Will You Cry for Me If I Die? - Chapter 51

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 51

 

The feeling of invisible hands scratching from within.

 

‘It reminds me of when I was a test subject.’

 

Strange.

 

Yurahel added.

 

He closed his eyes and opened them again.

 

“I had a lot of bad thoughts.”

 

I pressed my lips tightly together.

 

The inside of my mouth felt dry.

 

Bad thoughts are short, cold words that don’t see people as human.

 

Kill.

 

Abandon.

 

Jump, things like that.

 

I know that language too well.

 

When I hear those words, my hands flinch first.

 

If Theodor had been here, he would have cried.

 

Theodor cries quickly.

 

His eyes get wet first.

 

His throat shakes immediately.

 

So I was right to leave Theodor behind.

 

I told myself as if confirming it.

 

I pressed it down once more inside.

 

Demian spoke in a low voice.

 

His voice was firm.

 

“Don’t stay alone by the window. Tell us.”

 

Yurahel lowered his eyes.

 

His gaze fell to the floor.

 

The snow fragments remaining on the floor were slowly melting.

 

“I should stay alone so it won’t be a bother to others even if it spreads.”

 

His words trailed off.

 

His breath weakened at the end.

 

Hearing those words made me angry.

 

Heat rose hotly inside me.

 

It spreads.

 

Then all the more reason not to be alone.

 

Being alone makes it spread faster.

 

I spoke forcefully.

 

My breath shot forward.

 

“Don’t stay alone!”

 

Yurahel looked at me.

 

This time he didn’t avoid it.

 

Our eyes met directly.

 

“You.”

 

He paused for a moment.

 

Breath mixed in as he chose his words.

 

“How can you do that?”

 

Why again.

 

I can’t give long reasons.

 

My mind doesn’t connect things at length.

 

So I brought out just one thing briefly.

 

The first thing that came to mind.

 

“I.”

 

I looked at my palm.

 

The snow had melted and formed water droplets.

 

Small water drops pooled between the lines of my palm.

 

That water slowly flowed along my hand.

 

“I was always alone! But now I’m not, so I don’t stay alone!”

 

Yurahel’s eyes wavered for a moment.

 

“You should do that too.”

 

His pupils trembled slightly.

 

Eventually he spoke in a low voice.

 

The sound was barely audible.

 

“Sorry.”

 

I don’t know who that sorry was directed to.

 

To me, to himself, or to the adults.

 

I hate sorry.

 

Sorry doesn’t change anything.

 

I shook my head.

 

Slowly, clearly.

 

“Not sorry.”

 

I took a breath.

 

My chest rose again.

 

“Say you’ll be together.”

 

“Together?”

 

Yurahel asked quietly.

 

His words trembled at the end.

 

“Say you’ll stay together. Theodor said that!”

 

As I spoke, Demian immediately interjected.

 

“Bom will move to our section.”

 

“We should do it before the Priesthood finds out.”

 

Lermiel added.

 

He was already looking ahead to the next step.

 

Millayen had said the Priesthood has ears even in the walls.

 

“Then it’s settled!”

 

I surveyed the surroundings, slightly excited.

 

Without opening my eyes wide, I rolled them slowly.

 

The end of the corridor was sunk in darkness.

 

A long stretch where light didn’t reach extended there.

 

The spaces between the columns looked deeper.

 

Darkness creates people.

 

It creates breath in places you can’t see.

 

I hate darkness.

 

Darkness always brings someone with it.

 

So I wanted to move faster.

 

If I stopped, I felt like I’d be caught in it.

 

Yurahel tried to get up.

 

His knees slowly straightened.

 

His hand pressed against the floor then lifted off.

 

At that moment, Yurahel swayed.

 

His body lost its center.

 

His legs lost their strength.

 

His knees buckled again.

 

Demian caught Yurahel.

 

His hand wrapped firmly around his waist.

 

Yurahel reflexively tried to shake off the hand.

 

His fingertips moved roughly.

 

“Don’t touch.”

 

The words cut off.

 

His breath shook first.

 

He gasped and spoke again.

 

“Don’t touch me. It might spread.”

 

Demian spoke gently.

 

His voice was low and firm.

 

“If it spreads, we’ll stop it as it spreads.”

 

Those words were frightening, yet reassuring.

 

The words that it could be stopped were attached.

 

I was unfamiliar with that reassurance, so I fidgeted with my fingers.

 

My fingertips touched and separated from each other.

 

Lermiel extended his hand toward me.

 

His palm approached quietly.

 

“Rumel. Your hands are frozen.”

 

I looked at my hands.

 

My fingertips were red.

 

They were red as if blood had rushed to them.

 

Melted snow was thinly coating them.

 

Even when I’m in pain, I don’t really know I’m in pain.

 

The sensation comes late.

 

Four-year-olds often realize pain later.

 

I shook my head.

 

I shook it briefly.

 

“I’m fine!”

 

Lermiel asked.

 

His eyes checked on me.

 

“Really?”

 

“Really.”

 

Confirmation is something you can only say to people who are alive.

 

Only people whose breath continues do it.

 

We moved with Yurahel in the center.

 

Demian supported him from the side, Lermiel blocked the rear, and I watched the path ahead.

 

I watch the path.

 

This is funny.

 

My height is low, so I can’t see the path well.

 

I can’t see above the columns.

 

But still, I watch.

 

I look at people’s feet, the direction of shadows, and I see smells.

 

Smells don’t need height.

 

They just need to reach the tip of my nose.

 

The moment we turned the corner of the corridor, footsteps could be heard from afar.

 

Light.

 

Light like a servant’s footsteps.

 

But the rhythm was steady.

 

There was no wavering.

 

Knights have steady rhythm.

 

I whispered immediately.

 

I spoke using almost no breath.

 

“Someone’s coming.”

 

Demian pressed Yurahel against the inner side.

 

He pushed his body toward the wall.

 

Lermiel spread his cloak wide and covered them like a shadow.

 

The fabric spread wide.

 

I held my breath.

 

A four-year-old’s breath is short and quickly leaks out.

 

I covered my mouth with my hand.

 

My palm touched my lips.

 

The footsteps drew closer.

 

They stepped steadily on the hard floor.

 

And stopped.

 

They stopped right in front.

 

Someone spoke quietly.

 

The voice spread thinly over the air.

 

“Here, there’s a scent of wind.”

 

My heart sank.

 

I felt my chest drop downward.

 

The silver light on Yurahel’s wrist pulsed again very faintly.

 

* * *

 

Where the footsteps stopped, the air split thinly.

 

Breath touched the wall and spread.

 

“Here, there’s a scent of wind.”

 

It was a low voice.

 

A softly pressed sound.

 

It’s not a servant’s voice.

 

The strength is different.

 

It’s not a knight’s voice either.

 

It’s not firmness.

 

It’s soft like the Priesthood’s voice, but the end is cold.

 

When the words reach you, they cool you.

 

I swallowed my breath.

 

My fingertips were still numb.

 

The cold sensation remained.

 

The numb fingertips made me speak faster.

 

If I delay, I’ll miss it.

 

I whispered very quietly.

 

I made almost no sound.

 

“Priest.”

 

Demian moved only one eye.

 

His gaze wavered briefly.

 

Lermiel spread his cloak even wider.

 

The fabric overlapped more deeply.

 

The shadow grew thicker.

 

Yurahel held his breath.

 

I could feel his breathing becoming shallow, and the mark starting to writhe again.

 

Yurahel’s shoulders trembled very slightly.

 

As his breath came in short bursts, I felt something scraping inside his body.

 

That movement seemed to spread to his wrist, then to the inside of his arm.

 

I hated that writhing, so I lightly touched Yurahel’s sleeve with my finger.

 

I didn’t grab it hard, just touched it and immediately let go.

 

“Breathe.”

 

Almost no sound came out.

 

Only my lips moved.

 

Yurahel nodded very slightly without looking at me.

 

His gaze remained fixed ahead.

 

He forced himself to exhale slowly.

 

His chest slowly lowered.

 

That lengthened breath briefly suppressed the mark.

 

The silver light inside his wrist dimmed once.

 

It was briefly pressed down, then tried to writhe again before stopping.

 

Footsteps began moving again.

 

The sound of scraping against the floor continued.

 

Slowly.

 

Steadily.

 

Toward us.

 

Being four years old, my mind goes blank in moments like this.

 

Nothing remains, like white paper.

 

When it goes blank, my thoughts become short.

 

They don’t continue for long.

 

Shortened thoughts choose only one thing.

 

Don’t hide, divert it elsewhere.

 

I scanned the floor.

 

Without lowering my eyes, I just lowered my gaze.

 

There was a thin curtain nearby.

 

Decorative Curtain by the Column.

 

Decorative.

 

It wasn’t actually made to hide anything.

 

Below the curtain was a Decorative Water Jar.

 

A round jar.

 

The opening was wide, and the surface was smooth.

 

Inside the jar were flower branches instead of water.

 

The stems stretched up long.

 

The petals were layered in multiple folds.

 

The flower branches had a strong fragrance.

 

It was a scent that covered the air.

 

Fragrance masks scents.

 

I gripped Demian’s hand tightly.

 

I put strength between my fingers.

 

And spoke in a very small voice.

 

Using almost no breath.

 

“Flowers.”

 

Demian understood immediately.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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