*Layla's POV
Kevin's face looked grim after I freed him from the magic wall. He kept his gaze down, avoiding my eyes as if they were something disgusting. Both his fists were clenched, fresh blood dripping from the wounds on his knuckles. I figured he had spent his time punching the magic wall repeatedly.
I was grateful he hadn't pushed himself to use his lightning power—his Atma was already on the verge of collapse.
The cut on my hand was still fresh. I pressed it again, forcing a few drops of blood to fall. I took Kevin's hands, letting my blood mix with the blood on his fists. Slowly, the blood on his hands began to glow, turning into soft blue light particles that gently sealed the wounds on his knuckles.
"I can still hear their screams," he murmured as my healing magic worked. "Can you even imagine that?"
I didn't answer. My focus was on the healing spell, and on pushing Kevin's core to regenerate his Atma more quickly.
Kevin pulled his hands away harshly, breaking the healing spell. His face looked angry—I think he knew what I was doing. He never liked it, especially when it took more from me than it gave.
"Why only me?" he whispered. "You could've protected everyone—so why only me?"
No, if I'd made a magic wall large enough to protect everyone, some Nien would've already gotten inside, and the outcome would have been the same. Besides, I didn't have enough blood to trap everyone within a small magic wall.
But I didn't say any of that. Those answers remained in my mind.
"Is it because I was going to die?"
No. I don't want to remember. No—I don't know anything.
"Layla, I know you always see further ahead. That's why I've never been able to understand you. I never expected you to tell us what you see, because I know what that would cost you. But… you can still tell us what we need to do."
"Trying to prevent what's coming could make things worse."
"But you did it for me!"
"And I'm ready to face the consequences."
Kevin pressed his lips together. "You're a strong, Layla. But this part of you… I've always hated it." Then he stepped back. "Thanks for saving me." Then he turned and walked into the forest, went back to the main field.
***
There were 147 Weavers in total—nearly half of all the residents of Calmora.
Several hours had passed since the Nien attack. Now, every survivor was gathered in the main field, surrounding a long stack of firewood prepared for a bonfire after the war simulation. But now, it's been set up as a final resting place for the remains we managed to find from the forest. And even those were only the ones with minimal loss—missing just legs, or half a torso. We also brought back body parts not yet fully disintegrated, to give them a final farewell.
There weren't even twenty. They weren't dead—not yet. But for Weavers, once the disintegration begins, there's no way to stop it. Disintegration means their life energy has been fully drained, and their body—the vessel—can no longer hold anything. It means nothing binds them to this world anymore.
But because of that condition, we could still hear their breaths. The sobs of despair from unbearable pain. We've always believed that turning into black smoke is the worst kind of death—agonizingly slow and painful. We believed those who died that way were ones who had lived for something tragic.
But those who died tonight… they weren't like that. They were just unfortunate people who lost their homes and ended up in a place they thought could be a replacement.
It made me wonder—what does it all really mean? Even for those who only sought a peaceful life, why did they still end up like this?
The day-long rain had soaked all the firewood. Earlier, the Fire Weavers tried to ignite the stack to speed up the process. But after nearly fifteen minutes, not a single piece had caught fire.
So when the Director said we should burn the bodies directly, the hesitation was plain on the Fire Weavers' faces. It was a difficult choice. Letting the bodies erode slowly would be horrifying to witness. But burning them directly—even if it might ease their suffering—wasn't an easy thing either.
I knew exactly what they had gone through. The bonds, the warmth created through shared moments in this place. After several minutes of hesitation, one Fire Weaver stepped forward. She raised her hand toward the victims and released a moderate stream of fire. Soon, the others followed.
Their eyes were shut tight. Their hands trembled. But the fire couldn't stop. If it did, their pain would never end.
I watched from afar. The line of fallen victims was now completely engulfed in flames. I could also hear the muffled sobs of those watching nearby.
Even Kevin, standing opposite me, had his eyes shut. His fists were clenched tightly. I understood how he felt. Kevin must have believed he could've saved them. His power was the most effective against the Nien.
He wasn't angry because I trapped him. It was because his Atma ran out too soon. He only blamed himself.
At least I was sure no one else would blame him. They didn't know the truth.
Minutes passed. Then, the miracle we were hoping for emerged from the heart of the flames. Cries of astonishment began to rise. From the fire, thick black smoke was replaced by thousands of glowing particles of light. They scattered in every direction, filling the night sky—which, somehow, had turned clear.
My eyes grew heavy. I clenched my fists and lowered my head, hiding my face from the stars above, the stars that would now guide those souls away. I wasn't sure if they could hear it. Not even Kevin. All I could do was whisper my apologies in my heart, over and over again.
Even though I knew it wouldn't change a thing.
***
I left the field earlier than the others. Maybe they'd stay there until morning—staring at the remnants of the fire, and the ashes of those who had completely vanished.
Kevin didn't say anything when I left. He was like the rest—his eyes blank and distant. Unlike him, I had already stopped blaming myself. I understood why they would hate me after everything. Even though I had lived in this place since I was ten, I always kept my distance—just to avoid having visions about them.
I walked through the southern forest, past the giant banyan tree, where the vegetation began to change. Pine trees rose in place of tropical shrubs, and the ground turned damp beneath my feet. The atmosphere was quiet—dark, yet strangely intimate. The sound of crickets and the crash of distant waves filled the air.
My pace slowed as I reached the edge of the forest. I was surprised to find someone already there.
San was sitting by the edge of the lake, knees hugged to his chest. He had chosen a spot untouched by the waves.
My mind raced. A part of me felt relief—he hadn't truly left. But the rest of me didn't know what to say.
I wiped my face, took a deep breath, and approached him. I stopped just beside him.
"You're the second person to find this place," I said. "Most people don't dare to go past the banyan tree."
He didn't turn. Didn't even flinch. San's eyes were fixed forward—but they looked empty. He wasn't seeing the shimmering lake or the clusters of stars above us. Not even the shadowy cliffs separating the lake from the wider waters.
A heavy silence settled between us. There was no reason for him not to hate me now. That thought almost brought tears to my eyes again.
I picked up a pebble and tossed it into the lake. It bounced five times before disappearing beneath the surface.
"This lake connects to the Rivera Strait," I said. "The strait that divides the two main continents."
I looked at the moon, thin clouds drifting across it. It reminded me of the souls we lost tonight. Had they made it to the other side? Or were they lost, obscured like the moon?
"Hundreds of miles in that direction," I pointed toward the horizon, "you'll find Dhelteren. We call it the Abandoned Land."
I threw another pebble. This one was bounced seven times.
"I haven't told you this, have I? Solaris is like an imperfect replica of the Human World. Its landscapes weren't formed naturally—they were constructed by the Elements. Even the sun, moon, and stars. The sky above is just a projection, connected to the human world through the portal."
That topic fascinated me when I was twelve. But not San. I took another stone, gripped it tightly, and threw it with force. It made no bounce—just a single splash.
As I reached for another, San finally spoke.
"Why don't you sit down?"
I realized my breathing was uneven. What was I doing? Was I trying to throw away my guilt with each stone? Was I still blaming myself?
Strangely, I laughed. Just for a few seconds—until it hurt to breathe. But afterward, I felt a little better. Maybe it didn't erase the guilt, but at least I could laugh at my helplessness.
I still picked up the stone.
"Yes, just one more time."
This time I threw it with all my strength. It bounced too many times to count, then vanished in the distance.
Then I sat down cross-legged beside him. For the first time, I felt the peace this place offered. The night wind brushed my face, the chill almost making me shiver. But it felt right. Like this was the place to finally let go.
I closed my eyes, tilted my head back, and breathed deeply.
"I'm sorry," I said softly. "I don't want to make excuses, but I didn't know what to say. I knew what would happen if I brought you here. That's why the only thing I could think of... was to make a deal with Orion."
My voice was quieter now. I looked at him gently, speaking as I once had on the rooftop of the research facility.
San hugged his knees tighter.
"Why did you go that far?" he asked. "I'm not the same person you knew six years ago."
The question hit hard. Silenced the words I had prepared. Maybe I had overstepped earlier. But I had never asked myself that—who is San to me now? He's forgotten everything. He's changed. And it's hard to keep seeing him the same way.
So what now?
I turned away, staring at the stretch of pebbles and sand.
"To me, Calmora is home. I'd do anything to protect it. But… I can't forget my first home either."
My chest tightened.
"Honestly, I don't know what to do. I don't want anything bad to happen here… but I don't want to leave you either."
San said nothing. He didn't react, as if he didn't understand—or didn't want to.
"That's why," I continued, "you don't have to do anything for Minerva. You're free to go wherever you want. Maybe Andromeda, Cosmos… or the Republic, if you're good at hiding. But I'd recommend Cosmos. It's the most peaceful place. Stable. Just promise me one thing…"
I turned to him.
"Wherever you go, please take me with you."
San raised his head. His expression is unreadable.
"If we don't go to Minerva," he said slowly, "you'll die."
"You too, won't you?"
He turned away again, eyes filled with questions.
"I don't understand. Maybe because I've forgotten everything… but who am I to you, really?"
I pressed my lips together. He had finally asked.
"In Solaris, someone like me is called a Sybil," I explained. "I can see the future, though not exactly when. I've had this ability since I was a child. I used to speak every vision I saw. That's why people stayed away from me. They were afraid I'd speak a curse that would come true."
As I spoke, old memories surfaced. "But when you came, you told me to keep the visions to myself. Knowing the future isn't always good. It only creates false hope… and disappointment when it unfolds the same way anyway."
Normally, I would have kept this to myself. But not now. Not with him. "When I was ten, just a month before we were separated, I saw the end of Solaris. Everything that would happen. The cause. It was clear. But I also saw something else—a vision unlike any other."
I looked at him, smiling softly. "I saw a crossroads. One path was engulfed in fire. Along it were bodies… and rivers of blood. The other path was dark—completely black. I couldn't see anything, but I felt something from it. Something warm. Something familiar. I knew I wouldn't choose the first path. But I also saw someone standing at the crossroads. He looked exhausted—like he could collapse at any moment—but he was still standing. As if waiting to choose."
My eyes met his. "That person… was you."
San looked startled.
"Some people may see you as a threat. Others will try to use your power. But I believe you're the one who can guide us through that darkness."
He closed his eyes. Silence stretched again. "I'm going to Minerva."
The words struck me.
"Even if I don't know how to change fate," he said. "Even if I fail and die along the way—I don't care."
I knew then: San had made his choice. There was no hesitation in his voice. I thought he would run. He had no reason to stay. So… what was driving him?
"But promise me," he said. "Promise you'll stay with me."
Then he buried his face in his knees. "I don't want to be alone again. I don't want to move forward without a purpose anymore."
I think I finally understood. Even from the moment, we met again at the research facility. His fear of death wasn't as strong as his fear of loneliness. That made me ask myself again—the one thing I still didn't fully understand.
After all this time, what he had gone through that made him change?[]