The soft light of dawn filtered through the pale curtains of the medical room. The atmosphere was warm, clean, but not sterile. He felt… human.
Itsumi opened his eyes slowly. The white ceiling greeted him, accompanied by the faint sound of a bowl of water being placed on a table. He tried to move. Barely a command, a mental impulse. But nothing. Not a finger. Not a muscle. His body was dead weight.
His lips barely parted to try to make a sound, but he was interrupted by a familiar presence.
"Don't push yourself," Kanari whispered, gently placing a hand on his chest. "Your body… won't move for a long time. Maybe weeks. Maybe longer. No one can say yet."
The warmth of her palm contrasted sharply with the cold interior Itsumi had grown accustomed to over the years. He wanted to say something, a protest, a question… but again, his body refused to obey.
Kanari noticed his restless gaze, his strained breathing.
"Relax," she said with a tired but sincere smile. "There's no need to force anything. You're safe here."
There was a pause. Then, like someone sharing a secret only revealed once, Kanari spoke gently:
"I'm not an army medic... at least, not officially. My family came to the Empire years ago, before the war broke out. We're migrants, refugees, peace seekers... and well, when all this started, we offered to help. They let us stay, but we stay out of it. I trained to care for those left behind. Those everyone forgets."
Her fingers nervously played with the hem of the sheet.
"That's why I'm here. Not because I was ordered to. But because I wanted to stay with you."
Itsumi blinked slowly. Her thoughts were muddled. Every word weighed more than she could handle. She had no reason to be here. She had no reason to worry.
But she did.
"The Asiatic Empire…" she continued, with a slight sigh, "is too busy with its campaigns, its strategies… with its enemies. The health of a single soldier isn't among their priorities. You could be dead, and they wouldn't care. So, for now… you can relax. It's going to take time to recover, and believe me… no one will bother coming looking for you anytime soon."
Her words weren't cruel, but they were honest.
Itsumi sighed, a mixture of relief and irritation escaping her chest. Was that good news? Or a disguised condemnation? She didn't know how to feel. Nothing made sense. Nothing seemed to matter. And yet… something in that girl's voice, in her mere presence, made the chaos hush for a moment.
Kanari noticed the gesture. The discomfort. The invisible weight.
Without asking permission, she carefully sat down beside him and began massaging his arms with warm, patient fingers, moving with a tenderness foreign to the battlefield.
"You'll be okay," she whispered. "I promise."
Her touch moved to his shoulders, her knuckles gently pressing on each stiff muscle, each scar accumulated from years of war. She sat him down gently, propping him up against pillows as she continued the massage. Itsumi felt tense, uncomfortable at first. His mind spiraled: Why is she doing this? What does she gain? What does she expect from me?
But then… he gave up.
Too tired to struggle with questions.
Too exhausted to continue distrusting.
What does it matter? he thought. Nothing makes sense anyway.
Inside him, the war raged on, memories bled, doubts screamed. But the warmth of her hands, the sweet, clean scent she gave off, the faint sound of her calm breathing… anchored him.
And for the first time in a long, long time…
His mind began to clear.
He stopped thinking. He stopped resisting. He stopped feeling.
He just went.
His shoulders slumped. Not from weakness, but for the first time, from relief.
Kanari felt it. And smiled silently.
Not because she had healed him.
But because, for a few minutes, at least… she had rescued him.