Some pain leaves no scars on the skin—but carves deep into the soul."

Satori’s body trembled.

Even after the battle was over, she couldn’t stop shaking.

The silence outside the stone window was haunting—not peaceful, not calm.
Just… empty. Like the breath before a scream.
Like the moment after a heart stops.

The memories looped like a cursed dream:

• Elven bodies torn apart.

• The sacred tree—Yggdrasil—burning in golden fire.

• Screams cut off in an instant.

• A hand reaching for help—and finding only blood.

She pulled the blanket over her chest, but it couldn’t stop the shiver crawling under her skin.

She didn’t know how they had survived.

A Knock at the Door

Knock knock.
Soft. Gentle. Almost too polite.

“May I come in?”

Her voice cracked slightly as she answered, “Go ahead.”

Marilee entered, her usual warm composure intact. She held a small tray with tea, cloths, and a folded towel. Her presence filled the room—not with pressure, but with warmth.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

Satori didn’t look up.
“...Fine.”

The lie hung in the air.

Marilee didn’t correct her. She simply sat beside her on the edge of the bed. Quiet.

Letting It Out

Minutes passed. The silence was not uncomfortable—just heavy.

Then, without warning, Satori broke.

“This was my first time… seeing something like that.”

Her voice trembled, hollow and small.

“That kind of horror. That kind of death. It was everywhere.”

Her hands gripped the sheets tightly.

“I wanted to protect them. I thought I was strong enough. But I couldn’t stop any of it.”

Tears threatened the edges of her voice.

“I’m still weak. Still the same useless person I was before I came to this world.
A coward. A failure. A mistake.”

She swallowed hard.

“I ran away again. Just like I always do. From everything I can’t face.”

Her voice fell to a whisper.

“I didn’t ask to be born like this… in this body. In this life.
If I could just disappear… if I could just die…”

Silence.

“This life… it’s useless.”

Her tears fell freely now. Silent, slow, painful.

Marilee’s Answer

Marilee listened quietly, her expression unreadable. She waited until Satori had nothing left to say.

Then she finally spoke.

“I know that feeling,” she said gently.

“That weight in your chest. The one that makes breathing feel like a burden.”

She reached out, setting the tea gently on the small table beside them.

“You try to smile. To nod. To act like everything’s fine.”

Her eyes softened.

“But inside… you’re bleeding. Aren’t you?”

Satori’s eyes widened slightly.

Marilee looked up at the sky outside the window.

“I don’t know what happened to you. In your old world. Or even in this one. But I’ve seen enough to know pain when it walks into a room and tries to hide under a blanket.”

She folded her hands on her lap.

“You don’t have to explain. Not yet.
But promise me one thing.”

Satori blinked slowly, exhausted.

“What…?”

Marilee smiled softly.

“Just live one more day. That’s all I ask.
One more sunrise. One more step.
Then we can figure out tomorrow… together.”

Ocean and Sand

Satori didn’t respond. Her breath was uneven, her eyes glassy.

Marilee continued in a whisper.

“Do you know,” she said, “that you matter?”

Satori turned slightly.

“Dorothy, Cathy, Sasha… Athena. They worry for you. They look to you. They believe in you. And they’ve seen you fight—even when your hands were shaking.”

“You’re more than you believe.”

Satori’s voice trembled.

“What are you talking about? I’m just… a fragment. A mistake.
A grain of sand that no one notices.”

Marilee smiled again.

“But sand holds up oceans.”

That line broke something inside Satori.

She didn’t speak. But the tears that followed said enough.

[Scene Break – That Night]

Later that night, Satori sat alone in the bathhouse, steam curling around her shoulders.
The warmth ached against her sore skin—but the silence was worse.

She looked down at her reflection in the water.

The girl she saw didn’t feel like her.

“Who am I?” she whispered.

[Flashback Sequence]

She remembered the first day she woke up in this body.

The soft skin. The golden eyes.
The way her mother cried and smiled at the same time.

The shame. The discomfort. The terror of looking in the mirror and seeing someone else.
Someone fragile.
Someone not enough.

And yet now… she was that person—and somehow more.

[Return to the Room]

Back in her room, she lay under the covers, staring at the ceiling.

She remembered the faces of the fallen elves. The children who never got to grow.
The soldiers who screamed as miasa consumed them.

“I’ll carry it,” she whispered to no one.

“I don’t want to… but I will.”

Even if it hurts.