She never responded.

Still, Yomi Kanata carried her in silence.

There was no reason.

No duty to help.

No words exchanged.

He simply saw his own past in her.

He, too, had once been left behind by the world.

—

Her body felt impossibly light.

As if her soul had lost its weight—

a girl who had shut out all pain.

Even so…

To Kanata, she was heavier

than any burden he'd ever carried before.

—

Step by step.

The needles pierced his feet with every movement.

His soul’s barrier held—

but the pain that had been bearable alone

was now twice as harsh with her weight added.

Still, he didn’t stop.

—

The girl said nothing.

No crying.

No groaning.

Not even a whisper of gratitude.

In the beginning,

he often feared she would disappear from his back.

He’d reach up to check if she was still there.

But one day,

that quiet presence became normal.

> “She's still there.”

And that alone—

was reason enough to keep going.

—

Time passed mercilessly.

There were no calendars in hell.

No sun, no seasons, no holidays.

Only pain, despair, and endless screaming.

And in that hell,

Kanata carried her every single day.

There were times he nearly collapsed.

Times he fell to his knees.

His barrier would shatter, and needles would pierce deep into his feet.

But still, he stood up again.

Because she—

never once let go.

—

Her small body on his back—

though silent, clung tightly to his clothes.

Not holding on—

but desperately clinging, as if pleading:

> “Please… don’t leave me too.”

Her trembling said everything her words could not.

—

Then one day, he noticed.

> “…She’s lighter?”

It wasn’t that her weight had changed.

But somehow, her soul felt less burdened.

As if… just a little,

she was starting to believe in something again.

—

Five years passed.

She never spoke a word.

Yet she never left his back.

Kanata never stopped feeling pain.

Every day was still hell.

But—he was no longer alone.

That quiet life on his back,

that presence—

it kept him human.

—

Two sets of footprints trailed behind them

through the sea of needles.

How long would the path go on?

Would there ever be an end?

He didn’t know.

But this, at least, was certain:

> “These footprints are proof—

that we’re still alive.”

—

He didn’t know her name.

He’d never heard her voice.

But now—

she had become someone irreplaceable to him.

And finally—

at the end of those five silent years—

she would speak.

For the first time—

She would find her voice.