Whispers in the Rain
“No matter what happens, absolutely—”
“What’s with all the rambling? To put it simply, you’re just telling me not to die.” Nathan snapped.
“Well, that’s no ordinary request. The world keeps dumping every kind of nonsense on me—how am I supposed to stay alive?”
Aspen let out a soft chuckle.
The twelfth floor of Somnus’s private residence. The grassy rooftop, dampened by a light drizzle, felt endlessly peaceful—far removed from the world of the Sapiens below. Everything seemed as trivial as the daily lives of ants. The security forces struggling to find a detour for days. The terrifying legion of Sweeties Benny had created from a nightmare. Even the sinful city of the Sapiens, visible in the distance. Considering that the first match was only two days away, the quiet felt almost inappropriate.
Yet neither of them was the type to weep, beg, or sink into despair. Instead of breaking down, Nathan lay sprawled across the rain-soaked bench. Aspen drew the umbrella closer.
“That’s more or less what I meant. This sword will help.”
Still lying down, Nathan lifted his head and glared at the object Aspen carried, displeasure clear on his face. From his inverted view, Aspen stood holding Morbi’s longsword, wrapped in leather like a walking stick—the very blade that had nearly killed them both.
“Why?”
“Because you refused it. I took it instead. Someday, when your psychological resistance fades, I’ll hand it over.”
Nathan wiped his face, still staring at the sky. “I don’t get it.”
“You’re not just pretending to be fine. You know as well as I do—weapons have no sins.”
“Not that.”
The Peres family would have been horrified. Nathan worried about appearances. Carrying around the sword that had slain the previous head—their father—would hardly look good on the new head’s daughter.
“The headship? I was actually planning to hand it over to Pontima. I only fought for it because I couldn’t trust Father in the first place.”
“Then why are you still the head?”
“If I hadn’t suspected the family might turn their backs on us and side with other elven factions, I would have given it up without a second thought.”
“Side with others? They’ve barely been in the Heavens—how long has it been since they left the Federation?”
“After Father died and Keres went into seclusion, the mood grew restless. Other powers in the Heavens took the chance to make contact. They were curious about the useful human slaves Santra had brought. Thankfully, no one was foolish enough to openly show hunger for a new nest, and Catalo Peres smoothed things over.”
Aspen leaned closer. “I’ll have to keep protecting the family from now on. If I want to find a way to free the human god and secure a peaceful life for you—after you finish all one hundred fights and earn your freedom—I need to leave you a place to return to, a place that will protect you. So I have to hold on.”
Nathan reached up and caught Aspen’s chin with his fingers, then pushed her away—not forcefully, but firmly. The sky, once again pouring rain, filled his vision. The rain-lost sky growled with betrayal, even while knowing why the rain had turned its back.
“You startled me. I was surprised.” Aspen’s voice trembled, just slightly.
“I know what you’re trying to say.”
“You catch on quick.”
“If you want to apologize, you don’t need to overthink it. Skip the stale excuses. A sincere ‘I’m sorry’ is enough.”
Aspen fell silent and turned away. Her footsteps splashed across the wet ground as she walked off. Just as Nathan sighed, her presence returned. She leaned the umbrella and Morbi’s sword against the railing, then came back. With her prosthetic right arm clasped behind her back, she extended her left arm forward in a clear, unmistakable gesture.
“I don’t want to end things like this.”
“What are you doing?”
When Nathan’s eyes widened, Aspen merely shrugged, as if to say, What do you think?
“Aren’t you angry? Didn’t you ever want to punch me?”
“What happens if I admit it?”
“Do whatever you want. You held back on purpose because of my situation, didn’t you? I held a proper funeral for Father. My arm adapted like I’d used it my whole life. Even the sprain from when that monster rammed into me has healed.” Aspen flexed the fingers of her outstretched hand. “Come on. I’m ready. Hit me.”
Nathan sighed. “I’m not doing that.”
If anyone had seen, they might have been shocked. Some might have raged that there was no need for such underhanded tactics. Isn’t she counting on the man to hold back? The moment he gives in to provocation and strikes, she’ll paint him as the coward. It was an easy picture to draw. But Nathan didn’t misunderstand. Aspen wasn’t some fragile civilian or a sheltered noble daughter. She was a Lionwing Knight who could not only pull an enemy’s head from a pocket but curate them by type. She was far too strong to become a tragic victim from a single throw. Besides, Nathan and Aspen already had countless past clashes—back when they were younger, prouder children.
“We’ve clashed so many times that it would be strange to feel awkward about fighting now, wouldn’t it?”
Both had been victims, of course. Given their history of fists and kicks, the fact that these feelings had even taken root between them felt almost miraculous.
“Do you remember what the Captain said? If we were going to fight at every opportunity, we might as well draw real swords and settle it once and for all.”
“And Aspen actually pulled out a real sword. You know, when I took that blade, I was a little scared? I thought you were actually crazy.”
“You didn’t know? You were the one shouting for us to fight.”
That day, Nathan had learned the Peres Full Moon Slash from Aspen—dozens of times, forced, his body slammed repeatedly by the flat of the blade. He had wondered if Aspen was the same kind of madman as her father. Unable to hide his suspicion, he had voiced it plainly, and their snarling had only grown worse.
“Last time, when I called you a moody little brat who only cares about the atmosphere, you slammed me into the stone floor without hesitation. Was that the last time we fought like that?”
“That’s different. Back then, I was… fifteen.”
Nathan ran a hand over his face, recalling moments that now made him dizzy, then rolled over and looked away.
“Only a little over two years have passed. Age probably doesn’t matter much, does it? Till and Quena settle things the same way when they fight.”
“Think about it, Aspen. Maybe those two just haven’t grown up yet.”
Aspen grabbed Nathan and forced him back into position. Annoyance filled his face.
“Coincidentally, Santra made me a similar offer. She told me to kick her headless body to vent my grudge. She’s a distant ancestor of the Peres, so maybe that’s why we’re alike. How could anyone think of settling things with violence?”
“Santra… headless… That’s a little terrifying. Whatever the avatar was thinking, that’s a separate matter. I figure I deserve whatever I get.”
At the level of a Lionwing Knight, gender barriers faded. They had all proven themselves superhuman with blades. Nathan’s refusal wasn’t rooted in some macho “don’t hit women” logic.
“I don’t want to.”
“Hey, if it were me, I would’ve hit you. No matter what, I would’ve at least said a few resentful words. ‘You selfish bitch. How can you say something like that?’ ‘I endured everything because of you—how could you do this?’”
“From the way you’re talking, it sounds like you’ve already scolded yourself plenty.”
Nathan sat up abruptly, his expression somehow angrier. Aspen swallowed.
“It’s cowardly, Aspen. I’m not going to do something just to ease your guilt.”
His speech had slipped back into casual form without him noticing. Aspen’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise.
“My guilt?”
“Why is it always one-sided? If we do it your way, we’ll both feel better? Maybe you can, but I can’t.”
The stiff formal speech he had forced earlier vanished completely. It reminded Aspen of the old days—the wounded, unnecessarily sharp child. That child was gone. In his place stood an adult who, when angry with her, made her heart race for entirely the wrong reasons.
“Hit you? Now, when we don’t even know if we’ll survive? If the last words we exchanged were anger and blame, and the last thing we did was something as ugly as slapping each other—what kind of rage would that leave behind later?”
Nathan sighed and lay back down properly. “Stop saying nonsense and come sit.”
“Oh, that made my heart skip a beat.”
Aspen’s lips twitched as she fought a smile. Embarrassed by her own reaction, Nathan corrected himself.
“Come sit. Damn it. Now both casual and formal speech feel awkward.”
Aspen pointed from Nathan’s feet to his head. You’ve taken up the whole bench—where am I supposed to sit? Nathan lifted his head slightly. Here. Aspen burst into laughter and obeyed.
“You admit you’re angry, but you won’t resolve it the way I suggested? Because you don’t want to regret it later?”
Nathan’s lifted head lowered again, resting on Aspen’s lap. Trapping her. Pinned between the bench and Nathan, Aspen laughed again.
“Then why did I do something I’d regret?”
“Looking back, I always want to fix things. Don’t look back. We both survived—that’s enough.”
“You think I can stop myself from looking back?” Aspen kicked a puddle beside the bench with her toe. “The younger man who was happily debating whether to forgive me or not was about to be crushed like dried rations by some grotesque monster.” Thud. “I charged at the monster that opened its maw to save that kid, messed up my technique, and got torn apart. My life flashed before my eyes. First regret.” Thud. “Dragged toward the incinerator’s flames, Santra opened a magic gate and I barely survived. Then Father suddenly appeared and said, ‘That person saved your life, and from now on, she is our master.’ The moment I answered ‘Understood’ without even opening my mouth, second regret.” Thud. “Thinking about it, it doesn’t make sense. He said it was a decision to avoid losing a family member, yet Father died first. I thought it was because of me. Third regret. A rather big one.” Thud. “I followed the benefactor’s orders because I owed my life, but then the benefactor suddenly told me to think of Nathan as an enemy from now on. That his true nature was something other than human. I missed the timing to argue against that incomprehensible statement—fourth regret.” Thud. “Santra said, ‘Want to go home?’ I went, ‘No? You told me to stay here.’ Nathan went, ‘How could you say that!’ I went, ‘No, I was ordered to say that!’ What? This is bad. Are we enemies now? No, that can’t be. Hey, Nathan! Run!” Aspen’s face twisted slightly. “And then… I… did that… Damn it. In that moment, the look on your face was… the fifth.” Thud. Her foot stopped kicking. “Looking back, every single moment is something I want to go back and fix. If I had done even a little better, would things have turned out differently?”
Would they have? Was there any chance things could have changed? The probability was slim. Santra’s will to awaken the demon inside Nathan had been clear. The Peres family, following Santra’s words, had already labeled Nathan as something other than human—a cursed being destined to become evil. They had to treat him without mercy, not as a person. Nathan remembered how even the gentle Pontima had tried to sever his heel without hesitation. Aspen’s betrayal had been Santra’s deliberate staging, meant to make Nathan lose his judgment and complete a deal with the demon. But still…
“Didn’t you leave out quite a lot?” Nathan said, his tone subtly expectant.
“Right. The part where I spat out things like ‘Forget a bitch like me’ and ‘I never took our relationship seriously.’ The part where I drove a knife into the heart of someone who had just come back from the dead. That was fine?”
“That, more than anything, really—”
Aspen stopped stroking Nathan’s hair.
“That shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.”
Nathan finally felt the knot in his chest loosen with his breath. Aspen hadn’t added excuses, but Nathan could roughly guess the circumstances. He had only wanted to hear the apology. Just like when she first suggested they put distance between them, Aspen had been afraid—afraid that if something happened, they would become each other’s burden. Afraid that the other would be hurt or unable to move on.
Nathan closed his eyes tightly, then opened them, only to be startled by how close Aspen’s face was. A mischievous smile appeared on the Double-winged Knight’s face.
“Aspen?”
“I love you, sweetie. You know I didn’t mean it when I said you weren’t precious, right?”
Nathan jolted upright in shock, but failed. Aspen had pressed firmly on the center of his collarbone with her arm—not enough to choke him, but enough to keep him down. When he tried to trap her with his head, he only ended up trapped between her legs and arm. He couldn’t shake her off with neck strength alone. After struggling like a caught animal, Nathan gave up resisting.
“Heh. Acting all grown up, but your reaction’s still so childish?”
“Please. Let’s take it slow from here.”
“We’re about to die, and you want slow? Nonsense. While I’m apologizing, I’m going to do everything I want.”
“Still—”
Aspen ignored him and buried her face in Nathan’s hair, inhaling deeply. Nathan made a displeased face.
“It probably smells.”
“I sometimes dream about that day. Going back to the arena corridor, smacking Santra’s head, tripping the brothers, then taking your hand and running away together.”
Nathan pressed his lips together and looked at the sky. The rain was easing, though the clouds still lingered. It seemed the rain had decided to stay by the sky’s side.
“If someone offered to send me back to that day in exchange for my remaining arm, I think I’d accept without much regret.”
The touch of the mechanical hand smoothing his hair felt cool. Nathan, suddenly saddened by it, tried to offer words of comfort but swallowed them instead. Aspen herself had said she was fine.
“That sounded meaningful. I feel like I’ve heard something similar before. An offer to rewrite the past.”
“If that demon had been attached to me, I probably would have given in. But you didn’t. The fact that you’re in this predicament is proof of your victory. If you had lost to the demon, I wouldn’t even be thinking about losing you right now.”
“Right. I’d be using time-rewinding power to steal the Sapiens’ kingdom, pile up gold like a mountain, and pour wine on top.”
Aspen laughed softly. “That would’ve been fun.”
They fell silent for a long while. Nathan was the first to speak.
“Honestly, even to me, it looks like escaping this time will be difficult. We should prepare ourselves—”
“No. Don’t say that.”
“That demon won’t wake up again until I die. When I die, it’ll go to the Lower World and possess some unfortunate soul. Fortunately, there’s someone down there who specializes in finding and killing those kinds of people. So don’t worry too much. It’ll work out somehow.”
“That’s not what I meant. It’s not just because of the demon. That would be too cowardly.”
Aspen lifted her face from Nathan’s hair. Her eyes held a resolute determination that made Nathan’s stomach twist uneasily. The last time he had seen that look in her eyes was at the nightmare-like exit of the arena.
“Santra once told me that once you get to know someone, it becomes hard to hate them. I think she’s right. Benny turned out to be a pretty decent person.”
Aspen kept biting the corner of her lip. A sense of foreboding washed over Nathan, making his vision blur.
“I don’t think I can think of you as mine alone anymore.”
“Wait.”
“Why?”
“If you’re about to say we should break up, prepare yourself first. We haven’t even officially dated, and this would be the third time.”
Unable to hold back any longer, Nathan pushed Aspen’s arm away and sat up.
“I even risked my life for you. If you’re going to dump me, do it cleanly! Say it—what is it?”
Aspen blinked with a startled expression, then coughed a few times. The small coughs soon turned into stifled laughter.
“No, that’s not it.”
“Then what?”
After licking her lips once with her tongue, Aspen leaned closer. Adjusting to his seated height, she lifted her body slightly and brought her lips—Nathan instinctively moved to meet them. But she dodged, and her lips went to his ear instead. With infinite seriousness, Aspen whispered.
“Formal speech.”
The usual nonsense. Nathan felt old anger rising. Before it could surface, Aspen whispered something else in an even smaller voice. Nathan’s expression changed dramatically—crumbling, breaking, revealing endless confusion and fear. Aspen pulled her head away. Nathan wanted to dig into his ear—not because the breath tickled or because he had heard something he shouldn’t, but because he wanted to pull out the words he had just heard and examine them again.
“Three… what? What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
Was that even a language humans used? If it felt this foreign, maybe it was from another dimension. No, no. Because of the Heavenly brand, those marked should understand any language. Thinking about it, it was a human language. Just one word. Easy to learn, easy to understand—a word Nathan already knew. But some concepts were hard to imagine intersecting with one’s own life. Aspen had a tremendous talent for striking at weak points. The Double-winged Knight stole a kiss from the confused Outer Wing’s lips. Only then did Nathan’s confusion settle—only to plunge straight into another kind of confusion, like a boulder rolling down a sharp hill.
“Mmph—”
After pulling away, Aspen whispered, “Quiet.”
Their wet lips met again. While the rain cooled the rest of their bodies, that single point of contact burned like touching an ember. After a considerable time, Aspen pulled back and delivered the finishing blow.
“If you’re curious what that feels like, you’ll have to survive until the end, won’t you?”
“Aspen, I—”
Nathan, his breathing unsteady, tried to speak but kept failing. Stroking his wet hair again, Aspen smiled triumphantly, though a hint of melancholy lingered in her thoughts. When my hair turned black, I thought we finally had something in common. Now your hair is turning white. We’ve finally gotten close, yet it feels like you’re slipping out of my arms again. No. I won’t let that happen this time.
“You’re going to live, Nathan. You’re not going somewhere I can’t follow.”
“Wait, I—”
“I’m not letting you go.”
-----------
“Aspen, I—”
“Hey.”
“Doing it with three people, I’m not really—”
“Hey!”
Nathan snapped back to his senses, startled. Where was he?
“What are you doing? Not that I mind. It’d be easier if you just died without resisting.”
A grotesquely shaped elf grinned savagely. His upper body was massive compared to his bent waist and lower half, and his entire body was covered in scale-like plate armor. He resembled a wolf walking on two legs.
“But the audience is looking forward to it just as much. A Sapiens on borrowed time. I don’t want to hear boos after I’ve done my job. It lowers job satisfaction. So, could you please resist? Give it your all?”
What? Only then did Nathan look around. Cement floor stained with blood in places. Walls cast in bright red metal. Above them, the audience stomped in rhythm, their shouts thundering. Kill him, kill him, kill him. Nathan realized. This was the Punishment Arena, and the first match was just beginning. And Nathan was still reeling from the shock of that conversation—throughout the entire two days.
“Ah, damn it.”