Dawn Breaks Over Shared Fate
As soon as dawn broke, Owen woke Sylvia. Thrilled at the thought of finally getting out, she urged him to hurry and let her out already. After being forced to hold the same position for more than half a day, her whole body ached.
It was an ordeal, the two of them squeezing through that impossibly narrow hole, but once she finally drew in fresh air, it felt as though her lungs had opened at last.
“I can’t believe it. We’re finally out.”
She straightened her stiff back and found Owen putting his buried armor on again. He looked as composed as ever, though he had likely had a hard time bearing her weight while lying on the ground with his back to the earth.
“Owen. Be honest with me. Are you actually human?”
“I rescued you, and this is the thanks I get?”
“No, that’s not what I meant. Geez, it’s not like I asked you to save me in the first place.”
She muttered the words without meaning them and stuck out her lower lip. She knew full well she was saying something shameless—if it hadn’t been for Owen, she would have been crushed to death under that pile of stone long ago—but for some reason, around him, she felt like she could get away with acting however she pleased.
Maybe it was because Owen himself never seemed to take anything she said too seriously. He was just… easy to be around. Had been, come to think of it, from the very first time they met.
Owen really is more loyal than anyone else.
Only then did Sylvia think she might finally understand why, after returning from that mission five years ago, Heston had introduced Owen like some remarkable figure and said he’d made a friend.
The first time she’d seen Owen, with his filthy blond hair and vaguely delinquent air, she’d thought Heston must have gone a little mad from owing him his life too many times.
But now she understood.
The way he threw himself into danger without hesitation to save someone, the way he made so little of it afterward, the way he simply carried on with what needed to be done without a trace of fear even in a situation like this… that was exactly the sort of quality Heston would praise.
Still, Sylvia suspected it wasn’t so much because he was as loyal and devoted as Heston had said, but rather…
I think he came in here to kill himself. Don’t you? I’ve never seen him attached to anything in his life.
She found more truth in what Janet had once said. She didn’t know why Owen’s will to live seemed so faint, but the thought lingered. Working through it, Sylvia moved closer to his side.
“There seem to be more monsters over there. About twenty of them, I think.”
Only then did Owen turn to look at her properly, his expression saying, Oh, right, you’re a Supporter.
“Then which way?”
“This way.”
She pointed to Owen’s left, as if telling him to go on ahead obediently. Owen nodded and changed course. Sylvia only watched as he casually killed two monsters without her help, then asked, “Back five years ago—”
Owen glanced over his shoulder and wiped a smear of monster blood from his face. Sylvia’s eyes brightened, thinking he might actually answer her this time.
“Was it like this with Heston too? Were you stranded together back then? What exactly happened?”
Her questions came one after another, full of curiosity. Owen remembered Sylvia asking something similar five years ago.
How on earth did the two of you become friends?
Sylvia had asked it awkwardly, with a nervous, prickly energy she hadn’t been able to hide. Her face had clearly shown her dislike of him, but then she’d blushed, looking startled by her own impolite words, and turned her eyes away.
What I mean is, you know—Heston came back from a mission badly injured not long ago. It seemed like something serious happened on the mission he took with you, but Heston won’t say anything, and I thought maybe if I asked you, I could get an answer.
Back then, Owen had said, “I don’t know.” If Heston himself hadn’t wanted to talk, it wasn’t his place to say anything either. Besides, Sylvia didn’t seem like she was asking because she was genuinely curious so much as because she wanted confirmation from Owen’s mouth.
He’ll definitely think it was because of him.
As Heston had said that, he’d tightly bound the thigh that was gushing blood. He’d had a friend who had agreed to be his partner, but that friend was still in training. If he got injured this time, Heston said, he would surely blame himself for still not being a proper Supporter.
In truth, it’s just because I’m being greedy.
A friend?
It was a rather sticky sort of relationship to describe that way, so Heston had let out a small laugh.
No. My life.
And then he’d given an even stranger answer. Owen had thought he was joking in a way uncharacteristic of him—something with a bit of sincerity in it, perhaps, but ultimately a roundabout way of dressing up the truth. Still, it didn’t seem like the sort of thing he’d say if he were merely being playful.
So Owen had asked again.
Life?
Yeah. My life.
This time Heston answered without a trace of laughter. He pulled the cloth around the bleeding wound tighter, as if he were tying down the thought itself. By then, he seemed to have lost interest in the conversation, and Owen realized he was serious.
“……”
Of course, that’s all in the past now.
Owen yanked out the blade he’d driven into a monster’s chest, cutting through his recollection. Calling someone one’s life wasn’t exactly common, but then again it wasn’t so very uncommon either—and Heston was already engaged to another woman.
The feeling of being someone’s life could disappear at any time. In the end, it was only a feeling. And even if Sylvia was still Heston’s life, hadn’t Owen saved that life five years ago? Couldn’t he take it back again if he wanted?
With that thoroughly romantic thought, Owen finally answered Sylvia’s question.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember much. I think we were just on separate assignments, and I helped him when he got into danger.”
“Then was it very… dangerous?”
Her voice had softened considerably. For a brief moment, it seemed he wasn’t the only one remembering the past. Her tone trembled as though she were picturing Heston’s injury. The gaping wound in Heston’s thigh. Owen found himself wondering what Sylvia had looked like when she first saw Heston’s leg wrapped in all those bandages.
He hadn’t been able to move properly, so Heston would have been on his bed. Sylvia would have been standing before him… and had she cried at the sight? Realizing she might lose him forever?
For some reason, Owen suddenly thought of Sylvia before the tower fell, when she had been drenched in the light of sacrifice, determined to save everyone and die for it. Then, before he could stop himself, a question slipped out of him.
“What do you think would’ve happened if Heston had died back then?”
He really was curious, so Owen couldn’t hold it in. Sylvia frowned at the abrupt question, mildly offended.
“Why would you ask something like that? Are you trying to brag about saving Heston?”
“Just… you must’ve thought about it. And right now Heston’s probably thinking exactly that…”
“What?”
She shouted in shock. If this hadn’t been monster territory, the birds would have taken flight. Owen frowned at her.
“Isn’t it obvious? Whether the people you saved came back or not, you’d have known, wouldn’t you?”
“No, I mean… I didn’t have time to think… Oh my God, what do I do? He makes a scene every time I get even a little hurt! Heston, for the way he looks, is actually really timid. When he was little, his younger sibling—ah, I mean Rosalind—wasn’t very well, and every time that happened he’d get completely lost and miserable. He’d go out to the garden and cry his eyes out all the time, I swear. Ah, I said that in confidence. No, that’s not the important part right now. Would he really think I died? He’d completely lose it. No, no, he’d think I was alive, right?”
Babbling frantically, Sylvia grabbed at her own hair. Her thin pink strands were twisted mercilessly in her fist, looking painfully abused. Before he knew it, Owen was frowning, reaching out to gently pry her fingers loose one by one, protecting the miserable strands of hair. Sylvia, as though she needed something to clutch, seized his hand instead, and Owen, disgusted, shook her off.
“Let’s hurry back. We don’t have time to stand around chatting.”
His eyes were serious, desperate.
The moment Owen saw that look, something deep inside him twisted hard.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything like it. Not even when Sylvia had rescued those people without hesitation and left him behind had he felt this way. The emotion was so intense it had even reached Sylvia.
“Huh?”
Sylvia frowned as a sudden wave of displeasure churned her stomach and heated her head.
What’s wrong with me? Am I just anxious?
She didn’t realize that the feeling had come from Owen, so at first she assumed the discomfort was her own. But after a moment, she thought that maybe it was the emotion of the silent Owen standing there, not having said a word yet, and once that idea occurred to her, Sylvia apologized immediately.
“Sorry.”
It was an apology for a reason she didn’t understand—neither why she was apologizing nor why Owen had felt upset.
Owen realized that his own feeling had been transmitted to her exactly as it was, and quickly turned his head away.
“What for? Let’s just hurry and go like you said.”
It wasn’t so much anger as embarrassment. Looking at Owen’s reddened nape, Sylvia suddenly realized something.
Ah. Come to think of it, this is the first time.
This was the first time Owen’s feelings had reached her.
And of all things, the first one was displeasure. Over something so inexplicable…
Did I overreact? No, even if he did hate the sight of it, was it really enough to get this upset?
At a loss, she rolled her eyes at Owen’s retreating back.
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