I spoke into the dark. “My mother killed herself not long after I was born. That didn’t make me stronger. It was only because Dana was there to pick up the pieces that managed to survive and ended up as a half-functional adult, and I might have fared even better had she not died before her time. These experiences didn’t make me stronger. What sin did I commit to deserve such punishment? It’s one of the questions I’d ask the Angel if I ever get to meet Him.”

I focused my words on Yuta and Geoffrey.

“I’ve lost people that I shouldn’t have lost, and I know, compared to what you have suffered, it might as well be nothing. But this isn’t a contest. There’s no glory in being the most broken person in the room. That’s not a distinction anyone should have, let alone want.”

“How did she die?” Geoffrey asked.

“I’ll show you.”

I willed the memory into being, against my inclinations. As the scene changed, I couldn’t help but think back to Yuta’s memory of the Great Earthquake. The memory I was dredging up was a tsunami all its own. It wasn’t a large storm; it spanned only a few rooms of a dinky bungalow in Witchriver, in Elpeck County. No one died, but… you don’t need to be a killer to be a destroyer of worlds.

The four of us stood in the main hallway in my Dad’s house, back in my teenage years, mere seconds after the tsunami had come ashore. Its name was Dana, and it swept up everything in its wake.

The only doors that weren’t open were the front door and the door to the backyard. Those had to stay locked tight, otherwise the men in black would get her. But, everything else? She’d flung it wide open. Cabinet, closets, cupboards, pantries, drawers—even the ones on the nightstands… you name it; she’d opened it. Her madness swept her through the house, tearing through our closets and shelves, pulling everything out and tossing onto the floor.

And I mean everything.

Clothes. More clothes. Her clothes. My clothes. Shirts, pants, jackets, cloaks, dresses, skirts, scarves, gloves, socks, shoes, shoes, more shoes—and that was just the clothing. There were books, old and new; magazines; a couple spare e-readers; textbooks and workbooks from when we were little, finger-painted art; macaroni sculptures; glue sticks; leftover glitter; pencils and pens tossed from old metal cups redolent of ground up graphite; cereal boxes, the bags of cereal inside the boxes, the pieces of cereal from inside the bags; oatmeal containers; old toys, baby stuff, test prep, our great-grandparents’ photo albums, hammers, boxes of nails, bed sheets, pillows, cushions, toppled chairs, the unused duvet my mother bought the day before she killed herself, and Angel-knows what else.

And it was everywhere.

She’d also unplugged all the electronics.

This time, I wasn’t standing with Brand, Yuta, and Geoffrey. No: I was standing inside of myself, jammed into my young body, watching helplessly as the horror unfolded.

I waded through mounds of books and shirts. Objects rasped against my shins. Some of the piles came up to my knees. The big pile in the hallway was so tall, you’d think it was a predator, waiting to topple onto me and strike.

Dana was in the hallway, crouched on top of the big pile. She was barefoot, and barely clothed—just a black t-shirt and her underwear. The top of the pile fell off, sliding onto the wall and taking Dana with it, but she scrambled back over it, reaching for the clothes hangers in the hallway closet. The bits of metal on the plastic hangers rattled and clacked as she manhandled them. She ripped off their garments, sometimes even tearing through the fabric before brusquely chucking them aside. Some of the hangers left breaks and indentations in the drywall where they’d crashed.

“Dana, please,” my young self begged, “you have to stop.”

I cried. I was afraid, and not just for myself. I was afraid for her.

Dana looked at me with wide eyes. My imagination ran wild trying to picture what she was seeing.

“They’re here, Nethgen,” she said. “Can’t you hear them? They’re here. They’re watching!” She crawled up to me. “It’s not safe.” She put her finger on her mouth. “It’s about the circle. The circle is a square. It’s a square!”

She looked off to the side with a twitching motion, and then whispered. “What was that?”

Dana slapped my face when I opened my mouth to speak, plastering her hand over my mouth and nose. “Quiet, Nethgen. Mantis quiet.” She locked eyes with me. “You are the warrior.”

I couldn’t breathe.

I tried to pull away, but that just made things worse. Slipping out of her grasp, I tumbled onto a pile of shirts and old, plastic binders.

Dana shrieked in terror. “Hentgen! Hentgen!?"

Scared out of my mind, I ran down the hallway, across the dining room and into the kitchen. That was where the nearest phone was.

I’d called Dad about ten minutes prior, and he was on his, but he wasn’t getting here quickly enough. I needed more help.

Grabbing the handset, I pulled the phone off its wall-mounted base. It was an old model—handle, receiver, the works.

Dana’s bare feet slapped on the kitchen’s blue tiled floor.

“Genneth!” she screamed, eyeing the handset in my grasp. “Stop! Stop!!”

I hadn’t even dialed the number yet.

The next thing I knew, she slammed into me, using her weight to pin me to a wall.

A knife gleamed in her hand.

She twitched as she wept.

“No, no no no. Baby otter, no,” she said. “You can’t be with them. Don’t tell me you’re with them.” She held the knife up.

“I’m not with them! I’m not!” I shook my head. “Dana, you’re scaring me. Stop this, please! Stop! It’s me! It’s me!”

She pressed the knife against my neck.

And then the front door opened as Dad stepped inside, though from the way Dana reacted, you’d have thought a murder had just stepped into our house.

There was terror in her eyes as she turned to look.

I was crying. It was like my sister was gone.

I didn’t want to lose my father, either.

With a yell, I tackled Dana from behind just as she’d turned to face the kitchen door. Her knife slipped from her grasp. Its silvery edge flew across the kitchen, clattering onto the tiled floor in the corner of the room. My tackle knocked Dana to the floor, and I fell with her. In my grasp, she squirmed like a cockroach and shrieked like a banshee. Dad joined me in pinning Dana to the floor, taking the lead long enough for me to call the police.

At that point, I couldn’t take it anymore. Even I had my limits. As everything dissolved away. I couldn’t take my thoughts off the fifteen heart-wrenching minutes Dad and I had to spend physically restraining Dana until the authorities finally arrived to take her into custody.

Stolen story; please report.

— — —

I expelled us from the world of memories, returning us to the Forgotten Sands’ world-struck vistas. Yuta and Geoffrey were both visibly shaken by my memories.

“And, well… there you go,” I said, smiling through my tears. “Now, we’re truly well-acquainted with one another. I know your pains, and you know mine.”

Geoffrey was overcome. He covered his face with his hand. “Dr. Howle… if I ever made Harmon feel what your sister made you feel… I don’t know how I could live with myself.”

“How do you think my sister felt about it?” I said, grimly.

“What happened to her?” Yuta asked.

“She was possessed…” Geoffrey whispered.

I chuckled bitterly. “I wish. At least then, a priest could have fixed her with a couple of well-aimed prayers.” I shook my head. “No, Dana suffered a disease of the mind. She had to be taken away, both for our safety and her own. But… her new caretakers didn’t take care of her.”

“Your era cured darkpox,” Yuta said. “Why not afflictions of the mind, as well?”

Geoffrey stared at us. “You… you cured darkpox?”

I nodded. “Yes. I’ll tell you about it later.” I sighed. “It’s just…” I turned to Yuta. “It’s so much easier to destroy something than it is to put a broken thing back together again. So much easier. When it comes to the mind, we’re still grasping in the dark. Even the most basic questions elude us. What is consciousness? Do we have free will? Where is the line between thought and non-thought? It’s all a riddle.”

“Why did you show us that?” Geoffrey asked.

I furrowed my brow at him.

He really was a stubborn nut to crack.

“To show you that, contrary to your belief, your situation is neither unique nor incomprehensible to others. Geoffrey,” I said, “all of us have suffered, Geoffrey,” I said. “I showed you how Yuta suffered; I showed you how I suffered. I hope that’s enough to get the point across, and to convince you that I’m not a demon.”

“And what is your point, Genneth?” Brand asked. “Other than not being a demon, of course.”

“Suffering doesn’t make us better,” I said. “It doesn’t make us stronger. If we grow, it’s only in spite of the pain, not because of it. Losing my mother didn’t make me stronger. Dana did. And losing Dana didn’t make me stronger, either. I could have given up. It would have been so easy to just let myself… drift. But I chose to do something. Every day—even at this very moment—I still make that same choice. I do what I do because I don’t want anyone else to have to feel the kind of pain I felt when I lost my sister to the monsters inside her skull. I try to help others as a way of making amends for my own failures; for the death of my son. For…” I sighed. “For a lot of things.” I looked Yuta and Geoffrey in the eyes. “And you know what?” I said, chuckling through the tears. “I don’t think we get to make amends. If we did, and if the world was fair, the pain would go away. But it doesn’t. All we can do is try to be better. I’m trying,” I said. “And I’d like you to try with me, if you’re willing.”

Geoffrey stared at Yuta, and then shook his head. “We’re too different,” he said.

At that, Brand broke out in raucous laughter. “Hot damn!” he yelled. “You old folks really are dense.”

“Brand…” I said, with a glare.

“C’mon, he deserved that,” Brand said.

I sighed.

I conjured one last memory—a double memory, one part from Yuta, another from Geoffrey. The two memories filled our perceptions with a split-screen reality.

On one side, Yuta sat with Ichigo in House Uramaru’s tea garden, instructing his retainer on matters of politics and morals—an oxymoronic combination, to be sure. On the other side, Geoffrey knelt beside Karl, instructing the aspiring soldier on the proper use of a rifle.

In the now, both Yuta and Geoffrey stared at one another. They felt each other’s feelings as if they were their own. Geoffrey saw Uzé in Ichigo, just as Yuta saw Harmon in Karl.

“It’s like the story Yuta’s mother told him. Your joy came from creation, not destruction,” I said. “You both built something new, and in doing so, you honored what you’d lost. Don’t tear that to pieces, not here, not now. It’s too precious.”

“Karl reminded me of my brother in so many ways,” Geoffrey said, speaking to everyone and no one. “He had the same gentle temperament, the same probing intellect. But, more than anything else, what struck me was the way he looked at me. He didn’t see me as an Athelmarch.” He scoffed. “He didn’t see me as a lord, either. I was just… Geoffrey, just like it had been with Harmon. Here was someone I could help. Here was a chance to do good without any ill consequence.”

Yuta looked Geoffrey in the eyes. “If I could do right by Ichigo, perhaps Uzé would forgive me for having failed him as a father.”

Geoffrey returned the look. “I think you were a wonderful father.”

“Me too,” I interjected.

“I…” Geoffrey’s voice fell to a whisper. “I wish my father had been as devoted to us as you were to your children.” He turned to me. “Dr. Howle… I… I don’t know what to think anymore. But, please… is there some way I can see Karl again? And if not… at least tell me this: is he safe? Is he happy?” Geoffrey lowered his head. “He’s the only person in the world who would speak well of me. I will be a poorer man when his time comes.”

“Ichigo is dead by now,” Yuta said, mournfully. “As is…” His voice broke. “Barashai… my Hoshi. My star.”

“Karl is alive,” I said. “He… he’s becoming like me. A wyrm.”

Geoffrey’s expression turned grave, but then opened with realization.

“That’s why you’ve been so insistent,” he said.

I nodded. “I knew you wanted to see him again,” I said. “But I would never be able to forgive myself if I left you thinking that Karl had become a demon. It would have hurt both of you beyond words.”

Geoffrey lowered his head, humbled. “Thank you,” he said. “I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

I bowed in response. “Geoffrey, I think I may be able to reunite you with him. I could give you to him.”

“I… I would like that,” Geoffrey said, softly.

I turned to Yuta. “I will look for Ichigo, I swear,” I said. “Some wyrm must have found his soul by now.”

Yuta bowed to me.

I bowed to him, even more deeply.

“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help,” I said.

Yuta walked up to me and pushed me into an upright posture. “You are too modest, Dr. Howle. You have helped me more than I could have ever thought possible. You showed me wonders beyond my wildest imagination. I was a stranger, yet you showed me kindness and friendship.” Yuta’s voice cracked. “You let me see my daughter smile when I’d thought she had been lost to me forever. For that alone, I will be forever in your debt.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Yuta,” I said. “I’m not worth the trouble.”

He glared at me. “Stop hating yourself,” he said, bluntly. “The world already has enough hate in it, and you have more than earned your fair share of happiness.”

At that moment, I felt something stir within me—and that wasn’t just the fact that I was softly weeping. It was just like what I’d felt when Geoffrey had stirred. Only this time…

I gasped. I knew what it was. Who it was.

Once more, I smiled through my tears. “I… I guess I misspoke, Lord Uramaru.” I bowed—though only slightly. “There is something I can do.”

Clasping a hand to my chest, I pulled forward, imagining I was dragging something out of me. And not just something.

Someone.

Just like Yuta and I, they yearned to be reunited with the parents they adored. In an instant, a little girl stood in front of me. I held her gently, by the wrist.

Of course, I’d held her before. I’d held her lifeless body as I’d lifted it into the maw of a dump truck. But now? Now she was reborn. Her inky dark hair brushed on the hem of her kimono. The kimono was gray, with traces of blue, like dawn, sewn through. Her features were soft and clean and pure, on a face as filled with love and wonder as an old book’s yellowed, dog-eared pages.

The scabbard on Yuta’s hip scraped the sand as he fell to his knees, jaw agape.

Hoshi smiled widely as she ran to her father, with her arms spread even wider.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

She hugged him, and—after a frozen moment of disbelief—Yuta wrapped his arms around her, and squeezed tightly. And this time—this time—they would not be parted.

At that moment, something clicked within me. Feelings that had been stirring within me since I’d brought peace to the Plotskies suddenly rose to the surface, and this time, I affirmed them in full.

Stop hating yourself, Yuta had told me.

That had always been difficult for me. Both consciously and not, I’d blamed myself for so much. Mom’s death; Dana’s death; my broken relationship with my father.

Rale’s death.

The insurmountable distance between myself and my family—my wife, most of all.

The world already has enough hate in it.

I made sure to let Geoffrey hear my thoughts, and feel my pain, just as I made sure that he could feel Yuta’s joy.

Father embracing daughter.

The knight wept like a wall in the rain.

I didn’t know if I was ready to forgive myself. Past guilt made for easy scapegoats when new tragedies came my way. I’d always tried to make things better by losing myself in my work. Even after coming to terms with my transformation, I was still using that same old trick, only this time with the spirits in my mind.

But now…

I drank in the feeling that flushed through my chest as I watched Yuta embrace his beloved daughter.

It felt good. It was good.

I covered my mouth with my hand, trying to hide my smile. I felt their happiness. It warmed me. It chased away my demons.

And I wept.

Was I still horrified to be turning into a monstrous wyrm? Unquestionably.

Was I still angry at myself, guilt-ridden over having to lie to my colleagues and conceal my condition and put them at risk just because I couldn’t bear the thought of being locked up like one of my patients, unable to do anything to make a positive difference in the world?

Of course!

Did a second go by where I didn’t wish this was all just a bad dream? That we could have just gone on with our lives as they had been, none the wiser?

Not on your life.

And yet… in these new abilities of mine, in these new responsibilities—in sustaining the afterlives of the souls carried in my flesh…?

In them, I’d found something I could proudly call “beautiful”. I could commune with people, and help them and learn from them in ways no one ever could have before. Yes, the road to building their afterlives was a rocky one, but, with friends like Brand and Andalon on my side, I knew I’d be able to make it work, even if it was a frustrating struggle. God might have turned their back on them—on us—but I wouldn’t. I would be better. I’d be their Angel.

It made me happy.

It was something worth fighting for.

And, most importantly: it was a battle I could actually win.