"No. 6, wake up. No. 6?"
No. 7 held No. 6's body in his arms, his fingers digging desperately into the crevices of the rock. His fingernails had long since peeled off, and his bloody, raw fingertips ground deep red stains onto the rough stone wall.
His right arm was broken, hanging limply at his side. He supported both their weights solely with the strength of his left hand. His boot soles pressed against a protruding rock, and he straddled a cliff cypress, barely maintaining his balance.
Below them was a cliff several hundred meters deep. The rushing Er River flowed in the darkness. Beneath him, many more crookedly growing tree trunks jutted out. No. 7 calculated their positions, considering whether to jump down bit by bit, but reason told him that doing so was certain death.
Just moments ago, when the Bishop had thrown him off the cliff, his gaze had locked onto No. 6's falling position. She hadn't fallen directly into the river but had been caught by a hardy cliff cypress growing tenaciously from a rock crevice. Her body lay limply on the horizontal branches, the blue cloth strip fluttering in the wind.
As he fell, No. 7 had adjusted his posture, grabbing onto the rock wall with his remaining left hand. Sharp stone edges cut into his palm, but the pain was no longer important. He relied on his Tidal Force-enhanced muscles, inching his way downwards.
The injury from his fractured sternum wracked his entire body; every breath brought tearing pain. But he forcibly used Tidal Force to push the bones back into place. This crude method of repair made his internal organs convulse as well.
"I have to be quick, I have to be quicker."
Finally, he reached No. 6's side.
Her condition was worse than he had imagined. The moment he saw her, No. 7's heart seemed to shatter along with hers.
The Bishop's fist had almost crushed her chest cavity. Her broken ribs had pierced her lungs, and her internal organs were displaced by the impact. Blood continuously welled from the corners of her mouth, her breathing so faint it was almost imperceptible.
No. 7's hands trembled violently. He barely managed to lift her from the branches, carefully placing her in a small hollow at the base of the cliff cypress. It could accommodate two people, but the slightest misstep would send them both plunging into the abyss.
"Hang on... hang on..." No. 7's voice was incredibly hoarse. He pressed one hand against No. 6's chest, Tidal Force gathering in his palm, blue light seeping into her body like a thin stream.
This was not his area of expertise. This power could be used for combat, to strengthen the body, even to manipulate objects, but to repair internal organs with such precision was an almost impossible task. It required long hours of practice, but he had no choice. He could only forcibly push his power into No. 6's body, trying to nudge the displaced organs back into place.
"Ugh—!" No. 6's body suddenly tensed. The excruciating pain finally jolted her awake from her coma. Her bloodshot pupils contracted under the moonlight, and a broken whimper squeezed from her throat.
"Don't move... don't move..." No. 7's voice was taut, cold sweat drenching his forehead. His power roamed within her body like a clumsy hand, trying to piece together the shattered bones. Every touch made No. 6 tremble with pain, but she bit her lip hard, not screaming, only staring intently at No. 7's face.
Her lips moved, as if she wanted to speak, but only a mouthful of bloody foam came out.
"Don't talk." No. 7's throat was so hoarse he could barely speak. He seemed to have lost the ability to cry now; only the survival instinct struggled on. "I'm still healing you... just bear with it a little longer."
His vision was already blurring. Overuse of Tidal Force made his brain feel as if it were being pierced by countless needles; the scene before him sometimes clear, sometimes distorted. But he dared not stop. If he stopped, No. 6's internal bleeding would immediately claim her life.
No. 6's fingers twitched. She slowly raised her hand, tremblingly grasping No. 7's wrist. Her fingertips were colder than the rock wall, her grip so light it felt as if it would loosen at any moment. Her body was on the verge of collapse, yet her consciousness was clearer than ever.
She leaned against No. 7's arm, looking up at his profile. Moonlight outlined his tense jaw, sweat mixed with blood and grime sliding down. His eyes were fixed on the rock wall above, searching for a climbable path.
If he were alone, perhaps he could make it, No. 7 calculated. His remaining strength could barely support him climbing back to the cliff top, but No. 6 couldn't. If he let go, stopped maintaining her life, her internal organs would completely fail.
No. 6 lowered her head, her gaze falling on the river below. The rushing water glinted with fine silver light under the moon, stretching to a distance she couldn't see. She liked this feeling; not being able to see meant infinite possibilities. In an instant, her expression suddenly softened, a slight curve appearing on her lips.
"You go," she said softly, her voice weak yet firm. "I want to stay."
No. 7 abruptly looked down, staring at her in disbelief. His pupils contracted, his fingers unconsciously tightening, as if by doing so he could forever lock her securely by his side. "What nonsense are you talking? I've already found a way. If I just rest a bit, I can..."
"But I... I don't want to hold on anymore. Even if we get up there... what will we face? That ridiculous world? Become test subjects again? Be hung around the statue, becoming another white skeleton?"
No. 7 whimpered, wanting to refute her. He opened his mouth but couldn't make a sound.
"No. 7," No. 6 leaned against his chest, looking up at him, her blood-filled crimson pupils reflecting the moonlight. "The river below... looks a lot like the Itrull River. Maybe, by following it... I can go home."
"Shut up!" No. 7 suddenly roared, his voice echoing between the cliffs. "What stupid things are you saying! We worked so hard... we clearly already..." His voice choked, his eyes burning, hot liquid uncontrollably gushing out, landing on No. 6's face.
He was crying.
No. 6 was stunned for a moment. She wanted to raise her hand to wipe away his tears, but her arm could no longer lift. She could only blink gently, letting his tears slide across her cheek.
She looked up one last time, her gaze meeting No. 7's. There was no fear, no hesitation.
"Let me go."
No. 7 loosened his grip.
In the long years that followed, this moment would transform into the sharpest blade, torturing his soul over and over again. Whenever he woke from a nightmare in a cold sweat, No. 6's final gaze would appear before him—those blood-reddened eyes, astonishingly bright under the moonlight, like a candle burning down to its very last moment.
Her body was as light as a feather as it slipped from his embrace. Her body unfurled in the wind, like a butterfly finally attaining freedom. When No. 7 quickly came to his senses, he desperately reached out, but only managed to grab the weightless blue waistband.
"I should have held on..." In countless sleepless nights, this thought would slowly entangle his mind. "I clearly could have taken her up..."
But why did he let go then?
Was it because No. 6's gaze made him feel like a new cage? Or had the despicable survival instinct deep within his soul finally gained the upper hand? Or perhaps... he had actually known all along that even if they climbed up, what awaited them was still hell?
No. 6's body plummeted.
Wind howled in her ears, the cliff face rushing upwards in her vision. Those crookedly growing cliff cypresses swept past her, their branches and leaves brushing her arms, like countless gentle hands wanting to hold her back, yet ultimately failing to catch her falling figure.
At this moment, No. 6 suddenly had a strange illusion.
She felt as if she had become a small bird, a small bird with white feathers and a red beak, spreading its wings and flying through a dense forest. Moonlight gilded her feathers with silver, the wind supported her body, allowing her to weave lightly through the branches. This wasn't falling; this was flying. True flying.
The river surface below drew closer and closer, the water glinting with fine silver light under the moon. In a daze, it was no longer the cold Er River, but the Itrull River from her memory—wider, its current gentler, its banks lined with wildflowers whose names she didn't know.
The water surface reflected a blurry image: a middle-aged couple stood by the river, smiling and opening their arms towards her. The woman had the same amber-gold eyes as her; the man's broad palms were covered with old calluses. Their lips moved, as if saying:
"Welcome home."
A slight smile touched No. 6's lips.
"I'm finally home..." she said softly in her heart.
The small bird with white and red plumage sang out loud, its song piercing the clouds, echoing throughout the entire valley:
"I'm finally home—"