Reunion (2)
It's a lie.
A hallucination?
Riel was dead. They had all been told he was dead. He had fallen on the battlefield…
Rhea, Ceria, and Claudia looked at one another. There had been nights when one of them heard something that wasn't there and went outside to check. They had all done it.
The same thought crossed every mind, yet this time something felt different. Instead of asking aloud, Did you hear it too?, they asked with their eyes.
Drip. Drip.
Tears like the ones from that day slid down Rhea's cheeks. Ceria's hands folded in prayer for the first time in years. Claudia's tail swayed, soft and alive, after years of stillness. Their reactions were identical.
It wasn't only me.
Not only me—
The three rose as if something had taken hold of them. They passed the corridor they had shared for so long, the table that still held the donation box, the front entrance—everything that had once been home.
They did not run. For five years they had been sinners. They had known how carefully Riel looked after them, had loved him even while wounding him with words of hatred, and in the end they had robbed him of any chance to say goodbye.
So they only thought: It's enough just to see him from a distance. Knowing he's alive is enough. Of course that fragile sense of relief was nothing more than self-deception.
Creak—
They eased the front door open. They had heard a carriage earlier, yet none stood in sight. Carefully they stepped out onto the snow-covered grass.
Then they saw it: a carriage waiting behind the church. To its right lay Sister Flora's grave; farther still stood the wooden marker that had once been Riel's. And between them, a figure both familiar and strange.
"…Riel."
Rhea spoke the name she had only ever whispered inside herself for years.
"…Hic… Ri… Riel?"
Ceria's voice broke the same way. Titles like Orthodox sister or heretic had long since fallen away. She was living again the day she had watched Riel leave as a child—the day she had stood before Flora's grave and torn herself apart with blame.
"…Ri… Riel—it is Riel, r-right…?"
Claudia sobbed so hard she nearly fainted, one hand braced against the wall. Her voice was pure pleading, as if she were already repenting every cruel thing she had ever done.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Their heartbeats rang like church bells. Nothing existed except that familiar-yet-unfamiliar back. In the lightless dawn, moonlight slipped through a crack in the window and filled their eyes with only him.
He rose. His shoulders trembled faintly as he turned.
Little by little he came into view. Once they had been nearly the same height; now he towered over them. His frame was solid, his legs long. He had always been handsome, yet somehow he was more so now.
Why so many scars on the backs of his hands?
What are those wounds around his throat?
The battlefield. Yes—he went to the battlefield.
His eyes had grown sharper, but the light inside them was unchanged.
Why are you crying? You cried the day we parted too. Why wipe your tears the moment you look at us?
We're happy you came back. Happier than words can hold. So happy it aches in our chests—
Don't cry. Please.
You left without a proper goodbye. You wrote a letter through tears and then you were gone. You found us places to be adopted and worked alone for years so we could eat. Hate us instead. Yell at us. Curse us. Just—don't cry.
"…Girls—."
Riel turned to them with the same eyes they remembered. The instant their gazes met, a high ringing filled their ears—and color flooded back into a world that had been black and white.
His hair was still black. Time had passed, yet he greeted them exactly as they had kept him in memory. He must have missed them just as fiercely as they had missed him.
"…Riel—!"
Crunch—!
No one waited for the others. They ran, stamping footprints into the snow. Tears that had seemed frozen forever fell onto those prints and left new marks of their own. Riel opened his arms the way he always had, and they crashed into him.
Warm.
So warm…
"…I missed you. All of you."
They should have answered, yet no sound came. Rhea, Ceria, and Claudia were too busy breaking open every sob they had locked away for years, crushed against the chest of a Riel who had grown so much taller.
Still, they knew they had to speak. The moment they tried to pull free of the warmth they had longed for and find their own words—
Thud—.
Something slipped from his hand—something he must have been holding in front of the grave. A single sheet of paper, stained with blood until its color had changed, carrying every one of their traces, fluttered to the snow.
Thud—!
It felt as though the ground itself gave way. The bloodstained paper, opened so many times it knew the motion by heart, unfurled as it fell. Rubbed raw, stroked raw, the drawing had blurred past recognition—yet it was still the same picture they had drawn together as children: their family portrait.
Their chests ached.
It hurt too much—
One scrap of paper that showed how Riel had lived. Joy at seeing him again was drowned by sorrow, by pain, by the crushing guilt of having sent him to a place that could do this. It wrapped around all three of them at once.
Drip. Drip.
Tears fell—thicker, deeper than any they had ever shed—seeping into the snow. Rhea, Ceria, Claudia. All the same.
Thud—!
Their legs gave out almost together and they sank to the ground. The shock was so great that hyperventilation seized them; they could not control their own bodies. They gasped as though dying, shoulders heaving with sobs that would not stop. Even so they forced themselves upright.
They wiped the sobs away with smiles. They curled their lips upward, half-closed their eyes, trying to look pretty for him—because they could see the sorrow, the pain, the bewilderment rising in Riel's face.
Then, still gasping, they spoke. Words broke in strange places; their voices rose and fell; yet they forced their lips apart.
"…Hic… Ri… Riel. Th-this time too… a-are you going to leave me? P-please… don't throw me away."
"…Because I'm Wolf Tribe… b-because I'm bad… that's why you left us, right? H-hold me. I-I'm… s-sorry. J-just… let me stay beside you."
"I prayed more than a thousand days for you to come back…."
They poured out every apology they had never been able to say. Strength drained from their limbs, yet they apologized again and again. Again—and again.
"…Gi… girls—!"
Riel scrambled to gather them.
"Le… Lediche—h-help me!"
He called the woman he had asked to wait inside the carriage so she would not see him cry. As he tried to lift them, bare skin and wrists came into view. On pure white flesh, even whiter thread-like lines stood out.
The childhood friends he had believed were living well.
The people he had expected to welcome him home.
Every one of them was broken. Without exception, lines had been drawn across their wrists.
"…Riel?"
Lediche stepped from the carriage and ran toward them, yet her face was pure incomprehension. Riel wore the same expression. So did Rhea, Ceria, and Claudia. They stared at the newcomer as though she were something that could not exist—then the three collapsed girls could hold on no longer and toppled into the snow.
Riel somehow gathered them into his arms. Lediche managed to carry the lightest, Claudia, into the church; Riel brought the other two.
The old camp beds had never been replaced; they still clung to the shape of the past. Nothing inside the church had been moved, for fear that even the last trace of Riel's scent might scatter. There was nothing large enough for grown adults to lie on, so Riel ran back to the carriage, pulled out every spare garment, spread them on the floor, and laid the three girls carefully down.
"Rhea… Ceria… Claudia…."
He did not leave their side. He had a thousand questions for Lediche, yet he stayed, terrified their condition might worsen. No—he simply held everything down. None of them was whole. A raised voice might make them flinch.
"…Go buy food, Lediche."
The request was wrung out of him.
"…Ri… Riel—I-I'll explain."
Lediche did not leave. She slipped her arms around him from behind and began to speak of the family—
Riel pulled her hands away more roughly than he meant to. He would not even look at her face.
"…Please. Listen to me. I don't want to hear a single word right now."
In silence Lediche turned toward the village. Riel remained. He stared at the white thread lines carved into the wrists of the girls he had believed were happy, and whispered to himself alone.
"…You said they were living happily…. What is…. Ugh…. What the hell is this…."
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The second hand kept moving. With every tick, a new nightmare of how they must have lived slammed into his skull. Riel sobbed, and sobbed again.
For a long time.
Until they woke—he kept crying.
Ceria woke first. Then Claudia. Last of all, Rhea. The order hardly mattered. Even though shock had dragged them under, the sound of Riel's sobbing pulled them straight back up. The three opened their eyes almost together and searched for him almost together—because whenever they had hurt, Riel had always hurt more. They knew he was hurting now.
"Riel…."
"…Uh… h—… yes? Rh… Rhea—."
The moment they stirred he scrubbed furiously at his face, trying to pretend he had never cried. He could not hide the tears that kept welling, nor the raw red rims of eyes he had rubbed too many times.
Rhea, Ceria, and Claudia simply stared. Then they felt his gaze on their wrists and snatched at their sleeves, yanking the fabric down. The gesture only made everything sadder.
"…I'm sorry—."
In the end they heard those words from him again. Riel, who had never done anything wrong in his life, who had only ever suffered—who had lived hard enough on the battlefield to collect every kind of scar, who must have lost so many people—was apologizing once more.
"…U… hic…. Y-your hands got so much rougher."
"…What are all these wounds…. I-I prayed every single day…. I prayed you wouldn't get hurt…."
"…Hic…. Riel, d-don't say you're s-sorry…."
You don't have to cry. It's been so long since we saw each other. We're the ones who should cry. We're the ones who were bad—
"…D-don't cry…. Riel… okay?"
"…I-it's nothing. W-we… got a lot closer. Really. R-right, Claudia?"
"…Rhea and Ceria… every memorial day for Sister we all gathered…. W-why do you need to cry, Riel…."
They sat close, leaning against him, sharing warmth, wiping his tears. Little by little. Over and over they wiped, over and over they held him—speaking soft, pretty words as if they could erase the five years of separation simply by pressing close enough.
"…Riel, I really love you. I mean it—. From the slums until now, I've always loved you."
"…Me too. I love Riel. Actually… because I loved Sister Flora…. I wanted to become a sister just like her."
"…Claudia loves you the most. Really."
They repeated the words he had always liked best, pouring every regret of the lost years into them—not to soothe him, but as if laying their bare hearts open: I love you most. I like you most—
It did not last.
Just as Riel's tears began to slow, just as he stroked Claudia's hair the way he used to and drew Ceria and Rhea into his arms—
They saw the ring on his left hand.
On the ring finger of his left hand sat a ring engraved with the crest of House Rueshatia—the same house that had sent word of his death in battle. That unforgettable crest was fitted clearly, unmistakably, on his finger.
What is that—
The moment the question formed, an ominous premonition slid through them.
Creak—
Lediche returned. The old door opened with a soft groan and she stepped inside—noble, refined, almost beautiful. On her hand gleamed a ring identical to Riel's.
"…Ah."
Rhea thought: You were going to marry me.
Ceria thought: Weren't you going to stay with us forever?
Claudia thought the same: You promised you'd stay by our side for the rest of our lives—
To claim they felt no betrayal would have been a lie. They had waited years without him, hurt for years without him. Riel, you found someone to marry on the battlefield. You forgot us and found happiness with someone else— The thought would not stop.
But…
But…
They were the ones who had pushed him onto the battlefield. They were the ones who had hurt him every single day. They were the ones who made him cry and blame himself, who robbed him of even a goodbye. He had left as a mercenary of House Rueshatia; of course he would lean on the people of that house….
"…Lediche."
The instant Riel saw her he rose and walked toward her. Perhaps thinking the others would overhear, he drew her deeper inside. They spoke in low voices. Then the volume rose until the words spilled out—only Riel's voice.
"…You told me everyone was living happily. What were all those letters I received? Why—why are they broken like this? Explain it, Lediche. Right now! You, who claimed you were doing everything for my sake—how could you do this to me? How could you?!"
They had come to the church together. They wore matching rings. That meant they were to marry. She was the person he had relied on through the war. House Rueshatia was noble. Lediche was the name of the young family head.
Rhea carefully stood and walked toward the room where Riel and Lediche waited. Ceria and Claudia followed.
Lediche could not speak. Head bowed, she only bit her lip. Tears fell from her eyes as well.
Riel was angry at the woman he was going to marry—and yet he was hurting, the same deep hurt he had always shown when looking at someone he truly trusted, truly loved.
Yes. Exactly the way he used to look at them.
Creak—
A quiet sound, yet louder than any other. Their gazes shifted to the three childhood friends who had entered the room.
"…Stop it, Riel."
Rhea swallowed the sob that tried to burst free and forced a smile. Only after several careful breaths could she speak.
"…Lady Lediche did everything she could for us."
I'm glad you came back. I still love you. So do Ceria and Claudia. If you're happy, then we're happy too. We realized it too late, but we know it now.
We pushed you into hell. We hurt you until you wanted to die. And now we want to stand beside you again? That would be shameless beyond words.
So even if the young family head told us the cruelest lie, even if the sponsorship stopped, even if we fell apart—that was our failure to adapt to the family. Really. It's all right.
"It may be hard to believe…. But we… are happy."
Rhea forced the words out. Ceria and Claudia managed stiff, creaking nods.
"…Don't lie."
Of course Riel did not believe them. He strode forward, caught Rhea's wrist, and lifted it. White thread-lines scored the skin without pattern or mercy; no one needed to ask what they meant. He stared at them, bit down hard on his lip, drew a long breath—then exhaled as though years of resentment rode on it. When he spoke again his voice was carefully, painfully calm.
"…Is this the proof that you're happy?"
To Rhea.
"…Is this the proof that everyone was happy, Lediche?"
And to Lediche.