Being X stood still, unmoving in the dreamscape. The silence between him and Itsumi stretched on like a void. After hearing everything, the weight of Itsumi's words remained heavy in the air. Then, finally, he spoke.
"I understand your anger," the divine being said, his tone softer than before. "I understand that you see me as cruel… but, God works in—"
"—mysterious ways," Itsumi finished for him, with a hollow, bitter chuckle. "Yeah, I've heard that one before. Makes it easier to swallow, right? If you put a ribbon of mysticism around your cruelty."
Being X looked at him. No reaction. No divine indignation. Just quiet observation. He stared at the boy—no, the soul before him. A soul that had never smiled without force. A face that had never truly known peace. A breath that had never been taken without a weight pressing down on his chest. A child that, even when still, could never exhale with relief.
He saw the cracks.
And for once, he said nothing grand.
"…I'm sorry," Being X said, almost too quietly.
Itsumi blinked. The words froze him. It wasn't that he didn't expect them—it was that they felt unreal. Foreign. Hollow. Or maybe…
Maybe they were honest.
Itsumi didn't answer at first. Something inside him wanted to, but he didn't know how. Part of him wondered if he'd gone too far. If he'd said too much. But the truth was… that's how he felt. That's who he was. And no amount of divine words would ever scrub that away.
Being X sensed his hesitation and continued, "Don't lose that resolve, Itsumi. That truth you carry. You're right, in some ways. Sometimes the trials I put forth… aren't trials at all. Sometimes they become burdens too heavy. Sometimes…" He lowered his head. "It's not faith I test. It's my own greed. My desire to see how far a soul can walk in the dark and still call out to the light."
He looked up again, and this time, there was no glow. No aura. No divine majesty.
Just eyes.
Eyes that had, maybe for the first time, seen desperation they hadn't anticipated.
"I watched your face… and I realized: there is no test worth this kind of despair."
Itsumi looked at him, wide-eyed. But he said nothing. He just… listened.
Being X breathed deeply, though breath had no purpose here. "If it's your wish, I won't come to you again. I won't torment you further. I've already done enough."
And with that, the light began to fade—not violently, but gently. Like a curtain falling over the stage. The cold wind of that otherworldly place softened, until the dream itself began to melt away into a comforting stillness.
Itsumi opened his eyes.
The white ceiling greeted him first—soft, sterile. The scent of clean sheets and herbal ointments filled his nose. His body still ached, but it was dull now. Manageable.
Then he felt it.
A soft hand on his forehead.
He turned his head slightly. Sitting beside him was a girl, no older than he was. Her uniform bore the distinct insignia of the Asian Empire. Her pink hair was tied neatly behind her ears, and her face was warm—gentle in a way he wasn't used to. Not since…
She smiled softly. "Good morning," she said, her voice light and kind. "You're finally awake. You've been sleeping for three days straight."
Her hand gently brushed his bangs aside, touching his forehead with care. "I'm Kanari. Kanari Kimura. I'm part of the imperial medical corps… and, uh…" she laughed a little, almost embarrassed, "I kind of got assigned to look after you."
Itsumi stared at her for a moment, not in fear, but in stunned disbelief. Her presence… was normal. Not a general, not a god, not a dying comrade or screaming officer. Just a girl.
Someone like him.
He tried to speak, but his throat was dry. Kanari noticed immediately and poured a small cup of water, holding it near his lips. "Here. Slowly, okay?"
He drank, and it felt like the first moment of peace he'd had in… maybe ever.
She smiled again. "You were talking in your sleep, by the way," she said casually, tucking the blanket around his shoulders. "I didn't catch all of it… but you said something about wanting everything to stop."
Itsumi looked away.
Kanari lowered her gaze as well, her smile fading just a bit. "It's okay. I've seen a lot of wounded soldiers say the same. You're not alone, you know."
He didn't answer.
But for the first time since the massacre, since the war, since that dream…
He didn't feel like breaking apart.
Not yet.