Continue On, Struggler | Chapter Three, Glimpses.

…

Two years passed since Guts was reborn. Not much changed in that time, outside the fact that his legs were strong enough to walk now.

He knew how to talk, too. That helped him confirm an earlier suspicion of his: that this world wasn't the same as his old one.

…

Guts listened to his parents and the maid talk more and more; through this, he gleaned a few things that pushed him to that conclusion. There was never any mention of Midland, Tuder, the Kushan Empire, or any other major world power. In their place, he heard the names of kingdoms, countries, and continents completely unfamiliar to him.

The names 'Central Continent' and 'Asura Kingdom' were brought up more than others. At first, he thought that Central Continent might be another name for Midland, but if that was true, where had 'Asura Kingdom' come from? The only conclusion he could come up with was that he was someplace different—a different world even.

The nightmares started up again after he realized. In them, he relived the night he died. He dreamed of the moon child, Casca, Griffith, and the dark—in short, he dreamed of his failure and what might've happened next.

Some nights, the dark was alive. Taking the form of an insatiable monster that slithered and snaked itself around all that was around him. Animosity incarnate; it lashed out at friend and foe alike, gripping them by the throat, squeezing and slaughtering until not a single being breathed. Other nights, a bright light, shining above all, drove the dark back. Snuffed it out as it struggled and writhed. Those nights were always the most frightening to him.

It was a good thing that Guts was only one, then. His waking, shaken and terrified, didn't draw any attention. It gave him enough time to grow used to them.

That, unfortunately, didn't last long.

His parents seemed none the wiser for the most part, but ever since he stopped her from picking that flower, the maid looked at him as if he was a ghost.

He needed to do a better job acting his age.

…

Guts's current existence confused him. He had been saved from eternal damnation and given a new life, but he had no idea what to do with it.

His entire past life was spent fighting. He grew up with a band of mercenaries, fought as one, and died a wandering swordsman.

This was something entirely different. For one, he had parents.

Back in his past life, he had Gambino and Shishu, but they weren't his actual parents. As the story goes, they found him under the hanging corpse of his blood mother. Shishu, in despair after losing her own baby to miscarriage, rushed over to him and begged to keep him. Gambino had been reluctant, knowing that doing so was a bad omen, but eventually relented.

Shishu died of a plague when he was three. Guts killed Gambino six years later.

Paul and Zenith, his father and mother now, were nothing like them. Both were alive, for one. For two, they seemed to be alright people—alright saints compared to what he was used to.

Zenith was the kindest, by far. She wouldn't dote on him per se, but the soft spot she had for him was obvious. One time, when he wanted to trade in the twig he used to practice his sword swings for something bigger, he jumped up and snapped a decent-sized branch off one of the trees in the garden. She shrieked when she saw him swinging it. It turned out that one had been her favorite.

Guts expected his mother to be furious, to hit him over the head or on the backside with something as punishment. She didn't. She was angry, but it never escalated past a glare and a talking-to. Afterward, she took the branch from him and reattached it to the tree with healing magic.

It actually made him feel guilty.

Paul was Paul. Guts didn't hate him, at least when compared to a bastard like Gambino.

Gambino was a piece of shit, through and through, no doubt. Always running him ragged with demands, chores, and other menial bullshit. Then, he tried to kill him and….

Paul was easily the better of the two, but that wasn't an impressive feat. In fact, he didn't know what he could say about the man outside of that. The only time they spent any time with one another was when Paul practiced, where he would try and explain what he was doing and Guts pretended to follow along with a stick. That went well enough, but as far as opinions go, it was hard to form one from just that.

Guts spent a lot more time with Zenith, or Lilia the Maid, in comparison. Not that he was complaining.

The Greyrat House was as happy and peaceful as Guts had ever seen. Most of his running mates in the Band of the Hawk would probably be envious. To grow up somewhere calm, away from war, and born to a family rich and loving enough to live comfortably. They all had their own individual dreams, but many strived for something similar. To a bunch of wandering mercenaries, this was as good as it was going to get—a gift of God, even.

That was the problem, though. He wasn't just a wandering mercenary. Glory's din never drew him to any battlefield, money never unsheathed his sword, and renown was never the reason he swung. Survival was struggle's only reward, and that's all he ever knew; so what was he now without it? Nothing?

No.

Boiling it all down to 'nothing' was too easy. Guts couldn't accept it. He was a warrior—a warrior strong enough to evade casualty itself. His very existence proved it. Having died, he was still alive. Given a new body, his memories remained intact. Despite it all, he was still himself.

He was still Guts.

For now, in place of anything else, his reason for pushing forward would be: "why?"

"There you are, Rudy." Guts suddenly found himself being lifted by his armpits. "Oof, you sure are getting heavy." It was Zenith. "Get any bigger and you'll make your mama cry."

He relaxed when he realized. If it were anyone else, he would've been fighting with all of his might to break free from their grasp, but Zenith was a special case. Always had been. Out of everyone else in the house, she was the person he trusted the most.

"Did you want to come with me into town today?" Zenith asked, turning him in midair so that they were facing each other. "Your father was going to accompany me originally, but a coworker of his came by and said that was going to be late, so how about you join me in his stead? You're getting about the age to start getting to know your neighbors."

Guts thought about it for a moment then agreed. It's not like he had anything better to do anyways.

…

Never having left his family's property, Buena Village always seemed a boring place. The occasional horse-drawn cart tugging along supplies might be the most interesting thing to cross in front of the Greyrat house in the course of an entire week.

Actually going out into it for the first time only confirmed those suspicions.

Buena Village was first and foremost a farming village, and nothing else.

Open space dominated the landscape. For nearly the whole walk so far, all Guts could see was vast, open hills of green and the occasional smattering of trees and shrubbery. What wasn't green was golden, meaning fields of wheat, some of which seemed to stretch on for days from a distance.

An actual child might've been left awestruck by the sight. He wasn't, so he kept a neutral expression as he and his mother passed by a farmstead with a decent-sized crop standing behind it.

"Well, if it isn't Zenith!" A stranger called out from the house nestled in between all of the green and gold. It was an older woman in the middle of putting up laundry. She smiled and waved before her eyes traveled downward and landed on Guts. "Oh, your son! Now, isn't he the most adorable thing? Hello there, little Rudy~." Guts raised her hand back in reply, not knowing how to respond to her friendliness. "I wish my husband was here too. He's been dying to meet your son as well."

"Your husband? He'd be out in the field right now, right?" Zenith asked.

Realizing where the conversation was going, Guts started to tune the two women out. At least the neighbors seem nice enough.

In the meantime, Guts scanned around for something that would keep his attention.

The neighbor's house was a regular house—a single floor, made out of wood, and a straw roof. Nothing of interest there. The crops off in the distance? That was all just wheat. Hm, what's that noise?

Guts recognized it. A cart was being pulled in their direction, coming from the direction he and his other came from. He took a glance and his eyes found something that held his attention: a blue-haired girl riding in the back of a wagon, a wide-brimmed hat on her head, and an intricate-looking staff in hand. One name came to mind as he stared at her, although obviously different: Schierke.

"Hm?" Guts cursed under his breath. He had been so fixated on the girl that he had taken a step forward without realizing it, all the while Zenith still held his hand. "Rudy? Is there something wrong?"

He pointed at the girl—the cart having already passed them. Having already been caught red-handed, he figured that he'd abuse the fact that he was still a kid and make a play for some information. "Who's that?"

"'Who's…?'" Zenith followed his finger to the girl. "Oh, her? Hm… I can't say. I've never seen her around the village before." She turned over to the neighbor woman, who shook her head, seeming just as clueless as they were. "A magician, huh? Wonder what brings her to a place like Buena Village?"

"'A magician?'" Guts repeated each syllable slowly, the word still foreign to him. "What's that?"

"Yes, that's right! A magician!" Zenith squealed, taking that moment to kneel down to his level, reach out, and pet his head. She looked awfully proud of herself for some reason. "Magicians are what you call people who dedicate their lives to learning and using magic."

"'Magic?' You mean like that light that comes out of your hand sometimes?"

His mother let out a little hum and continued petting him. "My little boy is so smart~."

I mean, that was pretty obvious…? He bore with his mother's doting, despite his internal protests.

When Zenith was done being a proud parent, she continued with her explanation. "What mama used on you back then was called 'healing' magic. Back in my adventuring days, I used to be pretty well known for it."

Aren't you a little young to be acting like an old lady? "Really?"

Zenith nodded. "Mhm, back before I married your father. Although, that wasn't too long ago now that I think about it." Her eyes widened as she stood suddenly. "Speaking of, we ought to get moving or he'll beat us back home."

Zenith turned back to the neighbor lady and they said their goodbyes, parting with one last wave. All Guts could focus on was that magician girl, whose ride carried her a decent distance away.

He thought about tracking her down and asking her a few questions. From the looks of it, her destination was the same as his and his mother's—the center of town—and if anyone knew anything about him being reborn here, it would be someone like her. He could slip away from his mother while she shopped and ask around for her. Maybe he'd be able to find her before Zenith caught on and dragged him back home.

Guts grit his teeth, cursing under his breath. That was something he hated about being a kid. Everything he wanted to chase seemed too far to catch up to. His legs just didn't feel long enough.

…

Buena Village's town center was as interesting as Guts expected it to be. Not at all.

Guts had walked through the hustle and bustle of big kingdoms before, and what was in front of him now was pathetic in comparison. Ten or so buildings comprised the village's square, most of which were indistinguishable from normal houses. The rest of the space was taken up by a scattering of merchants' stands that sold everything from vegetables to assorted household goods. Nothing caught his eyes, though.

"This sure is a lot of people, isn't it, Rudy?" Zenith asked; although, from the sounds of it, she didn't seem too convinced of her own words. He couldn't really blame her for trying.

This was supposed to be his first time seeing this many people in one place; Guts counted about twenty to thirty heads so far, so she must have just assumed he'd be amazed by it. He wasn't. At all.

"Yeah…" That being said, he had a cover to maintain. "Why are there so many?"

"Because this is where all the town's business happens."

"'Business?'"

"Mhm, business! For example, you see that over there?" Stopping, Zenith knelt down and pointed to the stands a little ahead of them. They were the ones selling various fruits and vegetables. "That's called a 'market.' That's where we're going right now."

Guess even a podunk village like this needs a market, huh? "Is that where you and papa get our food?"

"Mhm~!" Her hum was noticeably longer this time. "Oh, do you see that building? All the way in the back?"

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Guts nodded. It was a simple wooden building, a little larger than the buildings around it. A sign hung over its front door.

"That's what you call a 'general store.' You can buy all sorts of things there, not just food."

"That's cool, I guess…" Guts gave the most generic kid reaction he could manage. "Are we going inside?"

"My, my, aren't you curious today?" Zenith started petting him again. "No, not today, but don't worry. If you want, we can always come back some other day."

"Okay…." Admittedly, and this was a bit embarrassing, Guts was a little disappointed.

He wanted to see if they had any swords in stock.

…

Guts figured that he'd be bored as hell watching his mother shop, but as it turned out, he didn't mind all too much. It was strange. This was far from his first time in a market. He's done his fair of shopping and haggling before in his past life, and yet this felt different.

It took him a while to realize why.

Everything, from the idle chatter going on between patrons to the haggling and crying of those trying to sell their stock, lacked a weight that he was used to—desperation. No one here seemed to be struggling to survive, they were just living. Free, easy, and together. It reminded him a bit of Elfheim, in that sense.

He didn't know what to make of it.

Zenith stopped at a stand that sold potatoes amongst its stock. Having already picked out most of what she needed, she engaged in conversation with the woman manning it. They seemed to know each other well, given the familiarity and length with which they spoke. Guts had been listening to them go back and forth for a while now, trying to pick out any information that could've been useful, but eventually realized that he'd be better served focusing on literally anything else.

Being what was closest to him, his eyes were drawn over to the general store. His mind wandered to what it might contain. Something that'd shed light as to what I'm doing here with all my memories intact, maybe?

Unlikely, but as good a place as any to start. Buena Village didn't exactly strike him as the sort of place where such information would be easy to find. There weren't nearly enough people here to justify the presence of a school or a library. The best he could do, as of the moment, was get lucky and stumble upon a book or something that'd help in that regard. Then again, he didn't know how to read.

Only nobles knew how to read and write, and he personally never saw much need for it. He grew up a mercenary, a life-long killer—what use did he have for letters, symbols, and books? None.

As luck would have it, his circumstances changed. He had died. Now, he was living in an alien body, with an alien family, in an alien world. Survival be damned—learning what happened to him became his top priority. He could go around, demanding answers from anyone who seemed knowledgeable, but that didn't seem all too reliable. Anyone smart enough to know how he ended up here, would be smart enough to take advantage of him or lead him astray.

If Guts wanted to find out why he was here, he would have to do so on his own, and the first step in doing that would be learning how to read.

Fortunately, Paul and Zenith already knew how. That made things much easier for him.

The thought of reading made his attention drift back towards the general store, now only a few paces away. He fixated on the sign hanging over its front door. Just a normal plank of wood, a little longer than the door itself. He'd seen everything written on it before but didn't know what sounds the symbols were associated with.

Man, ain't this a drag? Guts clicked his tongue as he glanced back at his mother. Wonder if I should just ask. Would a kid my age even know what reading is…?

A bell rang suddenly. Gentle and airy, it tickled his ears and tugged his attention back to the general store—its origin. The door was being pulled open.

"Thank you!" A voice called out from further inside the building. "Please come again!"

A familiar face revealed itself, the magician girl who had been riding the cart.

She took a step out and their eyes met. They were as blue as her hair, lazy as a still lake.

She blinked. He blinked. Then, her eyes traveled to something behind him.

"Excuse me, miss," she said, flat and apathetic. "May I ask you a question?"

Guts glanced at his mother. Her confusion and surprise were obvious, but something else hid behind all that. It showed itself in the stiffness of her shoulders, the clenching of her jaw, and the grip she had on his hand.

She was tense. Why?

"Oh, you're the magician from earlier!"

Now, it was the magician's turn to be confused. "From earlier?"

"You passed by me and my son earlier. Although, I don't know if you noticed us."

"Ah, my apologies." The girl bowed her head in apology. "I still don't recall you two, even with your reminder."

"It's no problem. Really." His mother laughed off the girl's bluntness.

"So, about my question?"

"Oh, right, you wanted to ask me something?"

"I'm looking for a man named Paul Greyrat, do you know where I can find him?"

"Paul?" Father? The sudden mention piqued both his and his mother's confusion.

"Why, yes, he's my husband actually. Did you have business with him?"

"Not him specifically, no." The magician shook her head. "I'm looking for work. The man in the general store told me that Lord Greyrat was the one to talk to about that since he's the one this village's jurisdiction falls under."

Huh, who would've thought…? The thought of his father being a village's headman didn't feel impossible to Guts, but for many reasons, Paul never struck him as the leader type. A nice enough guy, sure, but a leader? No, never.

The girl's statement only made Guts curious as to how Paul managed to earn the position, to begin with. Via his own merit seemed unlikely.

"That's all?" Zenith seemed to relax. "If that's the case, then why don't you come with me and my son? We were just about to head home."

The invitation seemed to surprise the magician. "I wouldn't want to impose, Miss. Could you ask your husband to meet me at the inn? That'd be more than enough—."

"Please, it's no problem. We don't get many new faces here in Buena Village. It's the least I can do to welcome you."

"But I don't plan on staying long—"

For whatever reason, the girl cut herself off. A glance back at Zenith sated his confusion. She was smiling. Wide, unnatural, and imposing in its welcoming nature. Through all his years living with her, he'd forgotten that his mother could be just as, if not more stubborn than his father.

"—Of course, please lead the way."

"It's no problem." In an instant, Zenith reverted back to her usual self. "Just let me finish my shopping and we'll head right back."

"Thank you, Lady Greyrat."

"Ah, no need for formalities. You can just call me Zenith."

"Then, thank you, Lady Zenith." Funny. Even when dropping the pomp, she still sounded plenty formal to his ear. "My name is Roxy Migurdia, a Water Saint-class Magician." Her blue eyes slid down and landed on him. "And what's your name, little one?"

Hmph, like you're one to talk about being little. "I'm Rudy."

Roxy seemed perturbed, for whatever reason.

…

The walk home was uneventful. Zenith and Roxy spent most of it making small talk. Guts did his best to listen in, looking for any useful information on the world outside of Buena Village.

A stand-out was when Roxy referred to herself as 'Migurd,' whatever that was supposed to be. The word was foreign to him, but Zenith seemed to recognize it.

Her nationality, maybe? Guts shook the thought from his head. No, that'd make no sense. Since her last name's Migurdia, wouldn't that mean she was some sort of big-shot noble? If so, what was she doing in the middle of bumfuck nowhere looking for work?

Maybe it's got something to do with why her hair's blue, he thought, his focus fixed on the pair of braids that hung to her waist. Again, he compared Roxy to Schierke. Her hair was long and blue, instead of short and green, but the wildness of their respective hues made the comparison unavoidable. Tch, screw this.

Fed up with wondering, when the small talk hit a lull, he tugged on Zenith's sleeve and asked, "Why is Miss Roxy's hair blue?"

"Hm? Because she's a Migurd— Oh! I suppose you wouldn't know what that means, huh? Miss Roxy, would you mind explaining? I'm sure you'd do a much better job than me."

Roxy met his eyes and Guts frowned at what he saw. She was looking down at him, he could tell. Probably thinking, 'Do I really have to waste my time explaining this to a dumb, little brat?' He felt the need to retaliate, to stick his tongue out and start slinging insults at her, but kept them pocketed for another day. He wanted answers, not petty mudslinging.

Roxy sighed. "What does your son know about Demons, Lady Greyrat?"

Demons? This world's version of the word wasn't unfamiliar to him. One of the stories his father would read him had a demon as the bad guy, Laplace or something, but he figured that was just a fairy tale.

"Nothing really." Zenith flashed the magician a sheepish smile. "My husband likes to read him The Legend of Perugius before bed, but we've actually never gotten to explaining that it all actually happened."

Wait, all that crazy bullshit actually happened?!

That answer didn't seem to satisfy Roxy, who turned her attention to him. "The Legend of Perugius, huh…?" All of a sudden, she started grinning at him. "Well, how about it, Rudy? The demons in that story were really scary, right?"

"No, not really." Honestly, Guts didn't have much of an opinion on the subject. The word itself made him think about Apostles from his old world, but from the story Paul told him and how the two women with him were talking now, he could tell that they weren't the same. In fact, this world's word for 'monster' seemed much more like an Apostle. "Why?"

"Well, what if I told you I'm a demon?" Roxy said, taking a hard step towards him, clearly trying to scare him. Her brow twitched when it didn't work. "My, what a brave little boy, you are."

"But you're not scary at all."

"You know that I'm not joking, right?" She looked even more annoyed now. "I really am a demon."

"Does that mean all demons look like you?"

"No, first off, I can already tell you're not thinking big enough."

'Not thinking big enough?'

Roxy stared at him expectantly, but Guts didn't know what she was getting at all. After a while, her shoulders fell. "Okay, think about it like this. Animals have names, right? Cows are cows, pigs are pigs, and horses are horses, right?" He nodded. "But just because they all have different names and look different, does that mean a horse is not an animal?"

Ah, I think I get it now. "So, a Migurd is a demon, but there are other demons that aren't Migurds?"

"Right. Demon is just a name for a bunch of different races. Migurds are one of them, yes, but then you have the elves—" 'Elves?' "—the lizardfolk, and the list goes on and on."

"Then what makes a Migurd different from other kinds of demons?" Guts asked.

"Quite a few things," Roxy answered simply. "You pointed one of them out just a bit ago."

"Your hair?"

The Migurd closed her eyes, hummed, and nodded. "All Migurd have blue hair like mine. We also live much longer than humans and age really slowly, too. Oh, and we can talk to each other without having to say anything at all."

"Kind of like reading each other's minds?"

"Exactly."

Guts nodded, satisfied by the answer. His mother seemed satisfied too, for some reason. Then, a question suddenly popped into his mind.

Wait, if that last part is true, just how old are you, woman?

…

The rest of the walk came and went. Zenith and Roxy continued their small talk, but Guts didn't glean much in terms of useful information. He did learn more about their Migurd tag-a-long, though.

Outside of looking for work, she hadn't come to Buena Village for any particular reason. Just came with the wind, on a whim, looking for an opportunity that paid well enough to finance the next leg of her journey. Then, when she was good and ready, she'd leave for the next town to do it all over again until she found something more permanent.

Guts couldn't help but feel a bit of kinsmanship with her on that front. He lived like that once too, back in his old life.

…

When home came into view, the Sun was beginning to set. Caravaggio, his father's horse, was already back in his stable, and someone left the gate leading into the front yard wide open. That could only mean one thing:

"Oh, it looks like your father's home, Rudy," Zenith said, making his observation for him. "Why don't you run ahead and tell him that we have a guest?"

Guts didn't argue and took his mother's request to heart. His time with his mother, while not torturous, had made him antsy, desperate to move around on his accord. The instant Zenith let go of his hand he burst forward, running as fast as his three-year-old legs could carry him.

Turning into his family's front yard, he called out, "Father?!"

"Rudy?" Guts heard from the other side of the door. A few moments after, the front door opened to reveal his father, sporting a wide and welcoming smile. "There you are, Rudy!" Paul rushed up to him. When there was only a foot left between them, he got down on a knee and began tousling Guts's hair. "Lilia told me that your mother took you out into the village for the first time. Did you have fun? Make any friends?"

Guts shrugged, then pointed towards the gate behind him. "Someone from town's here to see you."

Paul shot him a confused look before looking over his shoulder. Then, when his father's eyes stilled and focused, they went wide. "A Migurd?"

You too, huh? Demons must be really rare in these parts or something. "Mhm. Her name's Roxy. She's here to ask you about work."

"You'd give a young lady's secrets away so easily, Rudeus? Better be careful or one day, a vengeful demon's going to put a curse on you," Roxy made a show of deepening her voice as she said all that.

Guts was less than phased.

"Rudy, what do you think you're doing?!" He recoiled when his father started whispering in his ear. "A cute girl just told you to be afraid, why aren't you at least pretending to take her seriously?"

Guts shot Paul a confused look of his own.

"Son, it's really simple. If she's not serious, then she'll get mad at you and that isn't going to get you anywhere with her; if she is, then you gotta be wary of what she'll do next. All women are dangerous in their own ways, never forget that."

…Just what in the hell are you trying to teach a three-year-old, old man?

Guts glanced over at Roxy, who seemed just as confused as he was. Zenith was glaring at Paul with enough strength that it looked like she was using her eyes to strangle him.

In the end, his mother shook her head and said, "Roxy, I'm going to bring these groceries in and get started on dinner. Oh, and speaking of, would you like to join us? You and my husband can work out your business while you wait."

"Oh, that's nice of you, but I don't mean to impose!"

"Nonsense! Like I said, it's the least we can do to make you feel welcome."

Paul hummed in agreement and studied Roxy. "With that getup, you have to be some sort of magician, right? Do you happen to know any water magic?"

Roxy nodded. "I do."

"Good!" Paul flashed her a toothy grin. "Rain's been sparse the last few weeks and it's got all the farmers antsy. They think it might mean the start of a drought."

Seeing what his father was doing, the magician bowed her head, almost as if she was trying to hide behind the brim of her hat. "T-Thank you for your generosity, Lord Greyrat."

Guts couldn't help but smile, the exchange bringing back memories of another little girl who got bashful when they got praised. Maybe you two are alike, after all.

…

The resulting dinner came and went without issue. Paul and Roxy hashed out the details of her working in the village—going over the possible length of her stay, her capabilities, who in the village could afford her services, so on and so forth. All boring stuff. Still, Guts did his best to dig for information.

Apparently, the Migurd's proficiency with magic was something to be impressed by. The moment she mentioned that she was a "Water Saint-tier magician," his father balked like it was an impossibility. Asked what someone with her talents was doing out in the sticks, just like Zenith did earlier. Roxy gave Paul the same answer, but Guts got something else from the exchange.

The girl wasn't as little as she let on.

By the time Roxy and Paul finished their business, Zenith and Lilia had finished cooking, so dinner commenced. The Greyrat family and maid, plus one guest.

It was a good dinner, by all accounts. His parents and Lilia seemed happy to have a guest. Said guest settled in and started to enjoy herself. The light atmosphere and jovial voices, all in the warm orange glow of candlelight, almost forced a smile out of Guts. Almost.

Guts thought about just who he shared the table with. A young married couple, their maid, and their guest. Then, there was him. A child who was theirs but wasn't—someone who lived a whole other life before being born. He felt out of place. Knew that he didn't belong there. Child to a happy family? Him? It made him want to break down laughing.

He was the one who didn't quite belong. Again.

Guts leaned back in his chair, tuning out the conversation around him, wondering if that was ever going to change.

…

Roxy ended up staying the night, taking up the guest bedroom down the hall from Guts's own. It was his parents' idea.

The Migurd tried to reject the offer, saying that she had already told the local innkeeper to keep a room reserved for her, but his mother was insistent that it was no big deal and there was no arguing with Zenith when she set her mind to something.

Guts didn't mind the distraction. Since Zenith and Lilia went right into getting the guest bedroom ready, it gave him an opening to slip out of the house. His lungs were desperate for the air and cried out for the open night and stars. The dining room, the candlelight… They had put a vice around them, choking, squeezing the air out of them.

Naturally, he found himself coming back to a certain fence post in his mother's garden. A place where a flower used to grow, but withered away and died some time ago. He sat up against it, resting the back of his head on the cool stone, and stared up at the stars above.

All those specks of light—spanning and dotting the night in every direction, further than his eyes could see. Like faraway campfires. He felt like laughing. Too far, he thought. Way too far.

It felt like an eternity ago—that night when he and Casca looked down from that hill and considered that sea of bonfires. Yet, despite the distance, he felt like he hadn't moved at all.

What was he doing here? Was he even happy here? What did he want to do with his future?

Those questions flashed in his mind—all aimed at the present and his future but always dragging him back to the past. To the old Band of the Hawk, Casca, Griffith, and everyone who joined him on his journey to Elfheim. He remembered all their answers, compared them to his own, and always found himself lacking.

Guts had spent his entire life fighting. Fought to survive, was content with that fight, and could only ever look toward the next battle. But that fight was over now.

He died.

Then, he was given a new life, a new fight.

"Even if we painstakingly piece together something lost, it doesn't mean things will ever go back to how they were."

Guts already knew that. So, what the hell was he doing now? For once, he had been gifted a miracle, and all he could do with it was scramble for what was already lost. Dead and buried. A whole existence away.

…Maybe he was just that pathetic.

His eyes stayed fixed on the sky.

The stars above kept shining, far away as they were. He'd keep moving forward, fighting.

Aimless as he was. That's all he could think to do.

…

Chapter End.