.
"Yes, Mrs. Giesella," she answered honestly. "I feel perfectly fine. Actually… for some reason, I feel even better than usual."
Giesella studied her for a few seconds, as if confirming it with her own eyes. Then her shoulders relaxed, and she let out a small, relieved laugh.
"Thank goodness," she said. "But don't overdo it, alright? The body can't be fooled."
"Yes," Lilya replied obediently.
Giesella nodded in satisfaction, then walked off, giving a brief wave.
However—
The greetings didn't stop there.
"Oh, Lilya! You're awake!"
"Thank goodness… I thought you'd be sick for a long time."
"You're alright, right, dear?"
One voice followed another. Lilya blinked slowly.
Only then did she realize several villagers passing by had stopped. A middle-aged man who often fixed fences, a woman who regularly gave her leftover bread, even two small children peeking out from behind the adults' legs.
Lilya instinctively nodded and smiled.
"Yes… I'm fine."
Her answer was simple, but the effect was immediate.
"Thank goodness."
"That's such a relief."
"We were all worried, you know."
Words of relief flowed naturally, unforced. Someone made a small sign of prayer. Others smiled broadly. A few waved before returning to their work—but more and more people had already stopped.
Without Lilya realizing it, quite a few villagers were now standing in front of her window. Nearly all of them looked at her—some just to make sure she was truly standing, others simply wanting to see her with their own eyes.
Her chest felt warm.
Not from pride—but from surprise.
"Is it really… that much?" she murmured softly, barely audible.
She knew she helped often. Carrying hay. Watching children. Delivering milk. Small, repetitive, exhausting tasks. She had never thought them special.
But to them—
Lilya Asthon was someone they cared about.
Her reputation in the village was high. Very high. Without her realizing it, it nearly rivaled Cecilia's—the cheerful, friendly girl who was always there when needed.
Lilya bowed her head slightly toward the villagers outside the window.
"Thank you… for worrying about me."
Her words were met with warm smiles before the villagers gradually returned to their activities. The village road came back to life as if nothing had happened—yet the feeling left behind in Lilya's chest was anything but ordinary.
She withdrew her hand from the window frame and stood still for a moment.
Hikaru never had this.
The thought surfaced on its own.
Not as an accusation. Not as regret. Just a quiet fact.
She slowly clenched her hand into a fist.
"I…" she whispered.
"…won't waste this."
Outside, the morning breeze blew softly once more. The curtains swayed gently. And inside that small room, a Sword Saint who had not yet fully awakened stood on firmer ground than ever before—surrounded by a world that had already accepted her.