Umineko: Bring the Fate

The main door opened and closed repetitively, accompanied by the ringing of small, hanging crystal bells. Despite being a few rooms away from the entrance, he still managed to hear them, over all the murmuring sounds. The door's rocking was so frequent that the ringing of the bells became unbearable; instead of being a welcoming greeting, it did nothing more than to shout out that more and more people were gathering to increase this already heavy atmosphere. So, when Rudolf got sick of it and tore them off, everyone noticed immediately, and interpreted it as a clear "that's enough" sign. "Be quiet".

Because this was not the kind of situation in which a greeting's politeness was relevant. Moreover, it could be said that it was the total opposite. It was not even for them – it was only the most formal of instances for a social farewell. He knew it well, he knew it better than well, and so did his father: this was not for them, and, surely, no one even cared that it would be. The newcomers also knew their reason to be: they greeted and gave their condolences to the destroyed widower, then flew through the rooms in a very nimble manner, bowing their heads upon familiar faces, and got right to the very room he himself was in. If they managed to notice him, sitting on a corner, holding his knees, and hiding his swollen face once in a while, they repeated their entrance act, communicating him of their sympathies, and raced through to the massive reunion's real objective: several candles, lots of flowers, framed photographs, and a pretty box amongst all of them.

To anyone else, it was a party, a birthday. But not even the fact of having merely twelve years old could hide the terrible coldness that lured that box, nor how pale its content was.

The only people that were aware of his sad presence, bottled up in a black occidental suit, were his grandparents; the owners of this household, whom had agreed to use it for the ceremony, being so that not Rudolf nor himself could stand being locked up in what they used to call home now that the absence aggrieved it. His grandmother went to check on him now and then, asking whether if he was okay or if he needed anything. Still, he always answered with the slightest head shake. He did not want to sadden his grandparents with his lack of both appetite and cheer, but, at the same time, he could not hide his unease. If even his father had cried in front of him, why would a little twelve year-old boy hide such a grief, especially from the very parents of the deceased?

Someone arrived to replace Rudolf from his doorman position, winning a couple of "about time" comments throughout the way. They had been whispered, but the boy had heard them yet again as if told to his own ears. They had said such thing because what was the third heir of the wealthy Ushiromiya family doing by attending the door of the funeral of his own wife? His duty was to stay beside that beautiful coffin and accept the condolences, instead of doing the work of a servant.

Maybe, the little Battler thought, his father was trying to do the same as he was: avoiding the coffin, the corpse, the very death of Asumu. Useless effort, but, perhaps, even done unconsciously.

As soon as they got Rudolf out of the main entrance, everyone got engulfed in silence. No one dared to talk, much less to Rudolf himself, since he adopted a mute attitude as soon as the servant sat him down.

Several and intense minutes passed before the small-talk between the assistants took off again, always in a low, sepulchral tone. Battler still heard them, without being able to determine if the volume was due to respect or to repudiating discomfort.

Yet, it was not necessary to analyze that tiny detail for Battler to be conscious about the fact that all these people that surrounded him, wearing black, almost at a party, more than plunged in a profound sadness, were in a state of dilation, in hopes of something rather concrete happening. The scariest thing was that everyone, every single last one of the people present, was in that same state. They knew themselves in that state. And they knew each other in it, too. They were all waiting for something, for the same thing. Battler did not know what they were waiting for, but he did not desire to find it out, either.

He wanted to run. From the attraction that his mother had become, from the heavier by the instant atmosphere, from the bigger and bigger crowd, from the constant murmur, from the harpies' hunger. Overwhelmed, Battler chose to stop listening, and blocked all sounds from his head. For a moment, he was able to. And, at the same time, he unintentionally accomplished to notice something else: that no one in that same crowd really listened to each other.

Battler did not find at all amusing that his mother was lying there, dead, and practically being the laughing stock of the reunion. But the last straw that broke his back was seeing that woman of shiny hair approach his father, who was sunken in an armchair, continuously messing up his bangs to try and stick his hand to his forehead to relieve some of his head's weight off. She leaned closer and closer, to the point where she ended up holding him and comforting him. But, like father, like son, Battler knew when a woman had "that" kind of "different" intentions. And this woman reeked of them.

He squeezed his hands and realized he was sick of it. If he could not isolate within himself, he was going to leave physically. He took advantage that no one noticed him nor wanted to notice him and slipped away through a door at his back, exiting with haste. He closed it behind him and knew that no one would come to follow him. Right after turning the lock, he stood absolutely still. Like magnetism attracts metal, he slowly leant his forehead against the wooden door. His body freed all the accumulated tension after being locked up in that gloomy room for hours. And, finally, without even realizing it, he let escape a sob. He covered his mouth, trying to regain control, but then he remembered that… no one would hear him.

His hand slowly slipped off his mouth and hung freely by his side. The weight of his back fell over his forehead. His eyes got cloudy. And the floor beneath his feet started to get wet.

- M-mo… Mom…

After a while, he managed to pull himself together. He wiped off his face with one of the expensive suit's sleeves and turned around, to the house's back garden. Having released a bit of his pain, he was now aware of his surroundings, and was able to appreciate that it was a very cloudy day. He did not, however, thought about it too much, and walked towards it. To the grass that was so pale that seemed white, to the sky that was so overcast that seemed hollow, to an air that… would make calling it "heavy" a horrendous understatement. The day seemed to have lost its color and shine. But it did not matter to Battler. Moreover, he was almost thankful for it, because, if it had been a brilliant sun with singing birds greeting him, that precious scenario, that now looked like it was frozen in time, and allowed him to escape from that cursed room, would then not be anything else than another prison.

Before that thought, Battler hesitated. Was it… okay for him to feel something like that?

As soon as he stepped on the grass, he felt this sudden urgency to breathe, but, for some reason, he couldn't get himself to. He scratched his throat, opened his mouth wide, yet he could only seize short pantings. So he loosened his tie, undid the first button of his shirt and his whole suit, and violently leant his head backwards, to the odd whiteness of that day's sky, begging for a mouthful of air.

…The suffocation disappeared.

He had no idea what "that" had been. The only person in the family that suffered from asthma that he knew of was his cousin, Jessica.

If Battler had been older at that time, and with it had also had more life experience, he would have understood that "that" had been a tiny anxiety crisis. But, since he was not, to the only conclusion he could get to was that his tie had been a little too tight, so he decided to never clinch it around his neck again, in fear of another wretched lack of breath.

The thickest fog appeared both soft and suddenly, increasing the closed-off feeling of that day.

That fog activated a lost memory, allowing Battler to remember the garden entirely, despite not being able to see it. He remembered that it was really wide, that it surrounded the house entirely, that it was covered in grass, that it had trees, and that it had a pond near the limiting wall of the property. According to this memory, the pond was practically in front of him, so he blindly walked towards it.

He stuck with that fluttering memory as he advanced, loose images filling his eyes. He had been playing with his mother during one of the few visits to this great household. He did not remember much detail, though – it had been a very long time ago.

His steps became slower. His mother. His family. Her death. Their loss. All these thoughts saturated his mind worst than the very clouds. Still, he kept walking.

At the shore of the pond, next to the shadow of a tree that was not more than 2 meters tall, Battler distinguished a silhouette that had remained invisible due to the fog: a woman wearing a long, big dress, her back to him, her gaze caught in the water's surface.

Battler, in his pain, could have mistaken anyone for his mother – his desire to see her once again overtook whatever his five senses could perceive. So, calling her by that name was not by any means due to whatever resemblance they may have had; it was just that, for him, any woman could be his mother waiting for him. Therefore, his deception by shouting "mommy!" to her, seeing her turn to him, but with blond hair, blue eyes, pompous occidental dress, and an umbrella upright and above her head, despite there being not a single drop of rain, was more than he could handle, and he almost broke down to tears. His heart definitely did so, instead.

The glistening grey that bounced off the clouds, added to the dense lower ones that surrounded them, made his eyes itch, but it did not make them itchy enough to stop him from realizing that this woman was not his mother. In fact, she did not even look familiar.

This woman had turned around in reaction to his aggrieved call, and had kept staring at him. She was not a day older than twenty years, but in her face there were already a few light crinkles drawn, which clearly indicated countless smiles. Nevertheless, those crinkles were crooked; they did not look like they were from smiles of true happiness. He could not be completely sure of it, though, since this woman was not even close to laughing: she was staring at him… with melancholy. And pity. Or, maybe, even sadness. Or maybe with a sentiment so similar, so "I understand what you are feeling… Loss is practically my middle name", that little Battler could almost feel it in his own skin. Still, it was more than enough with the grief he was carrying already.

- What are you doing in the cold, boy? –She asked. Her voice was prominent, confident, yet non-aggressive. Battler felt a chill that entrenched itself at the back of his neck.

Wait a sec. Why was she asking something like that?

This woman was no ordinary woman. She seemed to ignore her context, but, if she did not know about the funeral, if she did not know the deceased, if she did not know the family, what was she doing in the back garden of the parents' house during the wake? Was she pretending to ignore it? She surely wanted to accomplish something with that act –if it even was an act-, but… what, exactly?

After a moment of an un-prolonged silence, Battler's mouth opened up on its own.

- … I didn't want to be there.
- You're coming from the house?
- Yes… From the main saloon, right there… -He said, turning his torso and pointing backwards. He made sure the woman followed his finger and found the door through which he had exited.

She knew. Battler knew she knew. But, even so, he couldn't help to answer her questions. He couldn't explain why, but the words simply flowed out of him with no major resistance. She talked to him, and he responded, without being capable of holding back his tongue, but at the same time with no desire of real restrain. She made him speak replies she certainly knew of.

- Was it too hot for you? –Her questions seemed to get nowhere, though.
- No.
- Then, what made you want to leave? –…Up until that one.

Battler took his gaze off of her and kept quiet. For a split second, insecurity invaded him, and he felt a mild urge to resist telling her the truth.

He had a hard time appreciating the water's reflection, because of the distance between himself and the pond, except for a couple of silhouettes contrasting the bright gray, which belonged to the tree and the woman. It was just then that the existence of the umbrella she carried over her head caught his attention. The day was indeed achromatic, but it was not the kind that foretold rain, and it served absolutely no purpose against the fog. So, still afraid of lifting his sight, he stayed fixed in the reflection and raised his voice:

- Why… do you have that umbrella?

For the first time, the woman laughed. It was a small giggle, short, but it seemed to intent a huge crackle, of a strong mocking tone.

- This? –She said derogatorily, moving the handle a bit away to point at it, with her eyebrows curved- This is nothing more than a whim.

The woman twisted the handle around a few times, and returned her look to him, with a lightly more ridiculing, and hurtful, touch.

- That such an absurd doubt assaults you instead of choosing to ask me directly what really fills your head is a too-cheap-of-a-trick to mislead me –And grinned again, with the same intention of the first time, lightly covering half her mouth with her free hand in an attempt to conserve at least a little delicacy.

Battler almost got caught by that laughter, but the woman changed her expression in an instant, making him back out again. She remained in the same mood, but in a slightly darker manner. As such, her voice also got deeper.

- Don't change the subject. I asked you a question.

Battler took his eyes out of the woman once more. She smiled to herself, but only one side of her mouth.

- Answer me.

His eyes started shaking. She was not going to let that question go until he replied it.

- … I… I wanted to escape –He responded, nearly in a whisper.

The woman released an amazed sound, but it was not necessary to look at her to identify she had said it smiling; it was explicit in her tone.

They stood silent for seconds that seemed eternal to him. He knew that she kept her eyes fixed on him, but was still too afraid to even rise his own from the ground.

However, he heard a sigh. On the next question, the woman returned to her initial voice – that one which knew, but, above all, understood.

- Do you want to get close to the pond? –She had even returned to a low volume. Battler hesitated to respond, but eventually let his head's own weight to nod for him- Come and do so.

He straightened and walked the last few steps that separated him from the small shore with haste. The woman followed him with her glance once again, turning with her body as well to be in front of him at all times.

He kneeled and leaned to the water to see his reflection, but before he could enjoy that moment, her voice raised again.

- What did you want to escape from? –Her voice once more incited him to respond, but with no mockery detectable.

Battler tried to ignore her and sink in his own reflection, but she was not stupid: she moved her umbrella from over her head and with it covered the light that made that reflection possible. She was surely smiling now, he thought.

- Now, now –Her voice once again gave him the chills.

He bit his lip. Did he really have no other choice?

- Of all those people –He answered almost rudely.
- Ooh, and why do you make use of that tone?
- I'm not in the mood, can't you tell?
- And why would that be? What is bothering you?
- The funeral that's being held right now!

The woman stood completely calmed despite being aware of the tenacious pushing in the boy's wound. She spoke free of any malice, slightly tasting melancholy.

- Why is the funeral disturbing you? Is it not a celebration?
- Not for me.
- What is the reason for that discontent?
- It's my mother's funeral…!

Battler's hands crisped. He could not see her, but the woman nearly took a step back in regret, clearly expressed in her widened, cramped frown look. But she took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and let her soft voice carry on.

- If so, shouldn't you be inside, paying your respects?
- It's full of unpleasant people… My dad's a good-for-nothing, and there's not even any food left…
- Does that mean that no one took care of you?
- … Sort of.

Battler answered slower and quieter every time. He tried to distract himself with the pond's fishes, since his reflection was blocked, but it was not even close to being enough.

- And you miss your mother, because she was devoted to your care?
- … Maybe, but not just for that…
- Did you care for her?
- I… loved her…
- What made you love her?

Battler let out a little sigh, but in the form of a muffled laugh.

- She was charming.
- Just that?
- That, and the fact that she was my mother –Responded almost in a scornful snort, expressing clearly how foolish he considered that last statement.

The woman seemed to doubt before asking the next one, but her strength made her go on.

- In other words, did you love her because of obligation?

Battler jumped, startled. He turned back, brimming to reproach her for her insult, almost to order her to remove that shadow that covered her reflection at once, but those deep, blue eyes submerged him into their own darkness. Those eyes seemed to know more than he did, maybe even a lot more, but all the same inquired, urged him to respond, for him to get to a specific truth. Nearly begging him to discover that to where she was going. He felt paralyzed.

- Now, tell me the truth.

Battler tried to snap out of it, but it was as if an invisible force held him in that very position. He couldn't even tremble. Yet his body had started sweating coldly.

- What bond did you have to her?
- She was my family.
- What is "family" to you?
- My… -Battler hesitated- my father and my mother?
- Hoo, was that a question?

Just then, he was able to take his look away from her impressive eyes, but only enough for a little detour.

- Eeh…
- Then, what is your mother?
- Th-the person who gave me life…
- If so, what was the name of that person?

… Battler remained silent.

His mouth opened up a few instants later, yet nothing but air left from it.

The woman removed the umbrella away and did no longer cover the reflection above the water. She raised her chin and told him, without speaking, that now was the time to see himself.

Battler felt that invisible force letting him go, overtaken by the same relief a choked man experiences when being deprived of oppressing hands. As soon as that first moment of liberation faded, his common sense urged him to escape as fast as his legs could… but, at the same time, warned him that, if he did run, he would be taking the dangerous chance of having that mysterious woman bring him back and never letting him go again. This was a moment of grace, overconfident even, in a superiority bet against him, and not just because of him being a little boy and her being, in the strict sense of the word, nearly a grown-up, but for something beyond that puny limitation that also did not allow him to comprehend.

So he decided to do whatever she said.

Trying to get a hold on his shuddering, already juggling with his limbs, yet not daring to wipe off the cold moist of his forehead, he sat down on his knees, firmly leaned his hands on the coast, burying his fingers in the weed-filled soil, and peeked.

His reflection.

The woman stood by and observed him, keeping her distance. She saw how the boy started to shake so hard that his elbows gave into his own torso's weight, how the humidity that he had thought to dry was now falling freely from his forehead and bounced once in the water's surface before merging with it, and how his eyes went from astonishment to confusion, then to denial, and finally to horror. Panic. The boy was horrified of his own image.

She knew what he was going through: his reflection was not exactly from the present… but from an exact moment of his conscience.

One exact moment he did not want to accept. And that she…

The woman knew that he would understand once he got out of the impression, so there was no need to explain the phenomena. In fact, he must have understood it. So she left no time to waste and restarted her questionnaire.

- When was the last time you saw your reflection in the water?
- Aah…

Battler felt the image absorbed his voice. The woman looked at him, seriously.

- When? –She repeated with a firm tone.
- Wh-… When I went to the sea…
- You went to the beach?
- N… -The sounds started to exit through his nose, through scared panting.
- Did you take a boat ride?
- Uhh…
- Did you go some place new?
- I… I, already…
- But you know it well, don't you? You had been there before. In fact, that place is, partly, yours.

Battler emitted a sound that could be interpreted as a groan. The woman half-closed her eyes.

- It's an island, right? You would only take the risk of going up a boat for something like that: a pointed, fairly-common destination, because you're afraid of the ocean. Besides, you wouldn't just go for the cracks; you always have a purpose, a goal. And if it is an island, and it is partly yours, then it means someone of your family might have been there.

Battler's head shook from side to side, intermittently, trembling. The woman would not take her sight off of the back of his neck.

- Confirm it: did you go visiting someone on that island?

Of his mouth only left a breath.

- When was it?

He gave not a single sign of response; Battler was left completely static. The fog became even thicker.

- What happened?

The woman swelled her chest, raised her chin even further, and sentenced:

- What did you do?
- ENOUGH!

The boy let go of the soil and hit the water's surface with such fury that the woman could not help to be surprised and startled. He stood up and walked eagerly in the opposite direction, clenched fists, tense back, straight arms, heavy steps. The woman recovered from the shock and reacted back, frowning and calling him with a "hey!", leaving no room to question that they were not over yet. She was very close to hit the bull's-eye, so close that she could taste it.

The boy heard her, abruptly stopped his walk, and, without pause, turned around violently to her.

Those very deep, blue eyes opened wide all of a sudden for the vision they projected and really backed away.

His tie did not even finished falling after the turn and it had already happened. Standing in front of her was Ushiromiya Battler. But despite wearing the said black funeral suit, and running within him the equal blood from earlier, he was no longer the same who stood that very spot an instant before. Firmly pointing at her with the index finder of his right hand, the boy was now a fully-grown man of her same age, with fervent eyes, polished size 10½ shoes, unbuttoned jacket, and loosened throat. The woman took another step back, but recovered her composure immediately. She steadied her ground and clenched her teeth.

In a blink, he had detected and acknowledged her as a harmful, toxic, dangerous and hostile being.

- U-Ushiromiya Battler… -She growled beneath her tone.

A defying look of that man stated that definitely there would be no retreats on his behalf, and a duel in which he could also attack would start. The woman was no fool and caught with it right away, commanding herself to stay calmed, to breathe deeply, to stand up straight, to raise one eyebrow and to smile with all the scorn that bubbled inside her, roaring to explode for restraining it so long.

- Heh, so this is your "defense mode"? Pretty darn lame.

She knew his turn was next, so she went back to her initial position, restricting her smile, gripping her umbrella tight, and yet again becoming more neutral before placing the end of her move.

- Go right ahead, then. As you can see –She pointed at said umbrella with her gaze in a brief movement–, I'm ready for anything.

Battler took a deep breath and, as he talked, his voice resounded as if bouncing off the walls of a closed, and much echoed, room. He started with a grayish, cold, ambiguous question, but so accurate that, if figurative, it could have become a very powerful lancet.

- What do you want?

The woman sighed as if she had just heard a joke, but before even being able to gasp to counter, Battler shot again, securing himself through all sides before fully discharging his ammo, leaving nothing to luck.

- Why are you asking such questions to a boy who has just lost his mother? What are you doing in my grandparents' garden? How did you get in here? How do you know my family? What do you want from me?

The blond-haired woman visibly started losing her smile as he pulled the trigger again and again. However, her eyes never showed any signs of being afraid of losing, or even that those attacks were being one hundred percent effective.

She inhaled profoundly, letting both their hearts shiver. After a short suspense pause, she spoke:

- … If not searched for, it will not be found.

The man slowly lowered his arm, keeping his posture straight and firm.

- … And what's that supposed to mean?

The person in question remained silent, without moving a muscle, keeping her steady gaze on him.

- That was a very serious look. You're really going along with the nonsense you just said?
- What did you expect? You asked a lot, and I've only got one turn.
- I don't know what that means, but you didn't answer a thing, and you won't be able to confuse me.
- Hoo –She smiled a little bit-, did I happen to touch a nerve there?

Battler frowned strongly as she swirled her umbrella around with her fingers. The fog allowed them to see each other perfectly, but the rest of the world was lost in eternities of paused dew. He limited himself to look at her through the mist, and then pronounced.  

- Why are you asking things you already know? Where are you going with these questions?

The woman blinked slow and heavy with a smile, but just mocking his innocent ignorance.

- If you know that I know, can't you just arrive, with the same mental process, to "how" I know?

He closed his eyes and turned his head away to concentrate easier. The woman allowed him to do so, standing still in her spot, watching his effort. In the midst of his meditation, he maneuvered his left hand to adjust to the fitting black trousers pocket.

- Why don't you answer? Why do you keep asking?

Those were not exactly questions to be responded by her. He had formulated them aloud, but, in reality, rather to himself. She knew and shushed.

Battler held his forehead for a moment, then followed his chin, and finally let his hand down, not yet pulling the left one from his pocket. His focus was crystal clear visible, yet he was not searching for the riddle, nor the meaning of the riddle… but for the intention of its speaker.

When returning his eyes to hers, he stared for a moment. That silence turned tense. Then, he deflected his look while blinking and noticed something… rather out of the ordinary. Checking it he managed to pull it off for a second time, he did the same; spin his head to the other side, blinking. And, yes, he definitely saw something. So he straightened his head, nailed his eyes on the woman, and immediately half-closed them, being able to see, to his surprise, not one but two faces of that woman: the one that was grieving, and the one that was smiling more and more, twisting her face until it was just frightening.

And he loosened his tongue:

- What are you trying to do?

The woman did not say a word, but, this time, Battler could tell it was for omission. Why did she not want to reveal it? What objective did she have and what did she accomplish by having it all shrouded with mystery?

That silence got stuck. Maybe, it did for too long. Battler swore that, for a second, the lack of sound made it to the point where he could only hear a heartbeat – yet, not his own.

After losing the track, the woman lowered her head. Would it have been for submission? Was she giving up? Was she now willing to cooperate? Will she state her purpose? Battler prepared himself for any of those options, and more.

But… when she raised it, even a tiny bit, just enough to let him see her face… their eyes met, and Battler felt once again that shiver, the cold sweat, the tremor, and the depths. Anguish. Sapience. Constriction. Melancholy. And, above all, pain.

- What you saw.

The man brought himself to blink.

- … That was a hoax.
- I didn't put it there –She replied almost immediately-. You did.

She dedicated him a look that showed off, above all, her unfathomable quality. On the other hand, Battler could not hide the shock that phrase caused him.

- That part of you that cannot accept it –She continued-, much less forget it, but neither can just leave it be.

He frowned in a little upward curve at the same pace that woman went on speaking. And as he did back then, she was returning the favor by throwing powerfully loaded sentences, with no reaction time or validating counterstrike. The game was reaching its end.

- What are you ta—
- What you saw –She interrupted him again-… That which happened… You brought it upon yourself.

Those last words took his breath away completely. They even made him fall back, like a push. He gave three clumsy steps back; one due to the impact, another due to the impulse charge, and the last one to hit a break. A single drop of cold sweat slipped from his forehead to his chin and landed on one of his polished size 10½ shoes. His jaw was not closing. Neither could it be exactly told if his eyes were processing what they were seeing, because, in spite of being fixed on her, they were shaking hard.

Another pause took place, but this one was not intentional. She needed more time than expected to be able to continue, he also needed more time to try to digest, moreover to conclude with something that hopefully would not be constructed only by loose syllables.

Her blue eyes were definitely expressive and easy to read. To the point that, even in his shocked state, Battler could tell how bitter they became.

- What was she for you?

He went totally blank. Not for being imprisoned by a certain force, not for having his lungs stuck on his throat either, but… for having his chest tightened.

He tried to read her once more. The woman covered by the umbrella, beneath the shadow of the tree that was next to the pond. The woman behind the mask, under the cloak. Nonetheless, he got nothing. So, he finally asked:

- Who are you?

She tried to hide her grief by closing her eyes, and, for his astonishment, she honestly answered, yet nearly in a whisper:

- … I'm… the witch of the forest of Rokkenjima, the alchemist of the Ushiromiya family… The golden witch.

Battler's eyes opened wide.

As hers were closed, she got startled when something unexpectedly pulled of her skirt's dress, almost making her lose her balance due to the same absent-mindedness. They were two smaller, less refined hands.

- A witch?? You really are a witch?? Does that mean that you have magic?? Can you do magic??

The despairing illusion, the urging hope in the tone of that twelve year-old boy of big and wet eyes almost broke that woman's heart. And at the same time, it gave her indescribable rejoice.

He continued to shake her up until she touched his shoulder, denoting that it was no longer necessary to keep doing it because he had already caught her attention. She looked directly into his eyes so he could see the anguish in hers, but this time he did not notice; his head was clouded by this new revelation and by the thought of what she was capable of doing.

- Th… then… -He stuttered, overly excited- Can… can you…?

The woman figured out what he was going to say. And, saddened, her head slightly fell.

Battler could only think about what to say, and how to ask for it. He eventually managed to land on a better approach, and rectified his last statement.

- Please, Golden Witch… I ask of you to bring my mother back with your magic.

Still, that was no request. He was begging her to do it.

The woman had to take a step back. Those eyes… those eyes with which he looked at her were too much.

They were too much especially when she was obliged to say no.

She strived to stare back at him, with more and more anguish displayed in her face.

- … I'm sorry –Battler expression immediately changed. That was not the answer he was waiting to hear-. But I can't do it.
- Why?? –He bursted out instantly. The woman was surprised yet again.

She had no idea how to even begin to explain herself. Still, he tried to line up the words…

She began with a sigh.

- … The Resurrection magic is considered to be one of the highest, hardest magical levels, and it requires of much power. How it is technically going against time, and against the world's will, its difficulty is directly applied on the restrictions of the very spell.

She gave herself a pause to check if the boy was paying attention to her. Indeed, he did not take his eyes out of her, looking really focused and amazed. She proceeded:

- One of these restrictions is that something cannot be revived if it has lost its corporality; the one given by its creator. Whether you believe in God or you attribute it to the parents, it's the body that is given in the very beginning of life.

The witch remembered having explained this once already, yet she could not quite pin down whether it had been in the past or it would be in a next nor far away future.

- … And I'm sorry to say, that body that lays in the coffin no longer belongs to your mother… It belongs to the earth. It's rubble, bone and carrion, decomposing with every passing second. Therefore, it isn't useable.

She held back from falling under the influence of the child's face, which was turning pale. She had to go on, she had to explain it.

- Another condition is to keep a vivid memory, a passionate remembrance, a fervent desire. Not just the recollection of what was lost, but also the strong will to do whatever it takes to bring it back.

She raised the level of her nose, and stared at him out of the corner of her eye.

- … What you're lacking of.
- B-but, what's the prob…?
- What you did.

When the impression began to fade, Battler slowly started to let go of the blonde's dress. She felt his warmth abandon her.

- It's not the guilt per se, but the contrary: you haven't assumed. That transformed into a barrier, which makes it impossible for me to access your memories, them being ones of yourself, of your family, much less of your mother. And as she doesn't have any will of her own right now, you're the one who wants to bring her back, and you should play that part. However, because it's a barrier that you yourself made, I cannot work with it in between the two, and only you can undo it.

The boy dropped his head definitely, and let his hands fall to his sides due their own weight. The woman worried.

- Understand –She said, bowing towards slightly, for him to hear her clearly-. I cannot do this spell. I can recite it…

As she continued declaiming, she went on doing the corresponding poses.

- "Come, try to remember. What form did you have? It was surely a very, very beautiful form. So, show me that form one more time. Now, come, Ushiromiya Asumu. Come back. Come for your son".

Nevertheless, it did not happen. Not even a flick, a spec of bright dust, a change in the wind, not even a print in the mist.

- … But it doesn't do anything –She sighed- because of the existence of that barrier. And it's made of fear—

The woman got cut. As he had not stepped away from her, the rivers of his tears were now soaking her skirt. The pain was drawn in her own face as well, clenching her teeth and raising her eyebrows in arches. She seemed to feel for him, but for real. So, in the last comfort she could offer him, she caressed his shoulder once again and grieved with him.

- … It's useless.

The blonde thought she heard him speak, but it was a too dark of a tone for…

- It's all useless.

Out of nowhere, Battler slapped her arm off of him and pushed her away with all his strength. She tripped backwards and hit the tree behind her badly. If it had not been for it, she would have fallen into the pond. She raised her gaze immediately, looking for an explanation, but all she could see was his lowered head, his agitated breathing, and his fists clenched so tight that it seemed like at any moment he was going to dig in his nails until he made himself bleed.

- If you call yourself the alchemist of the Ushiromiya –Battler mumbled, in the smallest thread of a voice. Still, it was enough to clarify that, without a doubt, that darkened tone had been of him-… and you can't even carry out that simple order…

The woman knew a threat was to be coming along, and a certain part of her feared.

Battler lifted his head in one go, with a serious, fully-confident, and even cold, glance, and announced:

- Then I don't want to be Ushiromiya.

They heard a thunder slicing a tree and demolish a mountain. The fog seemed to darken for an instant, and the gray brightness of the day intensified.

- Just look at the low quality furniture they have…! If not even to fulfill this one wish being an Ushiromiya helps me, then it's no use being one at all.

He did not even bother to restrain how derisive his own voice turned out. The woman had to grasp her own hands to help them from shaking out of control. She looked at him once more, wearing a baffled expression yet with her mouth shut.

- If you can't bring her back… you don't have magic.

An impulse appeared out of nowhere and went through her. It was invisible to Battler, but without even being wounded, the woman fell on one of her knees, barely maintaining her balance, and grabbed her chest frantically.

- You're not a witch! Your magic is a lie! All magic is a lie!! –With each sentence, another impulse violented her to the ground.

The woman dared to stand up and get close, reaching his hand to him. There could have been blood pouring out of her mouth, as if her interiors had burst.

- W-wait a second, Battler…! –Still, her words could not reach him.
- You can't resurrect my mother! –He screamed directly at her face- That means magic doesn't exist!!

There was a terrible sound that exceeded the thunder that they had both heard the last time. It echoed in their heads. Even if it was not visible, the smell of burned meat was definitely there, caught in within the mist. There was no need for an amazing imagination to be able to see the crimson rain staining the well-cared garden grass. This time, the impact did not leave her crushed into the soil; instead, it raised her above the ground, and if it had not been for her dress, Batter could have believed her feet were floating in mid-air.

But not anymore.

When that ended… When Battler decided that it was the end… The once elegant silhouette of the woman was exposed, pierced by fog-covered words, invisible wounds, with her neck dropped upwards, her jaw opened… and, maybe… with something other than sweat running down her face.

The woman that introduced herself as "the golden witch", still elevated in the air, could nearly touch how the anti-magic toxin increased at impressive speed, and also could feel how her attachment to this reality was proportionally fading away because of it.

The step from childhood to adulthood. When you stop believing in fairy-tales. When you stop believing in magic. And reject it completely. When that rejection spreads inside your heart, covers your whole body, and creates a bubble that, over time, becomes more and more impenetrable, all the way to infinity.

With the noise's peal still in the depths of his eardrums, Battler allowed his head to fall, victim of its own heaviness.

- If you can't do something like that, magic doesn't exist. Magic doesn't exist. Magic doesn't exist!

He repeated until his throat dried out, squeezing his temple through his jaw and clenching his eyes. With a last echo, he gathered all that was left of his breath and screamed as hard as he possibly could:

- Magic doesn't exist!!!

…

The witch had disappeared.

Her umbrella was the only thing left. And with a wind gust of no origin, it also undid its existence.

Battler was left alone in that gray garden.

It took him quite a while to calm down. Then, he wiped his eyes.

Because he knew. He knew that no magic in the world could bring his beloved mother back. Because magic did not exist. The dead stay dead, they come undone on the ground and disappear. And that was happening to his mother. And he had to accept it.

The day was definitely gray, and he had abandoned hopes of finding the pond. Surely, even the fishes would be hiding in such weather…

… On the other hand, he did not want to go back to that massive reunion. Sadness apart, he knew they wanted something else, and that his father was currently not capable of defending himself, much less defending him.

… So he would wait outside.

Maybe his grandparents could help him overcome all this. After all, they were Asumu's parents.

He would wait until everything was over. He would wait for that atmosphere to die out.

… Because there was no magic that could make that atmosphere disappear. There only existed what he could do: To wait. To make use of his time, to sit, and to wait.

Because magic did not exist. Because illusions were not useful. Because life was finite, because everything gets crumbled to the ground, because it was not worth dreaming if every bit eventually gets knocked down, collapsed, shattered, and leaves nothing back.

Because it did not matter how many illusions he imagined, how many witches he manifested, nor how much magic he wished for, none of it would bring his mom back to him. So, enough with children games.

Asumu was dead, that was reality, and he had to accept it.

Losing his eyes into the disgustingly bright-gray sky, waiting, Battler sat in the outer lobby… embraced his legs… and, slowly… started to cry.

THE END.