Estuve enfermo estos días, por eso no hubo cap. Hoy voy a publicar los 3 cap que prometí para el domingo y mañana otros 3 para compensar lunes y martes, luego volvemos al cap diario normal
Chapter 24: The Tsunami of Truth
'From the moment my eyes met hers, face to face with mine... It was as if an explosion of thoughts, images, and feelings processed themselves almost instantly in my brain.'
Shirou Emiya, for a few seconds that felt like an eternity, stared fixedly into Sakura Matou's purple eyes. And the world stopped.
The visions flooded his mind with the force of a furious tsunami, angry at having been forgotten. They weren't new. They were those fragmented images he had learned to ignore for four years, the ones that came in dreams and in waking hours, the ones he had learned to file away in the darkest corners of his consciousness just to keep living with relative normality. But now, with her in front of him, with that light still flickering in her pupils, they all emerged at once, demanding his attention with a violence that stole his breath.
* * *
Two little girls. One with chestnut hair, the other with a darker brown that time would later dye purple. They played together in a sunny garden, with ragdolls and laughter that sounded like little bells. The older one, Rin, wore a colorful child's kimono. The little one, Sakura, ran after her with a smile so pure, so free, that it hurt to look at.
'They were happy,' Shirou thought, and the thought carried with it an unspoken question. 'What happened?'
* * *
A mundane, warm scene. The Emiya Residence dining room, bathed in evening light. Sakura sat across from him, chopsticks in hand, laughing at something he had just said. She wore the kitchen apron Taiga sometimes used, and there was a sauce stain on her cheek. On her face was a peace Shirou had never seen in anyone, a feeling of home, of belonging.
'Could it be like this?' he wondered, and the longing that accompanied the image was almost physical. 'Could we be like this someday?'
* * *
Night. Shirou's room, bathed in the dim light of the moon. Sakura knelt beside his futon, cheeks flushed and hands trembling. She wore only her white underwear, which left little to the imagination. Her purple eyes, moist, looked at him with a mix of fear, desire, and a need so deep it seemed like an abyss.
"Senpai..." she whispered in the vision, her voice a plea. "Please... stay with me. Don't leave me alone."
Shirou felt heat rise to his cheeks. It wasn't just desire he saw in those eyes. It was a plea for salvation. Total surrender. And in the vision, he drew closer, wrapped her in his arms, held her as if she might break.
* * *
The same dining room, but now at night. Sakura was curled up against him on the sofa, a blanket covering them both. On the television, a movie cast dancing shadows. She wasn't watching the screen. She was looking at their intertwined hands, and on her face was a small, intimate smile, like a secret only he could know.
'This is what I want,' Shirou thought, with a clarity that frightened him. 'This is what I've always wanted without knowing it. Someone to share the silence with. Someone who feels safe by my side.'
* * *
But then the visions changed.
The light went out.
* * *
A dark street. An elegant man, his back turned, held the hand of a small girl. The girl looked back, toward a receding house, toward a figure with chestnut hair crying in the doorway. The man didn't turn around. The girl, Sakura, had eyes full of tears she dared not shed.
"Dad..." She whispered in the vision. "Why? What did I do wrong?"
And at the end of the road, an ancient, gloomy mansion awaited them like an open mouth.
* * *
A dark hallway. A young man with blue hair, a twisted smile that didn't reach his eyes, pushed Sakura against the wall. His hands wandered where they shouldn't, and she shrank, trying to make herself small, trying to disappear.
"Shinji... please..." The Sakura in the vision begged, her voice breaking. "Don't... don't do this..."
But he didn't stop. He never stopped.
'Son of a bitch,' Shirou thought, fury burning like magma in his veins. 'That son of a bitch.'
* * *
Hell.
A damp, dark basement, illuminated by a greenish, putrid glow. The floor wasn't floor. It was a living, undulating mass of worms crawling over each other. And at the edge, a girl. Sakura, her hair already faded to that sickly purple, was pushed into the pit by the bony hand of an old man with a lecherous smile.
Her eyes, as she fell, still held a spark of hope. A final, desperate plea to the universe for someone, something, to save her.
No one came.
* * *
The same girl, years later. Her body, now developed, lay in the pit as worms ceaselessly entered and exited her. But that wasn't the worst. The worst were her eyes.
There was no plea in them anymore. No hope. No pain, no fear, not even hate. Only an infinite emptiness, a total acceptance that this was her life, her reality, her everything. The worms defiled her, and she didn't even blink.
She was dead inside. And she had been for a very, very long time.
* * *
Shirou blinked.
Only a second had passed. Maybe two. Sakura was still in front of him, cheeks still damp from the tears of the song, looking at him with an expression he couldn't decipher. But he was no longer the same person who had started playing the piano that morning.
He knew. Not how, not why, but he knew. He knew who she was. He knew what had been done to her. He knew what was still being done to her. And he knew, with a certainty that chilled his blood, that she was there on the orders of that monstrous old man.
And yet...
— Y-you're Sakura, right?— His voice came out hoarse, but he managed to sketch that smile of his, the automatic one, the one he always offered the world.— What are you doing here so early?
She didn't respond immediately. Her lips trembled. For an instant, Shirou saw in her eyes that same void from the vision, and his heart skipped a beat.
— I...— Sakura began, her voice a fragile whisper.— I always come early. To... to avoid...
She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to. Shirou understood. To avoid Shinji. To avoid the mansion. To steal a few minutes of normality.
— Me too,— he said, surprising himself at hearing it.— Well, not always. But lately...— He pointed at his casted arm with a wince.— Sleeping is hard. And music helps relieve stress.
Sakura looked at his arm, then at the piano, then at him.
— Does... does it hurt a lot?
— A little,— Shirou admitted.— But it'll pass. My sensei says idiots like me learn the hard way or not at all.
He didn't say which sensei. He didn't say how it happened. There was something in the way Sakura looked at him, a mix of curiosity and something deeper, something that resembled recognition, that made him want to protect her from the truth.
— Sensei?— she repeated, tilting her head.
— It's nothing, she just teaches me some things,— Shirou replied, evasively.— Hey, since we're both here... do you want to take a walk? The empty academy is pretty quiet. And I...— He swallowed.— Could use the company.
It was a simple invitation. Innocent. But Shirou saw how Sakura's eyes widened slightly, as if he had offered her something extraordinary. As if no one had asked her that in a very, very long time.
— Y-yes,— she said, and there was a tremor in her voice that didn't seem like fear.— Yes, I'd like that.
* * *
They walked through the empty hallways, the echo of their footsteps marking a slow, measured rhythm. Shirou carried his casted arm uncomfortably bent, and Sakura walked beside him with her hands clasped in front of her, as if letting go might make her disappear.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't easy either. It was a charged silence, full of questions neither dared to ask.
— The song,— Sakura suddenly said.— The one you were playing. It was... beautiful.
Shirou smiled, a little embarrassed.— Thanks. I learned it a while ago. From a record I found at a second-hand store. I don't know why, but when I heard it... I felt I had to learn it.
— What was it about?
The question was innocent, but Shirou felt it went beyond mere musical curiosity.
— About someone who doesn't want to let go of the one they love,— he replied, choosing his words carefully.— About someone who promises to hold another person up, no matter what. Even when everything seems lost. At least, that's what I understood.
Sakura looked away. Her fingers gripped her own hands tighter.
— That must be nice,— she murmured.— For someone to hold you.
Shirou stopped. She did too, looking at him with an expression that was almost alarmed, as if afraid she had said something wrong.
— Sakura,— he said, and her name sounded more serious than he intended.— Can I ask you something?
She nodded, cautiously.
— Why were you crying? When I turned and saw you, you were crying.
The silence that followed was so thick you could cut it. Sakura looked at him, and for an instant, Shirou saw the abyss in her eyes. The void. The pit of worms.
— I don't know,— She lied.— The music was... very beautiful. It reminded me of things.
— What things?
— Things from when I was little,— Her voice broke slightly.— When things were... different.
Shirou wanted to ask more. He wanted to tell her he knew, that he had seen, that he understood. But the words wouldn't come. Because saying "I know" meant explaining how he knew, and explaining how he knew meant entering territories she wasn't ready to explore.
So instead, he said:
— Sometimes things can become different again.
Sakura looked at him, and in her purple eyes there was a spark of something that could be hope, or could be disbelief. Perhaps both.
— You think so?— she asked, her voice as fragile as a butterfly's wing.
— Yes,— Shirou replied, with the certainty of someone completely sure of his words.— I believe you can always change. That you can always find someone to hold you.
— And who holds you?
The question caught him off guard. Shirou thought of Kiritsugu, who had just left. Of Taiga, who cared for him without knowing the truth. Of Rin, who scolded and taught him in equal measure. Of Gil, who watched him like a fascinating experiment.
— Several people,— He said finally.— And I try to hold them up too. I think that's how it works. They hold you, you hold them. Like a circle.
Sakura nodded slowly, as if processing a completely new idea.
— Sounds nice,— She repeated, but this time the word had a different nuance. It wasn't resignation, but a barely whispered desire.
They kept walking. They passed by the classrooms, the closed library, the empty courtyard where the wind moved the fallen leaves. And at some point, without either of them planning it, their hands brushed.
It was a light contact, almost accidental. Sakura startled, pulling her hand away as if burned. But then, timidly, slowly, she brought it back. It didn't quite touch his, but it stayed there, centimeters away, like an offering.
Shirou did nothing to close the distance. He didn't want to frighten her. But he didn't move away either.
— Sakura,— This time, Shirou's voice was softer, almost tender.— If you ever need someone to hold you... I can try. I don't know if I'll do it right, but I can try.
She looked up at him. Her purple eyes were moist again, but there was no sadness in them. There was something else. Something Shirou couldn't name.
— Why?— she asked, and it was a sincere, desperate question.— You don't know me. You don't know anything about me.
Shirou smiled. A small, honest smile.
— Maybe not. But I know that today, very early, in an empty academy, there was someone playing the piano. And I know that music made a girl cry. And I know that girl, right now, is here, walking with me.— He paused.— Sometimes you don't need to know much to want to help.
Sakura opened her mouth, but no words came out. Instead, a single tear traced a path down her cheek. But this time it wasn't a tear of pain. It was a tear of something she had forgotten long ago: gratitude.
— Thank you,— She whispered.— Thank you, senpai.