A dull ache throbbed at the back of Seiya's skull as his eyes fluttered open. The room around him was hazy—shadows danced against the walls, and somewhere in the distance, wind chimes tinkled softly.
His head lolled to the side, and he blinked groggily at the blurry shape in front of him.
"…Who the hell… put a mirror in front of me?" he muttered, voice hoarse.
Before he could process anything else a pair of arms yanked him into a suffocating hug.
"Idiot! I'm not a mirror!"
His eyes went wide. "S-Seirou?! Get off—you're crushing me. it hurts, man!"
"You deserve it!" Seirou barked, tightening the hug dramatically before shoving him back onto the bed like a disgruntled mother hen. Seiya landed against the pillow with a loud "Oof!" and a wince.
"Gahh.. easy! I might actually die for real this time, can't you see the injuries?!"
Seirou crossed his arms with a huff, glaring down at him."You! Where the hell did you two even go yesterday?!" Seirou snapped, leaning down until his face was inches from Seiya's. His eyes narrowed with fury and beneath it, worry. "Everyone was searching! Do you even know how panicked they were? It's good Ryoma got to you in time—" he broke off, voice tightening. "And then you show up like this? For a moment, I thought you were already dead."
Seiya blinked up, still woozy, then smirked weakly. "…So you were worried."
Without hesitation, Seirou grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked him square in the face.
"Shut up and rest before I stuff you back into that bed."
Seiya groaned, flopping sideways. "Abuse. This is patient abuse."
Seirou shot him a sharp glare, arms crossed. His expression said he was one sarcastic remark away from throwing the pillow again.
Seiya cleared his throat and glanced sideways. "I don't even believe you were worried. You always know when something's going to happen. Didn't you already sense it? Why didn't you stop us?" He turned his head, eyes narrowing. "You know everything—past, present, future. So why?"
Seirou's irritation faltered. His arms dropped to his sides as he sank onto the edge of the bed, the tension in his shoulders easing, but only slightly. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, rougher, like the edge had been worn down by something older than frustration.
"I don't see everything. No one does."
Seiya leaned forward, his gaze narrowing. "Liar."
Seirou blinked, caught off guard.
"You always say that," Seiya continued, his voice dropping into something more pointed. "But you were born with eyes that see beyond the veil. That's what they called it. You can see through fate itself. So how long are you gonna keep pretending you don't know?"
Seirou's eyes widened, stunned.
Seiya gave a bitter chuckle. "What? Don't give me that look. Weren't you expecting me to say that already?" He leaned back against the pillows, exhaling slowly. "Fine. Let's just pretend you didn't see that coming."
Seirou didn't answer right away.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and almost brittle, like the weight of something unsaid was pressing against the walls. Finally, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, gaze distant.
"It's not that simple, Seiya…" His voice was softer now, stripped of its usual edge. "I don't see everything. Not always. And even when I do… it doesn't mean I understand it. Sometimes I don't even know what's real until it's already too late."
Seiya frowned, watching him closely, but said nothing.
Seirou dragged a hand through his hair, his shoulders taut. "You think it's like flipping pages in a book, like I can just skip ahead and read the ending. But that's not how it works. I don't see one future—I see many. Thousands. Each one unraveling differently depending on the smallest choices. Every breath, every word, every heartbeat changes the outcome."
He looked at Seiya then, and for once, he looked… tired. "But sometimes… sometimes there's no choice at all. No matter how many threads I follow, no matter how I try to bend the path—it always ends the same."
Seirou's fingers curled slightly, as if gripping something invisible. "And if I do try to change it… if I push too hard, interfere too much—" He broke off, jaw clenching. "—the end gets worse. Twisted. Like fate itself punishes the interference."
A beat.
"I'm not supposed to say this. I'm not even supposed to know this. Because fate… isn't something we're meant to challenge. Not without consequence."
He glanced at Seiya again, voice just above a whisper. "Knowing everything isn't a blessing—it's a curse. Seeing every ending, every loss, and still being unable to change a damn thing… That's the kind of curse that eats you from the inside."
Seiya tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. "So that's it?" he asked quietly. "You just… accepted it?"
Seirou let out a slow breath, his expression unreadable. He didn't answer right away, just stared at the floor like it held all the things he couldn't say.
Then he looked up eyes tired, but sharper now. "Didn't you already remember it?"
The words struck deeper than Seiya expected.
His breath caught, and the smirk he wore slipped—replaced by a quiet stillness, something raw and unguarded beneath the surface. A silence passed between them, heavy.
"…Tch." Seiya looked away, jaw tightening. "So I did."
But the truth sat like a stone in his chest.
Ever since he'd heard about the Pale Gorge Wraith… something inside him had stirred. A hollow familiarity he couldn't explain at first. The way it spoke. The mark it left. The agony it described—it all gnawed at the edge of his mind like a scream he'd once silenced.
And when he stood face to face with it… it was like unlocking a door he didn't know existed.
Those visions, the flashes of fire, of screaming voices, of blood and ash, he'd thought they were just nightmares, remnants of a story told to him. But they weren't fragments of someone else's tragedy.
They were his. They always had been.
Buried deep, sealed away by shock or perhaps by sheer refusal. How could someone forget something like that? A massacre… his clan… the betrayal.
But now that it was back, now that he remembered, it shook him more than the truth itself. Not just because of what happened… But because of how long he'd lived pretending it never did.