SWNOVELXO Chapter 6
**Episode 6.**
Can Ashes Truly Love?
This is an age-old question that has persisted since ancient times and remains unresolved.
Throughout history, those born under the curse of Ashes have often been the subjects of affection, yet these relationships have mostly ended poorly.
The emotions of Ashes are akin to the sea; they may appear calm and peaceful at first, but can suddenly transform into tremendous waves that crash down upon you.
Such emotions cannot be controlled or contained, and ordinary people can easily be swept away by these tides.
To love fiercely only to be unable to cope with a moment’s argument that ignites the wrath of Ashes is simply impossible for any human.
After killing a lover, the madness of Ashes can engulf an entire village, spilling over to become a disaster.
In ancient times, when the fear of Ashes was less prominent, records only tell of many who had returned to the soil because of this.
So let me return to the question.
Can Ashes truly love?
As people, as someone’s lover.
Can they live intertwined with emotions alongside others?
…
In this age, is there truly anyone left who can love them?
If that is possible, then perhaps the massacre known as witch hunts that has continued for centuries could finally come to an end.
At least, that’s what I think as someone who has studied Ashes my whole life.
– Excerpt from the Researcher’s Diary, Episode □□ –
********
I can say for certain.
My actions yesterday stepped away from the role of guardian… no, at least took a couple of steps away.
I was too emotional.
The world within the novel, the settings of the story.
The unfolding narrative and the impending catastrophe.
As someone with even a sliver of knowledge about these matters, and having already lived a life as an adult, my judgment was anything but rational.
As a result, the emotions of the witch that were still faintly flickering began to find their place.
The measuring stick she raised wobbled weakly and pointed directly at me.
Thus.
To avoid being dragged into the eye of the storm, I need to gently restore the balance of the scales tilted slightly askew with appropriate indifference and distance.
Some might question whether it’s possible to build a dislike stack to counter the like stack I’ve built, but we must not forget that the tale of Ashes has endured for hundreds of years for a reason.
The emotions of Ashes are like the sea; they may seem calm and peaceful, yet can unexpectedly turn into massive waves that swallow you whole.
What I mean is.
Maintaining calm through a like stack and then building a dislike stack incorrectly could lead to getting swept away by the waves.
The emotions of Ashes are fundamentally different from those of humans, and as an ordinary person, I cannot dictate them at will.
I haven’t gone back to ancient texts in this world, so I can’t speak in absolutes, but based on what I’ve read in the novel, there didn’t seem to be anything but such dire outcomes.
Whether it was pure goodwill or malicious cunning, that’s what Ashes mean in this world.
In that regard, the best method to align my balance again is to make a meaningless promise while the emotions are still faint and give the feeling of indifference and distance.
– …, I’ll come again next time.
That was a decent start, but.
“…”
As I ponder my next actions, I realize once again how it can be impossible to understand the hearts of others.
The girl of Ashes will not die now.
By some point in the future, she will certainly live on, blazing as a calamity before eventually dwindling.
So I could postpone the “next” determined without a time frame until I can, tell my parents to take refuge at an appropriate time, and set off on my journey.
I could just push the witch into the story’s developments and live my life as an extra.
Yet, I can’t help but recall her bleeding while embracing that worn-out clothing.
“…”
An injury on my head; I shouldn’t leave it unattended without cleaning.
A handful of candy I offered won’t stave off her hunger.
If she continues to live like that, she just might die.
Thoughts like these fill my mind, and even when I try to shake them off, they creep back in and cloud my judgment.
Pity, huh.
How absurd.
What kind of extra kid feels pity for the witch of Ashes destined for calamity?
And those thoughts are.
“Ain! Come help me with this!”
“…, Yes. I’m coming.”
Mother’s call momentarily cuts through my thoughts, gently dispersing them.
In this house where I live, there is one ironclad rule.
No one misses dinner; we all eat together without exception.
That was the effort of my parents for our family.
So it has continued unbroken since I was a mere infant, and even now at eight years old.
“Son! Dad should be home soon, so wash your hands and bring those to the table!”
“Yes, just a moment.”
I ran to the bathroom to wash my hands and then helped my mother.
The food we prepared was still steaming, fitting perfectly with Dad’s usual get-off-work time.
“Be careful; it’s hot!”
“Don’t worry about that.”
Though my body may be a child, my mind is that of an adult.
I won’t spill or fall because I’m clumsy like a little kid.
Ah.
Lost in thought, I accidentally grabbed the wrong dish.
No, crap.
It’s really hot, damn.
I stifled a scream ready to burst out and rushed the dish to the table.
“Ain! Didn’t Mom say it was hot? Let me see. Are you hurt?”
Thinking of how it was hot, and since I quickly moved it to the table, I didn’t burn myself.
Instead, I just felt a bit embarrassed.
Every time I think I’m an adult, I end up making mistakes like a child, which frustrates me.
Ugh.
Akka.
Murasaki.
With this, even the heat can feel light.
…
Kid.
Anyway.
As I moved the food to the table, the bell above the door rang cheerfully.
“Rain, Ain! I’m back~”
I think how that cheerful voice and big figure never seem to fit together.
“Zvezan, you’ve worked hard.”
“Yeah! I had a bit of a rough day.”
Dad, with a bear-like presence, approached us with a big grin, and Mom went to him for a light embrace.
“Welcome back.”
“Our son! Oh, you seem to have grown a bit since I last saw you!”
“…, Ah. Yes.”
It’s been only 24 hours; there’s no way I could have grown.
While I awkwardly nodded at such thoughts, Dad smiled and lifted me up.
Ah.
Here it comes.
“Haha, my son is too mature for his age!”
“…, Help me.”
The beard attack.
Although it’s Dad’s way of showing love, I can see now why kids scream at it.
Each time I go through this, I think that being poked by a beard really hurts.
Despite thinking that, I don’t push him away.
I endure being affectionately assaulted by the beard as we moved to the table together.
Dinner ends roughly like that.
Mom and Dad chat happily, while I listen and nod along.
When Dad grumbles about why the menu is the same every day, I see Mom’s expression turn chilly.
That scene felt oddly heartwarming, so much so that I let out a smile that felt childish, only to again harden with returning worries.
As I grow full and set my spoon down, I shake my head when my parents urge me to eat more, while another piece of meat gets transferred from their plates to mine as if it were only natural.
I glance at it with disdain, yet with a simple declaration of love and the smile directed at me, I find myself helplessly stuffing it into my mouth.
The series of these moments fills me with affection for my family.
And this slightly unsettles me.
It’s not so much that I feel uncomfortable with this relationship, but rather the existential questions I’ve held mix with the new torment of choosing, constantly poking at my insides.
“Goodnight.”
With this thought, I washed up early and changed into my pajamas, greeting the two as I headed to my room.
My head feels chaotic.
Perhaps I was arrogant to recall my role as the watcher of Ashes.
As an extra, I should have been satisfied with living my life in that capacity, rather than displaying this unnecessary stubbornness.
Yet, I’ve already cast the dice, and I continuously face choices.
“…”
So.
Squeak—
“Ain, are you sleeping?”
My pondering was disrupted by my father’s voice as he slightly opened the door and poked his head in.
“Ah…, I’m not asleep yet.”
“Is that so? Can I come into your room?”
A delicate man who checks his son’s feelings even when entering his child’s room.
“Of course. What’s the matter?”
“Well, since I noticed your expression was off during dinner, I thought perhaps it was because I played around with my beard, so I came to apologize.”
“…No, it’s not that.”
He was someone who even paid attention to such trivialities.
“Is there something bad happening?”
“…, Nothing bad is happening.”
A person who worries about me.
“Dad is a little worried since your expression didn’t seem right.”
“…”
“Is it hard to talk about?”
“…, I have concerns. But I don’t know what the right choice is.”
Being such a person, I end up speaking a little more honestly.
I want to ignore the witch of Ashes.
And I want to help the witch of Ashes.
Though I can’t express it like that, I toss the difficult branches of my dilemma at him.
“Eh, is it perhaps because my son is mature? I didn’t think you would already have such a difficult question to answer, haha….”
“It’s okay. I can think alone.”
Dad seems a little flustered, forcing an awkward smile.
It was indeed a strange comment for a child to make, and he appears to be pondering how to provide a good answer as a father.
After about 30 seconds passed, Dad finally seemed to find an appropriate answer, gently placing his hand on my head.
“Sure!”
“…?”
“I think you should do what you want, my son.”
It’s a simple answer.
For a long deliberation, such a simple and unfounded comment came from my father’s mouth.
So I tilt my head like a child, responding to him.
“…, But that could lead to something wrong, right?”
“It’s okay!”
“…”
What’s okay, exactly?
There’s nothing alright about our conversation; come on, you bear of a man.
Though I didn’t voice my doubts, Dad smiled once more and responded.
“Since you are still a child, it’s fine to make mistakes. If it goes wrong, Mom and Dad will help. I’m sure Mom feels the same way.”
“…”
“So don’t worry, just do what you want.”
They’re genuinely good people.
People who odd as it may seem, are on my side.
I suppress the fundamental questions bubbling up inside me and nod carefully.
Though there’s no plan and nothing okay about what he said, it oddly calms my heart.
“I understand.”
“Good, sleep well, my son. I love you.”
With that, Dad leaves the room, filling the dark space once again with a suitable silence.
“…”
What I want to do.
That’s more driven by emotions than rationality.
So.
Thud—
“But just know, son, that you shouldn’t make any huge mistakes…? I’m afraid of Mom getting angry…”
“…, Yes.”
“Alright! Goodnight, son!”
Squeak—thud—
So.
“…”
Hmm.
A choice that can find a suitable compromise between reason and emotion.
Let’s go with that.