Short Story 'Mirror Lotus Part 1' unit status:deleted

Mirror Lotus - The flower language is eternal love
~ Quoted from Frieren: Beyond Journey's End, Episode 30 ~

The lotus floats on water.
It blooms from the mud.
It takes on the filth, leaving only the flower behind.

The island was a place that had fallen off the map of the war.
The front lines were pushed north, and new arrows were drawn on the nautical charts. But no one touched this island in the south anymore.
Orders, supplies, and even words announcing the end never reached it.

The soldiers didn't dwindle because they were shot by the enemy.
Food ran out, their bodies grew thin, they were delirious with fever, and they fell one by one.
Malaria. Dysentery. Starvation.
Bullets remained, and there were guns. But there was no one left to fight.
He was the last one left.

The island was white during the day.
The light was so intense that the outlines of things melted. Iron quickly grew hot, and the guns drained his strength just by touching them. The jungle was quiet, with more buzzing of insects than signs of the enemy.
People begin to wait for meaningful sounds.

One day, he went deep into the island to draw water.
Beyond the jungle, there was a small, open pond.
The water trickling down the rock face was clear, and he could see to the bottom. The blue of the sky and the green of the leaves blended together, and time flowed differently there.

The surface of the water rippled slightly.

There was a girl in the pond.

She was stark naked.

The movement of her limbs was as natural as a beast's, and at the same time, it was young life itself.

The word 'beautiful' was not enough.

All he had seen were corpses.

Thin, dry, fever-stricken bodies.

Compared to that, this girl was alive.
Undoubtedly, she was alive.

More than a goddess, cruelly so...

Their eyes met.
For a fleeting moment, the girl's eyes reflected him. There was no surprise, no fear. Just confirmation.
The next moment, the girl stood up, breaking the water, grabbed the clothes she had left on the shore, and disappeared into the forest without a word.

After the sound of the water, the pond immediately fell silent, and the mirror-like surface reflected the sky.

He alone stood there, frozen.

At night, the island suddenly becomes deep.
The outlines that had unraveled during the day return, and the darkness regains its original weight.
The campfire was small, and it didn't have the power to push back the surrounding shadows. It only served as proof that a person was there.

He sat in front of the fire, hugging his knees.
His gun was nearby, but he didn't reach for it. He hadn't touched the trigger for days. He knew that even if he did, nothing would change.

For no reason, the depths of his chest ached.
There was no reason.
The faces he wanted to remember and the home he wanted to return to had already lost their outlines. Even so, there was something left somewhere in his body, and it would surface when night fell.

He took a small harmonica out of his pocket.

I played.

The sound was low, melting into the night.
A melody from home.
I played without making a sound, using only my breath.

As I played, tears fell.
I don't know why.
He didn't wipe them away. He just kept playing, facing the fire.

Behind me, the air changed.

A presence.
No footsteps. No sound of branches snapping.
Even so, I knew for certain that I was no longer alone.

　　If you're going to kill me, do it.

Thinking that, I didn't stop playing.
I didn't turn around. I didn't check.
I didn't want to stop the harmonica.

On the other side of the fire, a shadow sat down.
Small and quiet.

The melody ended.
For a while, there was no sound.

When he finally looked up,
she was there.

Different from the pond during the day.
No wet skin, no light.
Still, it was definitely the same girl.

The girl watched the flames for a while.
The flickering light dyed her cheeks and fingers red. The forest darkness was deep, and this spot felt like a small island.

Before long, the girl stood up and vanished into the darkness.
He said nothing and did not follow.

A little later, the presence returned.

In the girl's hand was a fruit.
Round, heavy, and with no blemishes on its skin.
She placed it gently in front of the fire.

She didn't offer it, nor did she throw it.
She just placed it there.

He hesitated for a moment, then broke the fruit open.
A sweet scent spread through the night.
Taking a bite, the moisture quenched his throat. It tasted like being alive.

The girl watched him.
Perhaps satisfied, she narrowed her eyes slightly.

Then, while looking at him across the fire, she spoke briefly in the island's language.

I don't know the meaning.
But the pitch and the pause conveyed it.

"Once more."

He did not answer.
He could not answer.

Even so, he naturally brought his lips to the harmonica.
The same melody as before.
The same song.

This time, he did not tremble.
No tears came, either.
He simply played, as if placing notes into the night.

The girl closed her eyes.
It was not that she was sleeping.
She was listening.

When the song ended, the girl stood up without a word.
Before returning to the forest, she looked back just once.

That gaze was not a farewell.
It was simply the look of someone who would come again.

For several days after that, the girl did not come.
He did not even wait for her.
He simply built a bonfire at the same time and sat in the same place.

The island did not change.
The days were white, and the nights were deep.
One gets used to it quickly, even on nights when no one comes.

That night, too, he was watching the fire.
When the flames settled, the air behind him changed again.

She's here, he thought.

He knew before he turned around.
That stillness belonged to the girl.

The girl sat at the same distance as before.
The same time.
The same fire.
As if it had been decided that way.

A silence that felt like a test flowed for a little while.

The girl looked at him and tilted her head.
Then, she pointed at the fire, and next, she pointed at his mouth.
A short word. The island's language.
He still did not understand the meaning. But this time, it was clearly conveyed.

"The song."

He smiled, just a little.
He was surprised himself that he had smiled.

He took a small, silver object from his pocket.
A worn-out harmonica with the plating peeled off at the corners. Yet, its body shone, reflecting the sparks from the fire.
He inhaled, then exhaled. The sound rang out as if cutting through the damp night air.

Itsuki Lullaby.

Blues harp.

It was not a gentle melody to lull a child to sleep.
He made the reeds vibrate intensely, distorting the sound.
Anger with nowhere to go and bottomless sorrow were stirred together inside the silver box, exhaled as a raspy blues.
The sound of insects that had filled the island fell silent for a moment.

The girl moved.
She, who had been facing him across the fire, closed the distance as if drawn in by the sound.
He closed his eyes and simply kept blowing air.

Suddenly, the sound wavered.
There was a warm, soft sensation at the edge of the harmonica near his lips.
It was the girl's finger.
As if to confirm the source of the sound, she gently traced her fingertip over the trembling metal skin.
There, she felt the vibration of his life.
The exhaled breath. The inhaled air. The wordless wailing leaking from the depths of his throat.
All of it turned into vibration, flowing from her fingertips, into her arms, and then into her heart.
He did not open his eyes.
She did not pull her finger away either.
Through the silver instrument, their breathing mingled.
The blues he played had, before he knew it, begun to mark the rhythm of her heartbeat.
In the darkness of the night, there was no longer a boundary between whose breath was creating the sound.

When the song ended, the girl exhaled with satisfaction.
Then, she placed a hand on her own chest and looked at him once more.

This time, the words were long.
Slowly.
As if punctuating.
Repeating the same sound over and over.

The girl pointed in turn to his chest, the harmonica, and her own ear.

And then, she made a sound once more.

The girl stayed there, as if waiting.

He watched the fire for a while.

After a little while, he handed the harmonica to the girl.

When she received it, she saw her own face reflected in it for a moment.

A flower pattern was carved onto the metal that caught the light.

He hummed the sound.
The same melody. And while singing.

The girl imitated him.
The sound was different.
But it was not wrong.

That night, he could not sleep.

Even after the bonfire had died out, the sound continued to ring deep within his ears.

He did not know if it was his own.

The water in the pond was swaying quietly.

To the second part