The Weight of Forgiveness and the Echoes of the Void

"I didn't know this was your home."

Shija remained there, his small five-year-old body sinking into the ashes that still held the heat of the disaster.

"I didn't want to destroy the only thing you had built."

His face, stained with soot and blood, was bowed in absolute humility before the towering figure of the hawk.

"I fell from nowhere and only caused pain... Please, forgive me."

His tiny hands trembled—not from fear, but from the exhaustion of a soul that refused to collapse.

(¡Sssssshhhhhh... mmm-shhhhhh...!)

Suddenly, the air changed its weight as a velvety wind began to flow from the horizon, carrying with it a deep scent of pure cocoa.

(Ffffuuuuhhhh~)

It was the chocolate wind, a current that didn't blow with violence, but instead glided through the remains of the trees with a soft, thick murmur.

{........}

The sound was barely a sweet brush, like silk dragging over velvet.

(Ffffttt... sssssshhh...)

As the air became saturated with that sweet warmth, the fire devouring the forest began to surrender.

(BLANK STARE...!!!)

There were no crashes; the flames simply suffocated under the density of the wind, dying out with an almost inaudible hiss, transforming the black smoke into an amber mist that tasted like burnt sugar.

"I know I can't give you back what you lost..."

Nevertheless, Shija ignored the phenomenon, keeping his gaze low and his voice steady.

"But I won't move from here until you know I am sorry."

Before Shija's sincerity and the caress of the wind, the giant hawk's haughtiness dissolved.

{... Huh?}

Slowly, the imposing bird tilted its head to one side, completely disarming its aura of dignity and power by opening both eyes disproportionately, losing all its aggressiveness in an instant.

"I was a fool... an invader who only thought of his own strength. Forgive me for destroying your peace."

At Shija's words, the bird was only capable of tilting its head in confusion with a slow movement, while its monumental size began to give way, shrinking without making a single harsh noise.

(¡¡¡Sssshhh-shhh... fade...!!!)

The steel feathers turned into soft colorful patches, and the claws became flexible cloth hands again.

{... W-what... Um... I... Mmm...}

Finally, the figure of the ragdoll resurfaced amidst the sweet mist, standing before the boy—both turned into small dots of color in the middle of the gray vastness that was slowly regaining its coloration.

(Sssssshhhhhh... mmm-shhhhhh...!!)

Face to face, the silence was almost absolute, broken only by the whisper of the thick wind.

{Y-you... W-why... are you doing that?!}

Finally, the ragdoll, now back to her small patchwork stature, spoke while trembling erratically...

{S-stop! Lift your head!}

Her cloth hands waved aimlessly, and though she had no mouth, a broken and stuttering voice began to vibrate in the air, as if the threads in her chest were vocal cords stretched to the limit.

(Ffffttt... drip... drop...)

In parallel above them, the sky began to transform once again.

{I said stop!}

Great clouds of cotton candy, pink and fluffy, gathered together, hiding the ashen sun.

{I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!! NOBODY TAUGHT ME HOW TO DEAL WITH THIS!!}

From her cottony belly, a slow rain began to fall: a chocolate serenade.

(Plic... Plic... plip, poic, poic, tinkling!!)

The drops were dense, warm, and shiny, dripping softly over the charred environment, covering the wounds of the earth with a layer of sweet viscosity.

"....."

But Shija did not move, despite the tapping of the chocolate drops hitting his shoulders and mixing with the soot on his five-year-old face. He maintained his kneeling position, forehead low, offering his vulnerability as proof of his truth.

{You're supposed to fight! Or die! Or mock me! But you can't... you can't just be kind! I don't know how to deal with feelings!}

Suddenly, the small cloth figure lifted her smooth face toward the cotton candy clouds and released a piercing scream to the sky—a scream directed not at Shija, but at existence itself.

{In these cases, do I have to ask the readers for advice?!}

She shook her small cloth hands, clenched into useless fists, while trembling with frustration and letting out a rhythmic sob again. But it was no longer a cry of pain for her house, but the confusion of facing something new for the first time since her birth, something she couldn't fight with claws or hatred: the sincere forgiveness of a child.

{What am I supposed to do?!}

Then the doll began to move erratically, her cloth legs bending at impossible angles as she ran in circles over the chocolate-bathed ash.

{You, the ones reading! Tell me something! This wasn't in the script! I don't know how to react to this!}

Her hands waved toward the sky, toward nothingness, toward... whatever was beyond.

(¡¡¡GLITCH-STUTTER-SCREEE!!!)

But in that moment, she stopped dead, trembling violently.

{What genre is used in this kind of case...?}

In her short and young existence, she had known love; the familial love of her "sisters" and of that "Grandfather" who cared for her.

{There are romance genres centered on the main romantic relationship between two people, exploring its development, conflicts, and emotionally satisfying resolution, highlighting the feelings and inner world of the characters, with plots varying from adventures to daily stories, but always with a happy or hopeful ending for the couple...}

But that was a protective love, a love for the "weak girl" who always ruined things.

{Or it could be the tragedy genre, centered on the fall or destruction of a noble protagonist due to a fatal flaw or inevitable fate, resulting in a dire ending that causes catharsis!}

She was an expert in regret; it was always her who tripped, who burned the gardens, who asked for forgiveness with her face buried in the ground...

{Ahahahahahahaha! Now I understand! This must be a Hidden Camera prank! Like in a comedy, where a narrative is used to entertain and amuse the reader through humor, parody, irony, or exaggeration, presenting daily conflicts or human vices from a ridiculous perspective, but with a generally happy or positive ending!}

That was exactly why, in all her period of existence, she had never been intimidated by anyone, for no one had ever done anything so bad to her that it was necessary to ask her for forgiveness.

{It's... it's too much...}

She was extremely susceptible to pure emotions, like a hot metal plate that bends before a drop of cold water.

{It feels... new.}

Being always the "troublemaker," her immature mind was in total chaos.

{It hurts, but not like a blow.}

That was why she avoided facing the feelings of others; she didn't know what to do with a sincere apology because she had never experienced anything like it, having never been seriously offended.

{It's as if they were sewing me up inside with a thread I don't know... AND I DON'T LIKE IT!!}

For the first time, like a small child, she was experiencing her worst fear...

{Why do you just stay there reading this chapter and not answer me?!}

She would have to face socialization.

{I know! I thought of something!}

However, the doll, still trembling and hugging herself under the sweet chocolate drizzle, lifted her smooth face toward the cotton candy clouds, with a spark of desperation turned into a frantic idea.

(¡¡¡POP-SNAP-MORPH!!!)

In an instant, her small cloth hand, made of colorful patches, transformed with unnatural speed. The threads stretched, the fabric hardened and darkened, and the fingers fused together to form a shiny, segmented scorpion tail.

{If I don't know the answer...}

The tip, sharp and dark, was charged with raw energy.

{And the readers won't give it to me!}

Then, without thinking twice, the doll spun around and struck the charred ground with the scorpion tail.

(¡¡¡KRAACK-FISSURE-SHATTER!!!)

Causing the crystallized earth and ash to crack open with a thundering noise, revealing a deep fissure from which thousands of iridescent bubbles emerged, floating softly.

{Then I'll cheat!!}

They were translucent spheres of all sizes, ascending slowly, reflecting the cotton candy sky and dripping a bit of the chocolate serenade.

{Maybe there's a precedent here!! Something that tells me what to do with this!!}

But they weren't air bubbles; each one glowed with an internal pattern, with fleeting images and echoes of sounds that Shija could not decipher.

{MOM SURELY HAS EXPERIENCE!!}

They were memory bubbles.

{I trust you, Mom!!}

Screeching, the doll ran toward the fissure, her scorpion tail still extended.

{Here!}

She stopped before the cloud of ethereal orbs, her featureless face seeming to concentrate with desperate intensity.

{The answer must be here!}

Her small cloth hands reached out and, with amazing precision, she grabbed one of the largest bubbles, one that glowed with an especially intense light.

{Oooooohh~!!}

Thus, the doll raised the bubble to the level where her face would be, using it like a crystal ball to see inside.

(¡¡¡VROOOOOM-SHINE-CHIME!!!)

The memory bubble vibrated in the doll's cloth hands, emitting a hum of pure white light that contrasted with the gloom of the burnt forest.

"Hello, doc..."

Inside, the image cleared with terrifying sharpness.

"Haaaa... Hello, Mireya..."

There was Mireya, looking deceptively normal: he wore simple jeans, a black shirt, and an impeccable white jacket, reclining on a stretcher with an attitude so casual it was chilling given the circumstances.

"What... what brings you here this time?"

The one speaking to Mireya was a psychologist sitting at a desk. The man was the living image of despair: his skin was ashen, he had deep dark circles like pits of shadow, and his hands trembled so much he could barely hold his notepad.

"I-I'm sure we already had a session recently... right?"

He looked like someone walking on the edge of an abyss, on the verge of self-termination, held up only by a thread of professional duty.

"Oh, nothing special, don't worry. I just came to release a bit of pressure."

Ignorant of the man's decadent state, Mireya replied with a blood-chilling naturalness while drinking a glass of water.

"I-I see... Ahaha... If that's the case, please wait a moment..."

Hearing that response, the psychologist took a breath with visible effort.

"In that case... I'm ready. Begin."

After adjusting his glasses with clumsy fingers, he closed his eyes tightly and, after what seemed like an internal mental battle not to collapse right there, whispered the words that would begin his torment.

"§Æth’ka nör-vahl, do you understand the weight of nothingness? Z’karoth-un mørth... life is but a stitching error in the mantle of entropy. ‡Vahl’kyrie shur-nâg... the atoms that form you are screaming to return to absolute silence while I walk upon their agony. ۞R’lyeh-ga’thul... the stars do not shine, they only bleed light to hide what lies behind the canvas."

Then he began to speak, but what came from his lips was not air, but a vibration that seemed to carve reality itself.

"......"

In response, trying to prevail, the psychologist grit his teeth, feeling his eardrums on the verge of bursting as Mireya’s words flooded the room like a thick, black fluid.

"¡¡Kær-shazath øm-nigh!! The souls you think you save are but echoes of a frequency already extinguished! Zul-gurab neth’ra... time does not flow, it is an open wound that licks itself. ☬Y’shari mør... your sanity is a sandcastle before the tsunami of truth I carry in my lungs. ¡¡Xha’thul nör, Xha’thul nör!!"

Hearing those words, the psychologist let out a dull groan. The first tear of blood ran down his cheek, falling onto his notepad. Yet Mireya did not stop; instead, his pace increased, becoming a frantic litany.

"¡¡!!"

But the man persisted, clenching his fists until his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood from his hands as well. His vision turned red; the blood vessels in his eyes shattered under the pressure of trying to process concepts outside the human spectrum.

"§G’na-shur-vahl... love is a chemical reaction to ignore the void... death is the only return to symmetry... ¡¡Z’KAA-THUL!!"

Finally, with those words, Mireya stopped and exhaled a sigh of satisfaction, like someone lifting a thousand-ton weight off their shoulders.

"Restoration complete!!"

In the end, the psychologist remained catatonic, with a vacant stare and a face covered in crimson, while Shija and the doll watched from the bubble a horror that surpassed any physical battle they had ever fought.

(¡¡Plop!!)

{INCORRECT MEMORY!}