'I am the most worthless man, even as I laugh and cry, I cannot spare the breath for another, my food wasted on me.'
'I am always saved, not the savior, if only I could give you my life... If only I could take all of your sins away...'
'I love you Bada, losing you is the last thing I want and El...even though it has only been a day you remind of my brother, I bet he would've enjoyed your company...'
'I want to express myself like you, Bada, not through masks, not through stolen laughter and borrowed strength. Would you understand me if I told you this? Would you even want to hear it?'
'I'm not strong like you, Bada. I've never been strong. This madness—this is your world, and I've always been too afraid to live in it. But you let me in anyway. Why? Why didn't you choose someone better? Someone stronger?'
'I'm a coward, the most cowardly man in history. I couldn't even tell you, Bada. Not with my words, not with my heart. I've loved you, and I couldn't say it.'
'I've loved you, Bada, he thought as the darkness claimed him. And this is the one thing I could give you that was truly mine.'
EL RITCH
El Ritch was in Jol's memories of distant past.
Why was he receiving them? He wanted to be dead.
How did he receive them? He was unconscious, he had no supernatural talent for them too.
Jol was walking by a pond, the large pond that was situated behind the debris of the village that Julian had let El Ritch in to practice his abilities. He could feel every single emotion of Jol along with his thoughts and it was overwhelming for El Ritch.
How could a man like Jol be so overwhelmingly self-destructive?
[Sequence 5]
(The pond was still. Leaves, red and gold, drifted atop its surface, some half-submerged, turning soft and rotten in the water. The air smelled of decay, thick and cloying, yet the scene itself was one of quiet beauty, unmarred by wind or sound.
Jol sat on the shore, a knife in his hand.
The sky above was clear, but there was no warmth. The sun had not yet set, but it cast no light. Everything was still—too still. His breath came slow, measured, as he pressed the tip of the blade to the flesh of his forearm.
He hesitated.
His fingers trembled around the hilt. 'I am scared.'
And yet, his grip tightened.
'Why? Why is it always me?'
The hatred burned hotter than the fear. The anger swallowed the hesitation whole. The blade bit deep, carving a jagged line down his arm, and blood welled up in dark rivulets, spilling over his fingers, staining the dead leaves beneath him.
The world blurred.
The pain did not fade, but his body grew light. Too light. His vision swam, the golden hues of autumn melting together until there was only the dull shimmer of the water, the sluggish beat of his own heart.
Then—
Nothing.
A long silence. A slow drift into darkness.
'Worthless. Wastage. As if I ever had a meaning.'
A sting.
Sharp, biting, crawling through his skin like fire.
Jol gasped awake, breath hitching as he clutched his arm, the wound bound tight with leaves, something thick and sticky sealing the gash shut. His pulse thundered in his ears.
He should be dead.
Why wasn't he dead?
A shadow moved at the edge of his vision, and he turned, eyes landing on a hare—small, unassuming, its dark eyes fixed on him with something that felt too sharp, too knowing.
The hare clicked its tongue, shaking its head.
"Never in my life have I seen such a cowardly boy," it said, voice smooth, unimpressed. "You ought to be ashamed."
Jol stared, slack-jawed.
"...How can I hear you?"
The hare exhaled, long-suffering, as if deeply offended by the stupidity of the question.
"Why is that the first thing to come to your mind, shameless boy?" it chided. "The real question you should be asking is why you are so pathetic."
Jol's gaze fell, heavy with the weight of his own failings. He did not speak.
The hare watched him for a long moment, something cold and cutting in its small, dark eyes. Then it exhaled, slow and sharp, as if already weary of this conversation.
"You are," the hare said, "the most past-obsessed, self-destructive person I have ever had the misfortune to witness."
Jol said nothing. He only clenched his fists tighter in his lap.
The hare sat down like a man, folding his front paws over his chest in a mockery of human posture. "Well," it continued, voice laced with irritation, "I suppose you should have protected your brother better."
Jol flinched. His lips parted as if to protest, but the hare was not finished.
"Yes, indeed—unfortunate that he perished in that tragedy, that fire, that great crime against you. But tell me, has it ever crossed that thick skull of yours that you might have done something better for him?" The hare's ears twitched, its voice turning sharp. "Instead of bleeding yourself out on the very shore he used to visit?"
Jol's breath hitched. He looked up at the creature, truly seeing it for the first time. "How…" His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. "How do you know that?"
The hare flicked its tail. "I watched him," it said simply. "And I have been watching you for a long time. Call it self-interest. I like to imitate men and their habits. But I am not the point of this conversation." The hare leaned forward, voice lowering to something like a growl. "You are."
Silence stretched between them. The air felt colder.
Then the hare asked, its voice softer now—softer, but no less cutting—"What are you doing with your life?"
Jol swallowed. He shook his head. "I've been trying, haven't I?"
The scene shifted.
Suddenly, Jol was no longer sitting by the pond. He stood in a dimly lit hut, struggling to memorize the names of herbs and their uses. The ink on the page blurred, the words refusing to settle in his mind. His fingers twitched with frustration.
Another shift.
He was younger now, gripping a wooden training sword too tightly. His instructor's voice rang in his ears, sharp with exasperation. Too slow. Too sloppy. You'll never master the blade like this. He swung too hard, lost his balance, and stumbled. Blood welled from a fresh cut on his palm. His teacher sighed and turned away. Jol watched him go, his vision blurred with unshed tears.
And then—
Bada.
Jol saw her as he had first met her, fierce-eyed and unshaken, her twin blades flashing in the sun. The only time he had truly tried to leave his past behind had been then.
The hare's voice cut through the vision. "But you followed your nature in the end," it said. "You could have led a peaceful life, a happy one. But you clung to this—" the scene flickered and faded, dissolving back into darkness "—this endless need to destroy yourself."
El Ritch could feel it now, the lump in Jol's throat, that ache that went unspoken. He did not understand it—not truly—but he felt it.
The world shifted again.
El Ritch gasped. He was back in the den, where the fire had long since burned low, where his head still throbbed from the blow he had taken. He was no longer inside Jol's memories, but watching him from the outside, seeing the young man as he truly was—kneeling in the dirt, staring at the hare with something unreadable in his eyes.
Jol's voice was barely more than a whisper. "I have been trying for so long, haven't I?"
The hare did not hesitate. "You have."
It held his gaze, unwavering. "Your self-destructive nature did not allow you to love many things, but it also did not allow you to lose many things. So, I would say this—" the hare's voice softened just slightly, just enough that it might have passed for kindness "—you did the best you could."
The hare began to unravel. Its body came apart like the peeling bark of an ancient tree, light seeping through the cracks in its form. A slow, deliberate undoing.
"I've had the misfortune of knowing you," it sighed, voice gentle with something that almost resembled fondness. "I would have wagered that your brother would have made the better man between the two of you."
Jol did not flinch. He only watched, the barest quiver in his lips betraying something deep and unspoken.
"You're leaving," he said, not quite a question.
"It was time," Jol smiled. "I hope you find a better bond."
El Ritch watched from a distance, unable to feel Jol's emotions, but he could see them. The rigid way Jol's shoulders locked, the way his fingers curled just slightly, as if grasping at something already slipping away. Was he afraid? Anxious? Or did he simply not want to let go? El Ritch did not know.
The hare tilted its head, that familiar glint of wry amusement still lingering in its dark eyes. "You think too little of me," it mused. "Metaphorically, of course. I have taken a liking to your kind's clawing hands—always reaching, always grasping, even in a world without meaning."
The glow around it grew brighter, threads of light winding through the empty spaces where its form had begun to break apart.
"What are you doing?" Jol's voice wavered, thin and uncertain.
The hare did not answer at first. It only watched him, its body unraveling further. And then—
"I have witnessed the lives of men," it murmured, "watched them take from one another, in greed or in desperate protection of those they love." The hare's gaze flickered, the ghost of something unreadable passing through it. "But I have met only so many who would lay down their lives without hesitation. Self-preservation is the first instinct of all living creatures—"
The unraveling quickened. Jol's breath hitched.
"—and that is why I wanted to understand someone like you."
Jol's eyes widened in sudden, terrible realization.
"You—" his voice cracked. "Don't! I am not worth—"
The hare cut him off, smiling, if such a thing could be called a smile.
"I've had the misfortune of knowing you," it repeated, "and I am blessed to have had the misfortune."
The light consumed it.
Jol lunged forward, hands grasping for something that was no longer there.
"Please," he pleaded, voice raw, desperate. "Please, don't—"
I am not worth it... Jol thought, El Ritch could tell what Jol thought, he could now practically read his face.
But there was nothing to hold onto.
The hare was gone.
And in its place, a final whisper, a thought woven into the very fabric of what it left behind:
"I told you—I watched humans. I enjoyed what I did not possess. And now, I have had my fill of sympathy."
And then—
A final echo. A last, dying message, not spoken, but written into the very core of what the hare had done.
"My memories will come undone, as my soul will be swapped into Jol's, setting his heart to beat once more. His own soul has already passed over. I will transplant his memories into my soul, erasing my own in the process. This is the last message I leave to you, Jol. You have two people to look after now. Self-preservation should be your first thought after this."
And then—silence.)
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[I cannot touch you, you who delights in burning, please look at me as I beg of your return]