As the last spoonful of soup disappeared from the bowl, Bane placed it on the nightstand and reached forward, snatching a cloth from the tray.
He cleansed Sheele's mouth with soft strokes.
"There," he muttered. "No need to walk around looking like you had a food fight with yourself."
Sheele did not answer, but her eyes did soften slightly. Her eyes, albeit softened by exhaustion and despair, no longer appeared wholly vacant.
"..."
A silent hush returned to the room. It remained between them like fog, neither oppressive nor uncomfortable, simply present.
Then Bane broke it.
"I want to show you something," he said, his voice low.
Sheele looked up slowly. "What is it?"
He shook his head. "No spoilers. You have to come with me."
She frowned slightly, hesitant. "But I—"
"Come on," he interrupted gently.
"You'll want to see it."
For a few moments, she remained confused, apparently struggling with herself. But then, whether out of curiosity or a desire to follow, she gave a tiny nod.
Bane stood and moved toward her.
But the moment she tried to rise from the bed, her strength failed her. Her legs trembled beneath her, her body weak from days of malnourishment and inactivity.
Her right arm, or rather, what remained of it, throbbed with a phantom ache, wrapped tightly in white bandages.
Bane watched her with a silent sigh and raised a hand.
"Stop," he said flatly. "Don't move."
Sheele looked at him, confused.
"Then how am I supposed to—"
Before she could finish, Bane came forward, one bandaged arm beneath her thighs and the other wrapped around her lower back.
Her eyes widened. "W-Wait—!"
He lifted her effortlessly and placed her in a princess carry before she could complain again.
"....."
It was an awkward sight.
Bane, with the lean build and average height of a fifteen-year-old boy, barely brushing 5'6", carrying Sheele, a fully grown woman.
Even if she looked a bit weak and malnourished from recent events, she still stood on the taller side for a woman her age, with a well-endowed figure that only made the difference more obvious.
"Relax," he said, smirking slightly. "Despite how I look, I still pack a punch, even that body builder will have a hard time against me in pure physical strength."
Sheele gazed at him, embarrassed, a small blush rising to her cheeks.
"....You really don't have to carry me," she mumbled.
"Well, you're not walking anywhere in that condition," he said bluntly. "So unless you want me to drag you by the foot, this is your best option."
Sheele let out a soft breath, possibly a laugh, as her body relaxed in his arms. And with that, they exited the murky room, walking into the light for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.
______
The late afternoon light shed a golden glow across the vast grassy plain, and the breeze blew gently through the waist-high grass.
Wildflowers bloomed in gentle bursts of color over the countryside, and the only sound was the regular squeak of metal wheels on uneven ground.
Bane, completely encased in bandages except for his distinctive aquamarine eyes, crept slowly behind a wheelchair. His stride was firm and careful not to startle or tip the passenger.
The passenger, Sheele, sat curled on the chair, clad in a pastel hospital gown. Her long purple hair swung gently in the breeze, with strands occasionally catching and dancing about her face.
She peered around, her eyes narrowing slightly with confusion.
"…Where exactly are we going?" she asked softly, her voice steadier than before, though still worn thin from weeks of silence. "You've dragged me all the way out here. At least give me a hint."
Bane didn't stop walking. "Just wait."
Sheele frowned a little, her brow furrowing. "You're not going to tell me?"
"Nope."
"...."
A long pause passed before he added, "What, upset that I made you ride in a wheelchair?"
Sheele blinked, caught off guard. "N-No! That's not—!"
He chuckled dryly. "I knew it."
"I'm not!" she protested quickly, flustered, her cheeks tinting just a bit.
Still, as her eyes trailed back to Bane, catching the glint of amusement in his eyes despite the bandages covering the rest of his face.
"Y-You," he puffed her cheeks slightly in a rare pout, realizing he was teasing her on purpose.
"That's not fair," she muttered.
"You tried to stab your own throat, remember?" Bane replied casually. "I figure you lose privileges the moment you try something like that."
Sheele looked away, biting her lip, unsure whether to laugh or feel bad over stabbing him only minutes before.
But Bane said nothing more about it and continued walking.
Their road softly sloped upward, with thick grass giving place to soft patches of moss and wild clover.
As they approached the peak of the hill, the world appeared to open up in front of them.
The cliff overlooked a valley of shimmering green, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun.
A gentle breeze conveyed the subtle fragrance of blossoms.
All around them, pale pink cherry blossom trees stood tall, their petals fluttering in the air like bits of recollection.
And there, at the center of this serene landscape, was a single gravestone.
It was simple, fashioned from smooth, dark stone, and immaculately polished, as if it had been visited frequently.
There were no fancy decorations, just a name engraved precisely, with inscriptions beneath it.
"Here lies a hero who stood against hate,
held the hand of her friends and comrades,
And gave her life so others could live in a fairer world.
May her soul find the peace she gave to others."
The burial was surrounded by scattered offerings. Handpicked flowers, most of which were faded and wilted but carefully arranged, paper cranes and origami figures folded from old book pages, charms, and many other objects donated by those who knew the person who was buried.
Each piece described a distinct person, memory, or cause for visiting this grave.
Bane brought the wheelchair to a gentle stop a few feet away from it and remained silent.
He just stepped back, letting the moment belong to Sheele.
The wind danced through the Cheery blossom trees, scattering petals around her like falling snow.
Sheele's lips parted slightly, trembling as she stared at the stone.
"Mine…" she whispered.
Her voice cracked.
The wind rustled through the trees.
She clenched the edge of the wheelchair, her head bowing forward, lavender strands falling over her eyes.
A tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another.
"I.....I-I couldn't even say…..goodbye."
And with that, the grief-stricken sound of her sobbing resonated among the delicate rustle of the cherry trees, their petals drifting down in a silent tribute of a lost friend.
________
A/N: Hello fellas, Corrigible Steel here.
Yeah… I know. It's been a while since I last updated this novel, 'but' life's been moving at 2x speed lately. Exams, responsibilities, and just the general chaos of existing. I honestly wanted to give myself a solid break and return to this story when things felt more... sorted out.
In the meantime, I started writing another fic related to demon slayer, ghouls, vampire and Lycans, a mix of everything. (because apparently, I cope by creating more workload for myself).
But this chapter…..this one wasn't planned for today. I wasn't supposed to post anything right now.
The reason I'm writing again today is… well, a bit unexpected. Someone I knew, an acquaintance, not quite a friend....passed away in a car accident yesterday.
I didn't know him well enough to grieve the way you would for someone truly close, but his sudden death left this strange emptiness inside me.
It's not grief, not exactly. More like a hollow awareness that someone you once spoke to, someone who existed in your timeline briefly, is just... gone.
I know many of you might have lost people close to you—family, friends, someone you loved.
And maybe this is nothing compared to that.
But for me, this is one of the first brushes with death that feels personal, even if distant. It's weird. And I guess that weirdness is what I tried to capture in this chapter.
From Bane's perspective here, someone who didn't have a deep connection, but still feels the loss lingering at the edge of their thoughts, that's where I was writing from.
Thanks for reading, and thank you for being patient with me.
– Corrigible Steel