Trials Of Life

Chapter 21: Paths and The Divine

"Yumiko."

A voice echoed through the gray void, soft yet unmistakable. She stood on a reflective floor, her surroundings empty, save for the dull, shapeless fog that stretched endlessly around her. Yumiko turned, her heart quickening as she saw the figure of a man standing in the distance. Her missing brother stood before her off in the distance.

"Hiro!" she cried, her voice breaking with emotion. Without hesitation, she sprinted toward him, her feet pounding the smooth surface. But no matter how fast or how far she ran, Hiro remained just out of reach, always distant, always apart. “Kaa-san and Oto-san are so worried about you! Please... come home!” Her voice was frantic, the plea hanging in the air.

Hiro shook his head, a gentle sadness in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Yumiko," he said, his smile bittersweet. "This is all I can do."

Yumiko slowed, her legs weakening as she came to a stop, the distance between them feeling like an uncrossable chasm. "You’ve grown, my little sister," Hiro said softly, his voice filled with pride.

She looked away, her fists clenched by her sides. “I haven’t grown… Not at all,” she whispered, her gaze falling to the ground beneath her feet.

“But you have,” Hiro replied, tilting his head slightly, as though trying to meet her eyes. “Realizing and learning… that’s all part of growing. You have my acknowledgment,” he said gently, waiting for her to look up. “And my respect as your older brother.”

Tears welled in Yumiko’s eyes. She couldn’t hold them back any longer. “I’m weak,” she choked out. “If only I could have joined you… maybe I could have helped. Maybe I could’ve been there for you… and prevented your…” She paused, not able to finish her sentence.

Hiro’s expression softened, his voice lowering as he spoke. “Doubt and self-blame, they don’t make you strong, Yumiko. They make you weak. They stop you from growing, from learning.”

“You talk as if it’s easy not to have those feelings,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’ve doubted everything—every choice, every action—over these last few years. Even now… I feel lost. Like I’m seeing the world in a way I never have before. And I hate it. I’m scared of it.”

“Change,” Hiro said quietly, his calm voice grounding her, “is a part of life. Whether we like it or not doesn’t matter. The only thing we can choose is how we live through that change.”

A soft breeze stirred around her, ruffling Yumiko’s short hair. She blinked, and when her eyes opened again, the gray void was gone. Instead, she stood in a familiar, serene grassy field, bathed in gentle sunlight. A single plum tree sat on a distant hill, its branches heavy with red and purple fruit swaying in the wind.

Hiro now stood beneath the tree, his back to her as he reached for one of the plums. He plucked a reddish-orange plum from a low-hanging branch and examined it for a moment, "We pick our paths in this ever-changing world. But when we do, we never really know where they’ll lead. Is it the wrong one? Is it the only one? What if it isn’t the right one?"

He held the fruit in his fingers. “Now, you can of course never pick any path, but in doing so, you will never grow, never learn. No matter the path, it will always be filled with regret,” He twirled the fruit around before taking a small bite. His face twisted in reaction. “Sour,” he said, chuckling softly as he placed the fruit gently at the base of the tree.

Yumiko’s gaze followed his, watching the leaves sway gently in the breeze. Hiro continued, his tone thoughtful. “But that’s life, isn’t it? Even though we make choices, even though we pick our paths, there’s always uncertainty. The world around us may change, but there’s more to life than just the changes. There's something deeper, something more.”

"And that’s the change within," Hiro continued, his voice gentle but firm. "Learning from our mistakes—that’s how we grow, my dear sister." He reached up and plucked a purple plum from the tree, its smooth skin gleaming in the soft light. “And when we learn from those mistakes," he added, taking a bite of the fruit, "the rewards are well worth the wait.” He smiled, the taste of the plum bringing a look of satisfaction to his face. “Delicious.”

Yumiko stood still, watching him in disbelief. “But I... I wasted so much time,” she murmured, her voice thick with regret. “And when I am finally able to move on… The world I thought I knew... it turned out to be something completely different.”

“And yet it led you here,” Hiro replied, his gaze steady as he looked into her eyes. “To me.” He paused, letting the words settle between them. “Do you think this time is wasted?” he asked softly, his expression full of quiet understanding.

Yumiko wiped her tear-streaked face and shook her head slowly. Hiro’s smile widened, a warmth spreading across his face. “Good,” he said, reaching up to the tree again, fingers brushing against the fruit.

For a moment, Yumiko hesitated. "But this... this is only a dream," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Hiro’s hand paused mid-reach. He turned to face her, his expression thoughtful. “Why do dreams make the experiences any less real?” he asked, plucking two plums from the tree. “Just because you’re not physically here, does it mean this moment isn’t real?” His voice was calm, as though posing a riddle. “If that were true, would heaven not be real simply because we aren’t there?”

Yumiko’s eyes widened, a flicker of shock crossing her face. “N-no!” she stammered, her heart pounding at the idea of disbelief.

“Then why does it matter if this is a dream?” Hiro asked gently. “Why does it matter if the world around you is changing? Isn’t what truly matters your faith, your beliefs, and the experiences you’ve lived through?”

Yumiko nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. She wiped a tear from her cheek, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yes,” she whispered, acknowledging the truth in what he said.

“So,” Hiro continued, his gaze soft but firm, “if you stumble on your path, will you stay down forever?” His eyes met hers, full of quiet strength.

Yumiko shook her head. "No," she whispered.

“Good,” he said again, his smile returning as he looked back at the fruit in his hand. “No matter what you think of yourself, I see you as a strong and capable person. Not only do you deserve praise, Yumiko, but you also deserve my gratitude.”

Yumiko blinked, confusion flashing across her face. “Gratitude? For what?”

“For saving him,” Hiro replied softly, his eyes full of heartfelt sincerity. “Lukas... my friend.” He glanced down at the two plums in his hand, his expression clouding with sadness. “He’s been through so much. He doesn’t have many people left in his life... He needs someone. Help him, guide him,” Hiro pleaded, his voice heavy with emotion.

Yumiko’s breath caught in her throat. Her brother’s request echoed the ethereal voice that had guided her all along. As the weight of his words sank in, the ground beneath her feet began to tremble. Cracks spread through the hillside, and the earth on her side started to give way, sliding down as the world around them began to break apart.

“Niisan!” Yumiko cried, her voice breaking as she reached out desperately.

Hiro’s smile remained soft, his gaze full of warmth. “Be the best version of yourself,” he said gently. “Show others not only that you can change your life for the better, but help change theirs too. I know you can, Yumiko. We’ll talk again soon.”

“Niisan!” Yumiko called once more, her hand still outstretched toward him. But as she reached, everything faded away. With a sudden gasp, she bolted upright in bed, arm extended into the empty air, a tear slipping down her cheek.

A door swung open, and a figure rushed into the room. It was the doctor she’d seen before losing consciousness. “Are you alright?” he asked, adjusting his glasses as he approached her bedside.

Yumiko blinked, hastily wiping the tears from her face before the man could notice. “W-where am I?” she stammered, glancing around the unfamiliar room. It was modest, the walls painted a sterile white with wooden paneling halfway up. To her left, she noticed another bed—and there, resting quietly, was Lukas. Her gaze softened as she took in his peaceful, albeit battered, form. They were safe. Beside her, a nightstand held a pitcher of water, a glass, and several small vials of medicine.

“You’re in a care facility in Ferloch,” the doctor replied, his voice calm and reassuring. “You’ve been asleep for nearly two days.” He reached for the pitcher and poured her a glass of water, holding it out to her. “Here, drink. The medicine I administered likely left you a bit dehydrated.”

Yumiko accepted the glass gratefully, nodding her thanks before taking a cautious sip. The cool liquid soothed her dry throat, and before she realized it, she had drained the entire glass. The doctor smiled, taking the empty glass from her hands.

“We were planning to take you both to Madock,” he explained, setting the glass aside, “but they didn’t have the specific medicine we needed for him, so we traveled an extra day to get here.”

Yumiko’s gaze drifted back toward Lukas, her brow furrowing with concern. “Is he... is he alright?” she asked, though she felt a sharp pang of pain ripple through her own body.

The doctor nodded. “He’ll make a full recovery,” he reassured her. “At first, I was worried. His body was showing severe signs of mana rebound. The strain could have killed him if we hadn’t intervened in time. But he pulled through—just barely. You both are fortunate we found you when we did.”

Yumiko let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Yes,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to the bed sheet, a small smile touching her lips. “Truly blessed.”

There was a moment of silence before she looked back up at the doctor. “I... I didn’t catch your name,” she said, her voice tentative.

The doctor smiled warmly, extending his hand. “That’s because I hadn’t said it,” he replied, his grip firm but kind. “Helfgott.”

Yumiko returned the handshake, her own smile growing as she met his eyes. “Yumiko Hoshino,” she said, her tone full of gratitude. “Thank you for saving me, Doctor Helfgott.”

“Helfgott is fine. I’m merely a doctor in name,” he said, retracting his hand as Yumiko released her grip.

“One who saved my life, no less,” Yumiko replied, her voice warm with gratitude.

Helfgott gave a faint smile, though his eyes held a shadow of sadness. “Please, I don’t deserve pleasantries,” he muttered, slightly flattered but clearly uncomfortable with the praise.

Yumiko tilted her head, studying him. “Then, if you won’t accept my thanks, at least allow the goddess of wind to watch over you and carry you safely through your life.”

At her words, Helfgott paused, his expression shifting. “A follower of Sora, eh?” he asked, adjusting the golden-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

Yumiko blinked, surprised. It was rare for anyone outside her homeland to know of Sora, let alone speak of her with recognition. “You know of Sora the Swift?” she asked, curiosity sparking in her eyes.

Helfgott nodded thoughtfully. “A woman with hair as black as the night, and a face calm as a wakeless sea. She gives her followers strength in battle and helps them find peace afterward. Though powerful, she seeks harmony among those who worship her,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet reverence.

Yumiko’s face lit up, her smile bright and full of admiration. “How do you know so much about her?”

Helfgott scratched the back of his head awkwardly, his lips twitching into a self-conscious smile. “Before I became a doctor, I guess you could say that I had a bit of an obsession with the gods—call it a hobby.” He chuckled softly. Then, with a more serious air, he moved toward a small case at the foot of Yumiko’s bed, opening it to retrieve a syringe.

Yumiko watched as he approached Lukas’ bed, her curiosity mingling with concern. Helfgott carefully inserted the needle into Lukas’ arm, administering the contents with practiced ease. Yumiko winced slightly at the sight, unable to look directly at the needle. “What’s that for?” she asked, turning her gaze away.

“In essence, a hyperactive mana recovery potion,” Helfgott explained as he finished the injection and checked Lukas’ pulse, his hand resting on the sleeping man’s forehead. “It works faster than most potions, replenishing the mana he lost and stabilizing the imbalance in his body.”

Yumiko nodded slowly, processing his words, though a hint of unease flickered in her eyes. “Imbalance?”

Helfgott frowned slightly, his brow furrowing in thought. “He’s suffering from mana rebound—specifically from his use of fire affinity. Most fire users know not to use other types of magic. Did he by chance use another affinity or support magic? Even healing can hurt them.”

Yumiko shook her head, her confusion mirroring Helfgott’s. “No. I only ever saw him use fire magic… And when he was using it, it was behaving weirdly, almost as if it was fighting him whenever he called a strong attack out.”

The doctor’s expression darkened in contemplation. “That’s puzzling. Something triggered the rebound.” He sighed, his hand falling away from Lukas’ brow as he straightened up. “Regardless, the worst damage you both sustained are the burns on your shoulders. I did what I could, but there will be scarring.”

Yumiko glanced down at her shoulder, where the burn had been carefully wrapped in gauze. The dull ache throbbed under the bandages, a stark reminder of the battle. The room was hushed, the only sound the soft rustling of the doctor’s hands as he continued his examination of Lukas, who lay unconscious in the bed beside her.

The silence felt heavy, awkward. Yumiko cleared her throat softly, searching for a way to break the stillness. “Have you heard of Haru?” she asked, her voice tentative.

“Haru the Blazing?” Helfgott responded without looking up, his hands still checking Lukas’ pulse. “The god of Justice and burning flame. Revered heavily in the East, where he’s known as the god of fire. Here in the West, Rupurt, the god of Light, fills a similar role.”

Yumiko's eyes brightened with curiosity. “You really do know a lot about the gods! Are there any gods that aren't widely celebrated but still documented?”

Helfgott paused his work, glancing at her briefly before nodding. “There are many,” he said quietly, returning to his task. “In ancient times, humans, beast folk, and other races worshiped a multitude of lesser-known gods. But after the Melancholy War, that changed. Civilizations across the world stopped believing in so many.”

“The Melancholy War,” Yumiko echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Helfgott glanced at her, intrigued. “You know of it?”

Yumiko nodded slowly. “It was the war where all races fought against Volkur, the god of war, and the demon race. During the conflict, Sora tore the lands of Jinsoku away from the rest of the East, casting strong winds around the island and sending it into the sea to protect her children.”

Helfgott muttered under his breath, “Is that what they’re saying now?”

Yumiko’s brow furrowed. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Helfgott said quickly, turning back to his briefcase. He pulled out a syringe and prepared another dose of medicine for Lukas, his hands moving with practiced ease.

Yumiko raised an eyebrow but said nothing, assuming his sudden flustered behavior was to avoid offending her and her beliefs.

She watched him for a moment longer before speaking again, her voice cautious. “Say… have there been instances where gods or goddesses whisper to people? Or communicate through dreams?”

Helfgott froze, his hand hovering just above Lukas' arm. He turned slowly to face her, his eyes searching hers, as if weighing the seriousness of her question. After a moment, he nodded, his voice measured. “Yes. Such occurrences happen, though rarely. Mostly… through dreams.”

“Really?” Yumiko’s voice was full of curiosity, her dark eyes wide with interest.

Helfgott nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Yes. Gods and goddesses choose their children carefully,” he began, his tone taking on a more reverent quality. “A chosen warrior is selected either in their dreams or during specific religious ceremonies. When a god picks someone, they become a vassal, blessed with fortune, guidance, and sometimes power—whether it be strength, heightened abilities, rare items, or insight.”

Yumiko furrowed her brow, thinking back to her homeland. “I’ve never heard of such vassals. It sounds a bit like those who visit the temples back in Jinsoku. The people there are blessed by Sora, and they receive good fortune. But... powers? Blessings of strength or abilities? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that.”

Helfgott nodded again, this time more slowly as if he was explaining a long-held truth. “That’s because in Jinsoku, your people believe that great power brings great greed. The temples you speak of—the ones devoted to Sora, the goddess of wind, or Haru, the god of fire, or even the goddess of death—they’re all formidable, but their blessings aren’t given lightly. Power like that would draw many, some willing to kill for it. The religious ceremonies in place are designed to restrict how many can be chosen by a god. Even when someone is selected, it’s not guaranteed that the god will accept them. The gods are wary of greed and destructiveness. A god’s vassal is more than a mere warrior; they are someone the god sees a reflection of themselves in.”

As he spoke, Helfgott crossed the room and reached for the heavy curtains, pulling them aside slowly. The early morning light poured in, flooding the small space with a soft glow. He cracked the window, letting in a cool, refreshing breeze that swept through the room, offering some relief from the tense atmosphere.

“My people don’t speak of things like this,” Yumiko murmured, more to herself than anyone.

Helfgott turned from the window to face her, his eyes meeting hers with a quiet intensity. “That’s because the idea of wielding a goddess’s power is dangerous. It can be exploited by those who crave it for the wrong reasons. Wars have been fought over this very thing. That’s why religions exist, to guide and filter the followers. Only a select few are granted a blessing, and even then, it’s a careful, deliberate choice by the gods.”

He paused, as though choosing his next words carefully. “So… you said you saw a god or goddess in a dream?”

Yumiko tensed slightly, her gaze flickering. She shook her head, quickly masking her hesitation. “No, I was just curious... hypothetically, you know... What if someone hears a voice, though? Outside of a dream? Or when traveling… Is that normal?”

Helfgott’s brow furrowed, a look of confusion crossing his face. “That would be... highly unusual. Almost impossible, I’d say. No one can hear a god or goddess directly unless there’s a shrine nearby or some sort of sacrifice involved. It’s difficult for mortals to communicate with gods. That’s why prayers often go unanswered. A god hears, but rarely do they respond. Humans simply don’t have that ability.”

He moved closer to the window, inhaling the crisp air as if it cleared his thoughts. “In a sense, gods are always listening, always watching. That’s why people behave the way they do under their gods’ teachings—to avoid punishment in the afterlife, to avoid being cast into hell.”

Yumiko sat quietly, her mind turning over his words. She didn’t want to admit it, but there had been something—someone—whispering to her in her dreams. The voice was faint, indistinct, as though the figure was shrouded in mist. But it was there, and it had been growing more frequent, more persistent. She wasn’t ready to reveal that yet.

Yumiko sat in silence, her fingers nervously tracing the edge of the blanket that covered her legs as Helfgott returned to his briefcase. Her mind wrestled with an unsettling thought before she finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “Are there gods that are punished?”

Helfgott, who had been organizing his medical supplies, froze for a brief moment. His hand hovered over a set of bandages as he considered the question. “Yes,” he replied after a pause. “Volkur, the God of War. He’s the most well-known example. He was the one responsible for the Melancholy War a thousand years ago. After the devastation he caused, it is said that various gods descended from the heavens, seized him, and sealed him in the depths of hell. Locked away for eternity for the deaths of countless humans, beastmen, and others.”

Yumiko’s eyes remained fixed on the folds of the bedsheet, her voice small and distant as she asked, “Did he have red eyes?”

Helfgott turned toward her, his brow furrowed. “Red eyes?” He shook his head. “No, Volkur’s eyes were green. He was fierce in battle, yes, but he wasn’t always a villain. In fact, he was once known for his peaceful nature. After the bloodshed of the war, he lost the will to fight. It’s said that he gave himself up willingly to be punished.”

Yumiko nodded absently, her fingers curling tightly around the fabric. “Are there any gods that you know of... locked away in hell with red eyes? Like... a prisoner?”

Helfgott’s expression shifted, his face suddenly serious, as though her question had struck a nerve. He stared at her, eyes wide in surprise. “How do you know of such a god?”

Yumiko’s heart skipped a beat, her pulse quickening as she felt the weight of his gaze. She looked up quickly, caught off guard, but then forced a casual shrug. “I heard people talking about it before... I think,” she lied, hoping her tone sounded convincing.

Helfgott didn’t seem entirely convinced but nodded slowly. “There is one that fits the description you’re talking about. His name is Meino.”

“Meino?” Yumiko repeated, meeting the doctor’s eyes with a questioning look.

“Yes. Meino, the Terrorizer,” Helfgott said, his voice growing darker. “He’s the god of darkness and fear. He predates the Melancholy War and, according to legend, has been imprisoned in hell for eternity. Different cultures have various beliefs about him. In the countries of Hoffen and Norman, it’s said that Meino is the first wicked encounter people meet when they go to hell. His eyes are as red as blood, and his stare is so terrifying that even the bravest warriors are said to collapse in fear.”

Yumiko’s breath caught as she listened, her mind racing back to the dream she had. The images of her soul traveling through hell, the red-eyed figure she had seen—it all seemed to align with the doctor’s description. She tried to steady her breathing, her voice shaking slightly. “Why was Meino sent to hell?”

Helfgott returned his attention back to his medical supplies. His expression was distant and somewhat dark. “Because he committed the ultimate sin that a god can commit. He killed another god.”