The morning came as it always did, with the rising sun casting its warm rays across the sky, washing away the horrors of the night. The sunlight filtered through the old, creaky windows of the house, touching everything with a golden hue. The rays fell softly on a young boy laying in deep sleep, his face peaceful despite the turmoil he'd endured. It was Rade, back to his original form, his transformation from the night before gone, like a distant memory fading in the daylight.
He stirred, slowly opening his eyes. His gaze drifted to the ceiling above him—it was old, the wood creaky and rusted from time, yet somehow, it still stood strong. He blinked several times, his thoughts foggy, his body sluggish.
"Where... am I?" Rade thought to himself, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The memory of the night before felt distant and unclear, as though shrouded in mist. He shifted slightly, attempting to sit up, but the moment he moved, a sharp pain shot through his entire body. It was as if a thousand bees had stung him all at once.
"Ahh!" he groaned, his voice filled with pain. His chest heaved as he breathed heavily, the soreness making it hard to move. His muscles ached, his bones felt bruised. It was a deep exhaustion, one that settled in his very core. "What... happened?" he muttered, rubbing his temples, trying to focus.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, feet hitting the cool wooden floor. His legs wobbled as he stood, gripping the bedpost to steady himself. "Why am I here?... I can't remember anything..." he whispered to himself, a dull headache forming behind his eyes. He stumbled toward the door, determined to find answers.
The hallway was empty, dimly lit by the sunlight that seeped through the cracks in the old wooden house. There was a door parallel to his, but it was closed. As he made his way to the end of the hallway, he saw a narrow staircase leading downstairs. Every step he took was slow, his limbs heavy as though weighed down by invisible chains.
When he finally descended the stairs, Rade was met with an unexpected sight. Downstairs, the house was alive with chatters. Some girls were sitting at the long wooden tables, peeling potatoes, their hands moving with ease as they chatted quietly among themselves. Others were dusting and cleaning the house, their faces warm with smiles. He could hear faint voices outside, too, like they were working around the house.
For a moment, Rade froze mid-step, confused by the scene in front of him. These were the girls from the cells, weren't they? The ones who had been nothing but broken shells of themselves, their bodies beaten and battered. Yet here they were, smiling, alive, as though the horrors of the past had been swept away with the dawn. The bruises and marks of torture were still visible, but they were clean now, their faces carrying a softness that he didn't recognize.
He stared at them, utterly confused. His body stiffened as he took another step, wondering if it was all a dream.
One of the girls, carrying dishes from the table to the kitchen, caught sight of him comming down stairs. The plates slipped from her hands, crashing to the floor, her scream piercing the air. She stood frozen, her eyes wide with shock as she stared at him, her mouth trembling, unsure whether it was fear or disbelief that consumed her.
At the sound of her scream, the rest of the girls stopped what they were doing, rushing over to see what had happened. When they saw him, standing at the bottom of the stairs, they all froze. Their eyes were fixed on him, a mix of emotions crossing their faces—shock, awe, disbelief, but no fear.
Then, a figure darted out from the crowd. She wasn't scared, nor did she hesitate. Sophia ran toward him, her small frame moving quickly as she flung herself at him, her tiny arms wrapping around his waist in a tight embrace.
"You finally woke up, you big meanie!" she cried, her voice trembling with relief. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she buried her face into his shirt, clinging to him with all her strength.
Rade stood there, completely taken aback. He stared down at her, utterly confused, his eyes wide with shock. Her small hands clutched at his shirt, and he could feel her warmth against him, but nothing made sense. His heart pounded in his chest, the emotions swirling inside him unfamiliar and strange.
"H-Hey! What are you doing?!" he stammered, his voice rising in surprise as he tried to push her off, but Sophia only hugged him tighter. Her tears soaked into his shirt, but she smiled, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve.
"Stop making a fuss," she said, sniffling. "I'm your big sister, remember?" She patted his head playfully, as if trying to lighten the mood.
Rade, thoroughly flustered and annoyed, shoved her hand away. "Who said you're my big sister?!" he growled, his expression twisted in frustration, but there was no anger in his voice. He was simply confused, unable to process everything. His heart was beating faster, and he didn't know why. It was a new feeling, an unfamiliar tightness in his chest, one that he instinctively rejected. When the human mind can't comprehend something, it denies it. And that's what he was doing.
Sophia giggled softly, stepping back but still smiling. "Come on down," she said, waving him forward, her eyes warm.
Rade followed her, still baffled by everything around him. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he noticed something else. All the girls—the ones who had been imprisoned, the ones who had been nothing more than husks of their former selves—were bowing to him. Not in fear or horror, but in respect. They bowed deeply, their heads low, their hands pressed together in gratitude.
He stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do. "Wh-What are you doing?" he asked, waving his hands in a panic. The sight of more than ten girls bowing to him was surreal, like something out of a dream. If MC had been in his place, he would have been grinning like an idiot, lapping up the attention.
One of the girls, Arina, stepped forward, her face soft but filled with emotion. "We are bowing to the person who saved us," she said gently, her voice steady. "To the one who gave us hope when nothing mattered. The one who showed us that the world isn't all evil. Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts," she said, bowing again.
In unison, every girl spoke: "Thank you."
Rade blushed deeply, his face flushed with both shock and embarrassment. He could feel the weight of their gratitude, but he didn't know what to do with it. "I... I don't remember..." he muttered, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "What happened last night?"
Everyone fell silent, surprised by his question. Then Sophia, ever the bold one, chimed in with a bright grin. "It's not just last night, you sleepyhead! You've been out for a week!"
Rade blinked, his mouth opening in disbelief. "W-Wait, what? A week?!"
He sat down heavily, trying to process it all. It was overwhelming. He'd been asleep for an entire week? How? Why couldn't he remember anything? The girls continued to smile at him warmly, and though he was still annoyed with Sophia's constant calling him "little brother," the shock of it all was too much for him to react as usual.
Sitting at the table, Rade sipped from a glass of water, trying to wrap his mind around everything. As he sat there, a soft sound reached his ears. It was faint at first, but slowly it grew louder—a song. A voice was singing, soft and melodic, floating through the air like a gentle breeze.
He paused, tilting his head toward the sound. The song was beautiful, like something from a distant dream.
The melody hung in the air like a lullaby from a distant dream, each note soft and haunting, pulling Rade out of his daze and guiding him toward its source. He sat at the table, the sound echoing through the house, and it was as though everything else—the chatter of the girls, the warmth of the fire—faded away. There was only the song.
"When I was just a little girl,
I asked my mother,
'What will I be?
Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?'
Here's what she said to me..."
Rade's ears perked up, the melody so simple yet so heavy with nostalgia. The voice was gentle, almost too soft to hear, but it stirred something inside him—a pull, like a string attached to his heart, tugging him toward the back of the house. Slowly, he stood, his sore legs protesting, but his curiosity overpowered the aches in his body.
He followed the sound through the hallway, past the rooms filled with warmth and life. The singing continued, growing clearer as he approached the back door.
"Que sera, sera,
Whatever will be, will be,
The future's not ours to see,
Que sera, sera,
What will be, will be..."
The words echoed in his mind, each line leaving a trail of emotion behind. He couldn't place it, but the song seemed to cradle him, as though it had been sung just for him. As he reached the back door, he slowly turned the handle and opened it, the wood creaking under his hand. A soft breeze hit his face, carrying the scent of pine and earth.
Stepping outside, Rade's eyes immediately locked onto a figure wrapped in a blanket, sitting quietly in front of a grave. The figure wasn't moving much, only the slight rise and fall of their chest as they sang the mournful tune. The blanket covered most of them, hiding their features, but the voice continued as though it were part of the earth itself.
"Since I am just a boy at school,
I asked my teacher, 'What should I try?
Should I paint pictures? Should I sing songs?'
This was her wise reply..."
Rade took a cautious step forward, not wanting to disturb the singer. His foot crunched softly on the ground, but the figure didn't flinch or stop. He was lost in the song, and so was he.
"Que sera, sera,
Whatever will be, will be,
The future's not ours to see,
Que sera, sera,
What will be, will be..."
As he neared, Rade could see more clearly. The figure sat cross-legged in front of a single grave, and in his hands, he clutched a bunch of white lilies—the same type of flower Rade had placed in his sister's hands when he buried her. The sight of it made his chest tighten, a deep sadness welling up inside him.
He stopped just a few paces behind the figure, watching as they sat in stillness, the flowers gently swaying in the breeze. Rade didn't interrupt; he couldn't. The song wrapped itself around him like a blanket, soothing and painful all at once.
The figure continued singing, his voice unwavering.
"When I grew up and fell in love,
I asked my lover, 'What lies ahead?
Will we have rainbows day after day?'
Guess what my lover said..."
Rade's breath caught in his throat as tears welled up in his eyes. He didn't even notice them until they began to spill over, warm and silent as they rolled down his cheeks. He wasn't sure why he was crying; it was like the song had reached into a part of him that he had forgotten—a part of him that was still tender, still hurting. He stood there, the morning sun bright above him, a beautiful day unfolding around him, but inside, all he could feel was the weight of loss.
"Que sera, sera,
Whatever will be, will be,
The future's not ours to see,
Que sera, sera,
What will be, will be..."
The song continued, each line filling the air with an overwhelming sense of inevitability. Whatever will be, will be. It was a simple truth, one that hurt more than it soothed. Rade's tears kept falling, but he didn't move. He didn't wipe them away. He just listened, letting the melody wash over him, letting the sadness linger in his chest like a dull ache.
The figure in front of the grave sang with a kind of quiet acceptance, his voice steady as though he had made peace with everything long ago.
"Now I have children of my own,
They ask their mother, 'What will I be?
Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?'
I tell them, 'Wait and see...'"
The last lines drifted into the air, carried away by the breeze, and the figure fell silent. The grave before them, marked by that single white lily, seemed to glow faintly in the morning light. It was surreal, a moment suspended in time, as if the world was holding its breath.
Rade stood there, his chest heaving softly as he struggled to contain his emotions. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, the weight of everything pressing down on him. And then, without even realizing it, he whispered a name. "Lana..."
The figure in front of the grave stirred at the sound of the name. He turned his head slightly, glancing over their shoulder, but not in surprise. His movements were slow, deliberate, almost as if they had been expecting Rade.
"Ohhh, what do we have here?" the figure said, their voice calm and smooth. He unwrapped the blanket slightly, revealing more of their face. "So, you finally decided to wake up, huh?"
Rade blinked, his vision still blurred by tears. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He didn't know what to say.
Above them, MC floated lazily, watching the interaction unfold. "Well, thank God," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "I was starting to think I'd have to waste all my time here until the damn time limit ran out." He was annoyed, but there was a hint of relief in his voice.
The figure turned fully toward Rade, his eyes soft but knowing. He placed the white lily on the grave in front of them, then slowly stood, brushing the dirt from their clothes. "It's been a long time since I've had company out here," they said with a faint smile. "You've got a lot of questions, I'm sure. But first..." he gestured toward the house. "Let's get you something to eat. It's been a while since you've seen daylight, hasn't it?"