Artist
Artist
The Artist collapsed, its body sinking to the floor.
It had met death with a smile, submerged in poison. As its body began to rot and shrivel, Ereta looked at Aslan, who was sheathing the Beast of Tiyalmisof behind his back.
A whirlwind of emotions flickered through the woman's mind in that same moment.
The truth she had just now realized, crashing against the truth she had newly discovered. The two conflicting realities churned chaotically before settling, and she had to force a smile onto her lips.
Ereta had lost her mother. Unlike before, when she had merely believed herself abandoned, this time, she had truly lost her.
Her heart was so miserable and fatigued that yesterday — when she thought she had simply been forsaken — felt better by comparison.
The battle had only just ended. Having pushed her emotions and skills to their absolute limit, Ereta felt as though she might collapse and fall into a deep sleep at any moment.
Amidst this, the miasma thickened around her, pressing in as though trying to seep into her skin.
Her regeneration allowed her to endure it, but Aslan didn't seem to share that luxury.
Aslan. The man who had saved her and then collapsed, hovering on the edge of death. His physical condition was anything but normal.
His ankle was crushed and mangled, looking less like a joint than a hunk of raw meat. His left arm was a grotesque sight, stripped entirely of skin. And his right arm, having taken the brunt of the acidic poison earlier, had dissolved into a puddle of gore and blood.
Looking at Aslan, Ereta realized something. That all she had left in this world was Aslan, and the grand, distant goal he represented.
At the precipice of loss, the woman chose evasion over confrontation.
In this frame of mind, she approached with a smile, about to suggest they head back — to tell him that everyone must be waiting and worrying about them.
Except, Aslan had no intention of letting it slide.
"Aslan. You must be tired. Let me help you. Come on... ."
"Ereta."
And the meaning Aslan carried was laid bare, utterly unhidden.
The emotion seeping through his voice was profound exhaustion. Ereta flinched, her shoulders jerking as she looked at him.
His expression held a stark resolve. Ereta's smile froze in place, slowly hardening into a grave look.
"Don't."
Aslan turned his body toward the voice that had escaped her involuntarily. Shaking her head, Ereta backed away.
To escape the look on Aslan's face.
But Aslan approached her. He staggered forward, planting his mangled ankle against the floor.
"Just— don't. I don't want to hear it."
Ereta spoke while retreating further.
She, who should have been demanding an explanation, was retreating. He, who should have been desperate to explain himself, was advancing.
Beneath that strange scene lay the future Ereta truly wished for.
She had hoped Aslan would say he was exhausted, that he felt as if he was dying.
She had wished he would thank her for her help, or ask if she was hurt.
She wanted him to speak to her kindly, as he always did, as if nothing had happened.
She wished she could avert her eyes from the truth confronting her.
She wanted to show off the new power she had gained and change the subject.
She longed to tell him not to worry, that she could heal him completely with her regeneration and life force infusion.
Until the point before it happened. Without ever mentioning how she had obtained it. She just wanted to go back to the others, like that.
And she wanted to continue the journey.
A day, two days, a few weeks, maybe a year.
To forget this moment and the lie Aslan had told her, she wanted to live off the dreams and kindness he showed her.
To swallow that diluted pain in heavy gulps, act as if it were nothing, hear the truth, and forgive him just like that.
That was the horizon Ereta longed for.
"No."
That was what she had wished for.
But.
Ereta soon realized.
That Aslan was not that kind of man.
She recollected.
That despite it all, she herself was utterly exhausted and had lost so much.
And that accepting the truth now emerging was excruciatingly difficult.
"Don't!"
Kwaaaaaah!
The heat she unleashed washed over the floor, pushing back the pools of poison. Scorched miasma writhed through the air, and Aslan's approaching steps halted.
Ereta grimaced, looking at him with damp eyes that seemed on the verge of shedding tears.
"Please. Please, don't do this."
And she pleaded.
"I don't... want to lose you, Aslan... ."
As if dreading the future to come, she hunched her shoulders, her axe hanging loosely in her grip.
"I don't want to lose this journey, or you, or the others. This is... this is all I have now... So please, don't. Don't take this away from me."
"...Ereta."
"Don't say it. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to!"
Emotion welled up inside her and spilled over. Aslan watched the sight silently.
Despite her pleas, he opened his mouth. The only heavy thing in the room was his heart.
"Ereta."
It was a gently sharp word.
"I lied to you."
The words Ereta least wanted to hear right now.
"The Fire-weaving Spider, she... ."
"Stop, just stop!"
Ereta unleashed a torrent of flame. As the surging fire flared up and enveloped her, Aslan closed his mouth.
The flames did not harm him. They vanished carefully before they could even reach him.
Ereta raised her head through the veil of fire.
Aslan's form naturally filled her pink pupils. It was not his usual self.
An arm convulsing from poison. A left arm barely holding its shape, presumably through Wild Magic. A right arm that had melted away, leaving only a stump at the shoulder.
A pale face already brushing against death. Faced with that imminent death, tears streamed down Ereta's face.
The first emotion to surface was guilt.
Because right in front of her was Aslan, who had risked his life fighting to protect her.
The next was fear. An emotion born from the possibility of losing Aslan, too. Ereta trembled, gripping her axe until her knuckles turned white.
Ereta couldn't understand Aslan.
What would he do if she heard the truth and murderous intent bloomed inside her?
What would he do if she flew into a rage and tried to kill him? She couldn't understand it.
From what she had experienced traveling with him, the Aslan standing before her now was at his absolute limit.
His body was in no condition to withstand equalization.
If she attacked him now, he wouldn't even be able to put up a decent fight.
He would die, completely helpless.
And yet, he was still trying to tell her the truth.
So, all she could do was weep.
There was no way she could ever harm Aslan.
She couldn't harm the only precious being left to her.
Weeping quietly, the woman spoke in a trembling voice.
"Please. Please stop. I don't— I don't want to hear it."
She didn't want to hate Aslan.
She wanted to love him.
And so, she spoke.
"Do you hate me, Aslan? Do you wish I would hate you back and try to kill you?"
And with those words, it was as if a dam burst — emotions flooding out like raging water.
"What am I to you?"
She dropped her axe, her face streaming with tears as she asked.
"Why did you lie to me?"
With that, she buried her face in her hands. To speak further was agony. To look at Aslan any longer was torture.
Watching her, Aslan made no easy excuses. He kept silent.
Time passed, and after a long while, the woman finally lifted her head and looked at Aslan.
He stood on the bare floor where her heat had scorched away the pool of poison, silently watching her.
The moment their eyes met, Aslan spoke.
"Ereta. Do you hate me?"
It was abrupt, but her answer was certain.
"I don't... know. I really don't know... ."
Her mother was an irreplaceable being to Ereta.
She loved her mother.
Even if that relationship might not have been as righteous as Ereta believed. Even if her mother was an evil god.
She loved her mother.
Aslan had killed that mother.
The Aslan she should naturally hate or despise.
Ereta could not hate him.
She simply felt hollow.
Because the man she loved had destroyed the mother she loved.
She simply felt empty.
And that was precisely why she could come to love Aslan, accompany him on his journey, and build equal relationships with the others.
That was why she didn't know.
Everything was just so complicated.
Lacking the means or the composure to summarize her feelings, Ereta merely shook her head.
"I don't know."
Aslan walked toward the woman.
He advanced without hesitation, through the shimmering heat and flames.
He came to a stop in front of her, silently meeting Ereta's eyes.
Teal eyes heavy with exhaustion, pink eyes damp with tears. As Ereta's lips parted, Aslan spoke.
"Taking you in might have been a clear mistake."
"...Ah."
Tears spilled over involuntarily. To the woman clutching her chest, Aslan continued as if unfazed.
"As you said once... you have killed many people who did not want to die."
He held her gaze as he spoke on. Over his profoundly weary eyes, something like resolve settled.
"What you did was an undeniable evil. The sins you have accumulated still weigh on your shoulders. You are... a villain."
"Are you... going to kill me?"
That must be his resolve. As Ereta wept, clenched her fists, and trembled with fear, Aslan offered a gentle smile.
"No."
And he reached out, cupping her cheek.
A left arm that barely moved. An arm convulsing from poison, cold to the touch. With that arm, Aslan stroked her cheek and traced the corners of her eyes.
Wiping away her tears, he spoke.
"It was a mistake to take you in. It wasn't the right thing to do. But... I don't regret it."
As her tears began to slow, Aslan smiled tenderly.
"Because I need you."
When Ereta began to cry again, Aslan smiled ruefully, as if he couldn't help it.
"The Fire-weaving Spider never abandoned you. I was the one who... deceived you. I'm sorry."
With that resigned smile, he apologized.
Without a single excuse. Just a simple, honest apology.
Even through her tears, Ereta was incredulous.
If he had wanted to make excuses, there were plenty of ways he could have.
Claiming he had done it to quash any thought of betrayal, because she might have turned on him otherwise — that would have made sense.
If he had said that, Ereta would have understood.
Because if she had known her mother hadn't abandoned her, she likely would have betrayed him.
But he didn't. He didn't even offer that excuse.
If not that, he could have taken advantage of her affection.
He could have whispered sweet words right now, told her he hadn't been able to do it because he loved her.
Ereta would have fallen for that, too.
But he didn't do that either.
Aslan simply apologized for his mistake.
That was all.
Ereta could not comprehend it.
"...Why...?"
The word slipped out, a voice soggy with tears. A damp whisper that invited wicked thoughts. Unbothered, Aslan smiled as he answered.
"Because you are precious to me. And I don't want to lie to someone precious."
It was a precarious smile, like an oil lamp on the verge of going out.
Beneath that smile, Aslan pulled Ereta into his arms with that barely functional limb.
Settling into his embrace, Ereta unconsciously wrapped her arms around his back and held on tight.
Despite the thick miasma, that large embrace carried Aslan's scent.
A scent she would never forget until the day she died.
To Ereta, who had buried her face in his chest, Aslan whispered softly.
"If you want to hate me, it's okay to hate me."
Ereta could not hate him.
"If you want to despise me, it's okay to despise me."
Ereta loved him.
"Whatever feelings you hold... stay by my side."
He knew she could never leave, because he was the only thing she had left.
"Ereta. I need you."
Hearing those words, Ereta felt relief.
And even as she felt relieved, she wept.
Because those words were not what she had longed for. They were an ambiguous, barely-there hope, nowhere near what she truly wanted.
And yet, at those whispered words, her heart instinctively leaned toward him.
Realizing she was hopelessly in love with him. Knowing that only defeat awaited her.
And so, she had no choice but to cling to Aslan and cry.
"You coward... ."
That condemnation, spoken in a voice mixed with tears, was all she could do.