Kaiser stood frozen, the weight of the girl’s past pressing down on him like a mountain. Her memories, vivid and raw, played before his eyes like a nightmare etched into the fabric of reality. He had been wrong about her. She wasn’t a monster born of malice; she was a broken child, torn apart by a world that had failed her, and if he had to be honest, guilt ate at him, biting deep into his soul.

  Their eyes locked, empty and lifeless, her rosy hair caked in filth, blood staining her already bright pink hair. Even her small stature now appeared even more fragile as if all those years of carrying the weight of the past had made her even more slight, a ghost of the lovely person she was. She raised her arms slightly, a gesture of surrender, her voice barely a whisper. “Just end it,” she murmured. “This world isn’t worth living in if everyone just wants to kill me, I can only pray death is kinder then this.”

  Kaiser's chest constricted as her words cut his soul apart. He took a step closer, and his breath hitched when he saw 'them' again—two spiders, grotesque and unnatural, crawling out from her eye sockets. They moved slowly, deliberately, their hairy legs dragging across her pale skin as they made their way down her body. She made not even a twitch, almost as if she had been used to it too long, so that they no longer agitated her.

  As they crawled out of her sockets, her face was left empty once more, void of even the false life they had given her. Her voice, when it came, was quiet, distant, barely more than a breath.

  “They’re all I have left,” she murmured. “I never wanted them… not at first. But they stayed. They let me see again, and after a while, I—” She hesitated, her lips pressing together before she forced the words out. “I got used to them. Grew attached. Maybe it’s pathetic, but… I don’t want them to die with me.”

  The spiders skittered further down her face, legs brushing against her cheeks like a farewell. She shuddered but did not stop them.

  “I can only cry when they’re inside,” she admitted, hollow. "I forgot how to cry on my own. At first, I hated them… but they stayed. And now? I think I’d rather never cry again than remember what it was like to be all alone."

  Kaiser swallowed hard, his throat dry. He wanted to say something, anything—but what was there to say?

  She turned her empty gaze to him, a wretched smile flickering at the corners of her mouth. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How something so awful can become a part of you?” The spiders reached her collarbone, pausing as if waiting.

  “If I have to go,” she whispered, “at least they don’t have to.”

  And with that, the creatures skittered away, disappearing into the dark.

  Kaiser felt his heart shatter. Without thinking, he closed the gap between them and wrapped her in a tight embrace. His arms encircled her trembling body, and for the first time in decades, his voice cracked with emotion. “No,” he whispered, his words trembling with desperation. “No one should live like this. You’re safe now. I promise—no one will hurt you again.”

  She was fixed in his embrace, speechless, as if the hug was strange to her. For a very brief period of time he believed she would not even respond. Then, slowly, something changed. A shudder ran through her small frame, and her hands, clutched at his clothes.

  “I’m scared,” she whispered, her voice breaking with every word she spoke out. “I’ve always been so scared…”

  Contradictory to what she just said, tears trickled from the corners of her hollow sockets. It seemed as though her emotional dam had finally broken and the flood was uncontrollable.

  Her knees buckled, and she collapsed against him, her body wracked with sobs that seemed to come from the very depths of her soul. “I didn’t want any of this,” she cried, her voice broken. “I didn’t want to be this... thing. I just wanted to live.”

  Kaiser held her tighter, his own emotions threatening to spill once again, but he held it together. “I know,” he murmured. “I know. It’s all right now. You’re not alone anymore.”

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  Her wails filled the room, a sound that was both agony and relief, a release of years of pain and loneliness. Her eyes, still hollow, seemed brighter somehow, as though a glimmer of hope had begun to take root.

  Kaiser didn’t let go, even as her sobs quieted into soft whimpers. He stayed there, holding her, shielding her from a world that had been so cruel. And for the first time in his recent memory, Kaiser did something that surprised even him, all in the effort of trying to comfort a crying girl who, by age, could have been his daughter.

  He joked.

  It wasn’t something he did often. Not because he lacked the wit—if anything, his mind was sharper than the blades he wielded—but because humor felt like a luxury he could never afford. In battle, there was no place for laughter. In war, words were only useful if they commanded, threatened, or cut deeper than steel. He had learned long ago that silence was safer, that levity was a weakness when the world only knew how to take.

  Yet, here he was, grasping for whatever clumsy words he could string together, tossing them into the void like lifelines, hoping that one might catch. That maybe, just maybe, he could lighten the weight on her shoulders, even if only for a moment.

  “Hey,” he started, his voice softer than it had been in years. “I’ve fought demons, warlords, and at least three things that could have ended the world. But you? You’re the scariest one yet.”

  She didn’t react.

  “Not because of your powers,” he continued, undeterred. “But because you’re getting snot all over my uniform, and I don’t even know if this stuff washes out.”

  Still nothing.

  Kaiser sighed dramatically. “You know, enchanted fabric is a nightmare to clean. Last time I tried, the laundry boy cried for an hour. Tough kid, though—real stubborn. You’d like him. Well, unless you’re also planning to traumatize him, in which case, I’d like to request a formal warning.”

  No response. But her grip tightened, fingers curled into his uniform like she was afraid he’d vanish if she let go.

  He tried again. “Alright, fine, no laundry jokes. But hear me out, after all this is over, you teach me that spider trick. Just picture it: mid-battle, enemy swings at me, BAM—suddenly his helmet’s full of spiders. Instant morale destruction. I could retire off the psychological warfare alone.”

  There was a long pause before a muffled voice finally surfaced against his chest. “Shut up.”

  Kaiser blinked. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face. “Oh, she does speak! Here I thought I was comforting an unusually tragic statue.”

  She groaned, her voice still small but laced with something firmer. “I said shut up.”

  And then, to his surprise, she hugged him tighter. Her tiny hands grasped at his garments and her face pressed to his chest. Kaiser's smile faltered, his own heart constricted in a way he hadn't anticipated.

  “Fine,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But just so you know, I’m not letting go until you say so. You’ve been carrying this alone for way too long.”

  The girl didn’t respond this time, but he felt her shudder again, a soft sob escaping her lips. Kaiser stayed still, his arms wrapped protectively around her, shielding her from the forest and the nightmares that lingered in its shadows.

  The clearing fell silent save for her quiet cries, the weight of her grief slowly lifting. But even as he held her, Kaiser’s mind was racing. The word “Origin” lingered in his thoughts, its weight heavy and unsettling. He had felt its power when she spoke it—raw, overwhelming, and ancient. It wasn’t just a word; it was a force, something that connected them both in ways he didn’t yet understand.

  This girl who had been through so much, molded by pain and terror into a being the world did not understand. She wasn’t just powerful; she was a survivor. And Kaiser knew, without a doubt, that she was meant for something greater.

  After what felt like hours, her sobs finally subsided. She didn’t pull away, but her grip loosened slightly, as if the weight on her chest had lightened, if only a little. Kaiser leaned back just enough to look at her, his hands still resting on her shoulders.

  “Hey,” he said gently, his usual brashness gone. “I meant what I said earlier. You’re safe now. And I’m not just saying that because I’m scared of your spiders.”

  She sniffled, rubbing at her face with her sleeve. “You’re so stupid,” she muttered, but the usual bite in her words was gone—replaced by something softer, something worn down by exhaustion.

  Kaiser huffed out a quiet laugh. “You know, I don’t hear that nearly as often as I should. Real shame, honestly.”

  Her hollows met his eyes for a moment, and though her expression didn’t shift, Kaiser thought he saw a flit of something in her face, something fragile but not quite gone.

  “Let's go!” he replied, rising and holding?out his hand to her.

  She?looked down, and hesitated. “Where would I even go?” she whispered.

  Kaiser took a knee beside her, his voice authoritative but warm. “Wherever you want. But you needn’t sort that out?yourself or anytime soon. We’ll go one step at a time.”

  For an instant, she was still. Then, in slow motion, she put her little hand in his. It was cold and brittle, but there was strength, too, lurking just below the surface. Kaiser smiled at her encouragingly and pulled her upright.