“Dad, Mom… it hurts…! Where are you…?”
The young child wandering in the forest began to cry bitterly when their arm was cut by a branch. Was it a boy or a girl? The little one didn’t know what they looked like.
After crying for a long time, a small pond formed beneath the child’s feet from their own tears. With no strength left to cry, the child stopped and stared at the puddle soaking their feet.
Their hair was half white and half black, making them look like either a boy or a girl. Seeing the curved horn that had grown only on the side with white hair might have seemed strange, but the child didn’t think much of it.
Instead, the child feared the beating their father would soon deliver. He would probably take off his belt and lash the child’s back, saying things like, “What kind of boy cries?” or “You should laugh this kind of injury off.”
But wait—was the child even a boy? At first, wasn’t it true that boys shouldn’t cry either? As these questions started creeping out from deep within the child’s mind, someone approached, their footsteps crunching through the forest.
Terrified, the child collapsed into the puddle. Hearing the heavy sound of boots, the child trembled, wondering where they’d be hit today. Then something appeared before them.
It had horns similar to the child’s, golden and curved, but its face was covered in black paint, making it impossible to tell who it was. It certainly wasn’t their father.
Yet, the child instinctively knew it was their father. Despite feeling both fear and respect, and hating him for reasons unknown, the father loosened his belt…
But instead of striking the child, he pulled out a small ointment jar from his pocket and applied it to the child’s wound. The boy couldn’t understand why his father wasn’t scolding him for not being manly enough, while the girl felt confused by this unexpected tenderness from her father.
The girl remembered her father as the one who killed her mother—not someone who gently brought her home on horseback.
Who then, is this person? A father yet not the father she knows—what could this be? Though confused, the girl clutched the shoulder of this “father.”
The boy asked where they were going. The father replied they were going home. The girl hesitated, recalling how their home had once collapsed. The father seemed surprised and questioned if such an event had truly happened.
Don’t you remember breaking yourself? The girl almost snapped but upon seeing the painted face asking earnestly, she realized this person truly didn’t know.
Deciding to obediently go home first, the boy/girl followed along since they had no choice anyway after riding the horse.
Even narrow gorges or wide rivers couldn’t stop the girl’s father, who kept pulling paths from the earth while telling her they were almost there.
The boy found this overly affectionate father unsettling. In his memory, the father was weighty, never frivolous, sparing words as much as possible—not someone who engaged in idle chatter or told stories during the journey.
Upon arriving at a village made of iron trees and stone people, they reached a house similar to the boy’s, complete with fields, and also resembling the girl’s, built from logs.
“Dear, we’re back. I found her crying in the forest.”
“…Mother, how did you end up so far away? ■■■. Your parents were so worried.”
The girl could only catch her breath. Unlike her father, the mother looked exactly as the girl remembered.
White hair, yellow-gold eyes, and skin as white as eternal snow. She appeared fragile, as though she’d crumble at a touch, yet she was the strongest person in the world—the girl’s mother took her from the ‘father.’
The mother’s face was intact, so why was the father different?
The boy tried with all his might to figure out who the father was. Not long after, he realized: it was himself, in the form he wanted to become. A good father who neither scolded nor beat his children, unlike the boy’s real father.
The boy had once sworn that when he fell in love and had children, he wouldn’t treat his kids the way his father treated him.
And this ‘father’ was precisely the embodiment of that good father the boy aspired to be.
But the moment the boy recognized the father, the figure turned to dust.
The boy died. And with that, the dream of becoming a good father vanished, too, especially since the boy realized it was impossible after being born as a girl.
Perhaps she could still build a happy family, but even that goal, established through compromise, was torn apart like the pages of a forbidden comic book discovered by the father.
Realizing something warm touching her clothes, the girl looked around and saw that the house, fence, and fields were all broken and burning.
The warmth came from her mother’s shattered head, bleeding profusely.
“…Wake up, Alterra. You need to survive. Aren’t you a good child? Be strong for me, Alterra. Alterra. Alterraihte.”
Startled, the girl struggled and fell to the ground, dragging her mother’s arms with her.
Her dream of a happy family had crumbled. The boy couldn’t become the good father he desired. Alterra had nothing left.
Even completing her revenge wouldn’t bring her mother back to life. There was no way to return as a man. At first, was I even a man or a woman? I don’t know.
If I don’t even know who I am… If I can’t decide what I am…
Then, what do I want…?
What do I want…?
“…For you to be happy.”
A week passed. Alterra still lay unconscious.
The coachman waiting outside Ereshkigal’s underworld hadn’t said anything but immediately drove the carriage upon seeing us, using Comenscisgi.
Thanks to that, we barely managed to heal Alterra in time. Thin wooden branches pierced into her body to set her bones and reconnect her veins after major surgery, leaving her barely stable.
The elf who performed the operation said that if we had been any later, she would have suffered permanent disability.
Mari had exhausted all her magic healing Alterra and returned to being a motionless doll, so I took over the role of watching her 24/7.
Not only because I feel uneasy entrusting her to the elves, but mainly because I wish to be the first thing she sees when she wakes up.
Before entering the underworld, when Alterra asked me about my purpose, I casually lied and said it was a journey, but I really had another desire.
“…I know I have no right to stop your revenge. Still… if I could, I’d want you to stop. For you…”
Talking one-sidedly to someone unconscious feels somewhat despicable, I thought, but this is all a coward like me can do.
“…I care about you. I wish you wouldn’t get hurt. I wish you’d give up revenge and live safely. Sorry. I can’t help you. All I can do is secretly say these things. I’m afraid of being hated for telling you to give up.”
I just want to write ‘give up revenge’ with a pen now. But even this, a fearful coward like me can’t do straight.
Lowering my head in self-loathing and covering my face with both hands, all I can do is helplessly watch the person I care about get hurt.
What can someone like me, who can’t even confess my feelings properly, possibly do?
“…Helpless? No… I’ve already… received more than enough help.”
In the midst of contemplating whether I should burst into tears of sorrow and powerlessness, I heard Alterra’s voice.
“…Alterra?! Are you okay?! Is anywhere abnormal or numb? Do you remember who I am?!”
All the words I had suppressed while drowning in despair suddenly surged forth.
However, Alterra briefly opened her eyes and then closed them again, asking me to lower my voice.
“Just… be quiet. My head is ringing.”
Alterra tried to sit up against the bed but noticed something sticking into her body, seemingly realizing her condition.
“What is this…”
“Ah, hold on, let me explain everything to you.”
After seeking a brief understanding, I informed her of everything—from the coachman’s story to the near-permanent sitting lifestyle—and that a week had passed.
“…A week… huh. Strange. In my dream, it felt like only a few hours passed. Anyway, so these are my lifelines now?”
Altera tapped the wooden branches extending from the ceiling and asked me.
“They were until now… but not anymore. Since you’ve woken up, you’ll be able to obtain nutrients by eating normally from now on.”
“That’s good to hear.”
Altera wriggled slightly and leaned against the backrest. Then, looking uncomfortable, she frowned, prompting me to ask if anything was wrong.
“…My stomach. It hurts. Did a piece of an egg get lodged in my uterus?”
Ah. That…
“…No, it’s fine. Everything down there is intact. The healers were even surprised to find an iron ball inside your stomach.”
“Eating bones but leaving the egg behind?” Alterra chuckled bitterly and readjusted her posture, seemingly uncomfortable.
“Hmm. I’ve heard everything. You want me to give up revenge because you care about me… and admitted to being a coward afraid of rejection.”
Hearing those words sent shivers down my spine. Right. Now that I think about it, her very first words sounded like a response to what I said.
Could she have been listening all along?
Damn. My vision started shaking.
“Uh… From when did you start hearing me…?”
“From when you said you wanted me to be happy.”
