The Echoes of the Ash

In the midst of the darkness; like a dense, tactile, and heavy presence that seeped through the corners of his existence...

(Where… am I?)

In that state of diffused consciousness, Shija did not know if seconds or millennia had passed since he let go of the silk hilt.

(... This... familiar feeling is...)

He did not feel the weight of his body, nor the volcanic pain in his shoulder, nor the rhythmic beating of his heart.

(... Just like on every occasion)

Everything had been reduced to a monochromatic mist, a limbo where his identity frayed like old cloth under water.

(...Drip... drip... drip...)

But then, suddenly, a rhythmic sound began to pierce the absolute silence.

(Water...?)

A constant and fine dripping, an invisible rain falling upon the surface of his mind, began to resonate.

(... Now that I think about it... it’s the first time... that I can feel in this state...)

Each drop that impacted his diffused consciousness brought with it a fragment of sensation: the coldness of tar, the scent of dead flowers, the echo of a whisper that did not belong to him...

(Yes, now I remember!)

Thanks to that, the scenes of his memory returned to him while, little by little, the darkness ceased to be a solid mass to become liquid and transparent, like the water of a deep well at midnight.

(...Drip... drip...)

Amidst the constant dripping and the abyssal blackness, his consciousness emerged like a bubble of air trapped in mud.

(How much time has passed...?)

And in that state, his thoughts moved with a leaden heaviness.

(The doors... Melioris... the chains...)

He remembered the pain —that volcanic and absolute pain— that had brought him to his knees, and the snakes of his tattoos pulling at his flesh like threads of a broken puppet.

(I am sure I heard her voice...)

Each image passed before his mind's eye like a burnt slide.

(But... what does she intend to gain from all this...? Or rather... why did I never resist... No, I haven't even stopped to doubt since I arrived in this world...)

At that moment, finally free from the "influence" that Melioris subtly exerted over his being, Shija wondered how much of what he felt was his own and how much was the influence Melioris had used to lead him to where he was.

(Was it really me... who let go of the sword...?)

He reflected on Melioris's voice, that cynical invitation to stop fighting, and how, finally, he had let go of his only anchor.

(No... at least I can be sure she isn't the kind who snatches away freedom... Besides...)

The reflection extended into the abyssal silence, a necessary introspection before the final collapse of his sanity.

(<<I see... I guess in the end... I wasn't so different.>>... Maybe I am responsible for this situation...)

In that moment of lucidity, memories covered in static slowly returned to Shija's mind...

(...Drip... drip... drip...)

But then, the static of the void was interrupted.

(.... Drip... drip... drip... drip...)

The sound was slow, deliberate, like tears falling from somewhere.

(Sniff-sniff... This smell...)

But along with the dripping, a new stimulus began to vibrate in the environment.

(... Ashes)

Before he realized it, his sense of smell had returned, and the first thing he caught was a raw and earthy scent.

(CHHH-PUM... CHAS-CHAS!!!)

At the same time, the sound of the crackling of invisible flames began to resonate around him, a thermal vibration that restored the sensation of his own nerves.

(It's warm...)

And with a supreme effort, as if he were lifting the eyelids of a stone statue, Shija opened both eyes.

"...."

However, what greeted his recovered vision was a landscape of absolute desolation.

(... This... is?)

Shija blinked, his eyes glassy, trying to focus his vision.

(Plic, plic...)

Ruins stretched out before him.

"...."

He was lying on a floor covered in charred debris, twisted wooden beams, and fragments of what were once walls, now reduced to ashes.

(... There are only ruins)

Everything had been razed by a devastating force, leaving only the skeletal remains of a dead structure.

(And this structure is... the mansion...?)

Raising his gaze with an agonizing twist of his neck, Shija contemplated his surroundings, using his developed Ki perception to scan the place...

(... It’s larger than I thought... and the sky...)

And as he finished, he looked up at the sky of a vast, colorless gray.

(...Drip... drip... drip...)

In turn, thick black rain began to fall from the gray sky in a rhythmic and deliberate manner, hitting the ruins and his own naked skin with a dull thud.

(FSSSSSSS...!)

Upon contact, the black rain hissed slightly, mingling with the scent of ashes that saturated the air and the persistent crackling of dying embers floating among the debris.

"...."

But immediately after contemplating the scene, Shija, lying on a bed of ash that still exhaled wisps of gray smoke, tried to recognize his own limbs amidst the ruins that resembled the skeleton of a mansion after a catastrophic explosion.

(Just as I thought... they are smaller...)

As he tried to prop himself up to sit, a visceral feeling of strangeness hit him harder than the pain.

(...Drip... drip... drip...)

With an effort that made his vision falter, Shija raised his limbs before his face, confirming his suspicions...

"....."

Before him, bathed by the dark water falling from the colorless sky, were not the calloused hands that had wielded his sword; instead, there were small, soft, and rounded hands, devoid of scars, with short fingers that could barely be clenched with strength.

(SHHH-ZAP!!!)

Confirming it immediately, Shija closed his eyes and projected his Ki inward, performing a frenetic scan of his own spiritual and physical structure.

"... Just as I feared... is this the regression...?"

His physical appearance had not only regressed; he had been rejuvenated to the point of being, in anyone's eyes, a child of barely 2 years old.

(... But that isn't all)

Immediately after, he noticed the absence of the doll, whom he ceased to perceive no matter how much he searched for her energy flow.

(Where is she...?)

However, fortunately for Shija...

(Ba-dump~)

He was still able to perceive the faint heartbeat that had accompanied him since his arrival.

"At least I can feel something... But this scene... is it perhaps a memory... or maybe...?"

The bond that united them seemed to have been blocked in the tar explosion upon being consumed by the tsunami of black water.

(... Although considering her state at that moment...)

But Shija, remembering how the doll had fallen unconscious in the middle of the combat...

"Haaaah..."

He chose to sit up in his infant body, feeling the coldness of the black rain run down his small back.

"... I can't take it anymore."

After that, he did not try to fight against gravity nor against the weakness that numbed his existence.

(...Drip... drip... drip...)

The black rain fell from the colorless sky with a hypnotic parsimony, hitting the charred beams that rose like the ribs of a dead giant toward the gray firmament.

(I began this journey trying to save her... Master...)

The scent of burnt wood and sulfur became the only available air, filtering into his small lungs with a softness that contrasted with the horror of the previous explosion that enveloped the place.

(... But in the end, I met people... I became stronger... and I got involved in all of this...)

With a minimal effort, Shija turned his head to one side.

(... So... why am I doing this...?)

A few inches from his face, a persistent ember struggled to stay alive among the debris.

(Will this lead me to the Master...? I don't understand... what am I doing... I...?)

It was a condemned fire, a solitary flame that sputtered weakly, consuming the last remains of the nearby structure.

"....."

The orange glow of that fire was reflected in his eyes...

(It's over... for now...)

In that moment of absolute calm, Shija contemplated the dance between the dying fire and the falling rain.

(Have I done enough...?)

There were no enemies, there were no doors, the doll was not there to guide him. There was only him, a two-year-old infant with the mind of a broken warrior, trapped in the eye of a storm that had already passed, leaving behind an absolute void.

(... I wonder... was I always so weak...?)

The exhaustion was not just physical; it was a spiritual fatigue that weighed on him more than iron.

(... Now... I just want to...)

His small hands opened over the ash, letting the black water wash the soot from his palms.

(.... Rest... just... for... a moment...)

He closed his eyes for an instant, allowing the sound of the crackling and the rhythmic dripping from the sky to envelop him in a cocoon of silence.

"... Mas...ter..."

In the midst of the ruins that recalled the devastation of a noble mansion reduced to nothing, Shija Retsu surrendered to exhaustion...

"... Hic... hahaha…"

But at that moment, a cry broke the silence.

"¿...?"

A joyful cry. A laugh born from an abyssal sadness, or perhaps a sadness that found hysterical relief in total destruction.

"Uuh..."

The echo of that voice, charged with an unbearable emotional duality, cut through the gray air and seeped into the ears of little Shija.

"...."

And in response, Shija, whose two-year-old body barely weighed upon the bed of ash, slowly opened his eyes.

(That voice...)

Despite the exhaustion that threatened to extinguish his consciousness, the warrior's instinct —the one that had not shrunk along with his body— took command.

(... I'm an idiot.)

Why get up again?

"I must move forward..."

With an effort that made his small limbs tremble, Shija pressed his rounded palms against the damp ground and, wobbling, stood up once more.

"Fuuuuu... alright..."

At that moment, letting out a long and heavy sigh, Shija looked up...

"I will move forward."

He took a step forward to advance.