13. Wishing My Breath Would Stop Like This
2023.11.13
Before her, waves surged in layers, boiling like froth before crashing apart.
She had chosen the shores of Putua, unable to leave her body behind in Preterita. The land was harsh enough, and she didn’t want to burden the hardworking people there with any misfortune.
Besides, the vast sea surely had space enough to cradle her. The rolling waters could carry her anywhere without asking for anything in return.
But even if not for that reason alone, she felt as if she had to come here at least once.
Deep within, her instincts screamed: go to the sea.
“That’s enough.”
Helena shook the sand from her clothes and stood up.
Almost at the same moment, a child running from the opposite direction began heading toward her.
The child reached her, catching their breath and smiling brightly.
“Really… you’re… you’re Nuna!”
“……?”
“You’re Helen Nuna, right? When I was seven or eight, you moved away. Back when we lived in Preterita.”
The child seemed genuinely happy to see her. There was nothing deceptive in the innocence of their face.
Helena quickly tried to recall the past. The face was familiar, though no clear scene came to mind.
“……How old are you now?”
“Twelve. Don’t you recognize me?”
Even within the same years, there was a massive gap between them. Repeated cycles of regression had blurred the time before her marriage.
Moreover, Eric had told her that she had once banged her head on a table while arguing with Matilda.
Helena rubbed her forehead, hidden beneath her hair. She felt a small scar, no longer than a pinky finger.
Even into adulthood, the scar slowly retrieved memories, most of them from childhood—thankfully, it didn’t make her foolish.
“……Nuna?”
…Except for times like this.
Looking up, the child’s eyes were so clear that Helena felt a pang of guilt each time they blinked.
Helena reluctantly tried to act familiar.
“Oh… was it the house next door?”
“No.”
“…The house in front?”
“The one behind.”
“So… Theo? No, Peter…? Peter?”
“Theo is my brother’s name, and I’m Paul.”
“……I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Nothing she said was correct. With nothing meaningful to say, she spat out a random question.
“Did you move here?”
“No. A handsome man in Preterita gave me gold coins to hold a proper funeral for Theo. I’m on my way back after setting the date with the funeral director.”
“…I see. He’d be happy.”
Someone generous had left a charitable gift. Had she come a bit sooner, maybe she could have received it herself.
The conversation stalled again, and Paul turned his gaze toward the harbor.
In the distance, an old man was shouting something.
“Ah, Grandpa is calling! I’m still at the old house, so come visit anytime, Nuna!”
Paul waved frantically as he ran off.
Helena waved until he became a tiny dot, then turned away.
‘Well, I probably won’t see him again.’
Sunlight shattered brilliantly over the crashing waves.
‘I had nothing, no family, no place to go… I was ready to die.’
It was as if the sea itself were calling her.
Helena quietly inhaled in the calm before the storm. The ocean felt closer than ever.
If the scent of death were like the sea, she found it fitting. Even on the brink of the end, she felt calm.
She simply wished that this death would be her last. She did not want to open her eyes again on Eugene’s bed.
If she returned once more, she thought, it wouldn’t matter if it were in front of him—she would point the gun at her own head. She would pull the trigger over and over, leaving no trace.
When her soul finally wore away, she would never see him again.
“……Eugene.”
Helena whispered his name one last time. No matter how hard she tried to stop it, memories of him surged like a broken dam. His image pressed in with the sound of the waves.
⌜Helena. I’ll always be by your side.⌟
A world she had long stood alone in.
Even the man who had loved and embraced her, she had failed to protect—was this the end?
‘If I had given up on you, maybe this would have been a better ending.’
But unchanging repetition drives one mad. Waiting without promise exhausts the heart.
Hope that is never returned forces one to give up on oneself rather than Eugene.
It had always been this way. Liberation was fleeting, longing eternal. Even her own emotions mocked her. Death seemed far better than solitude.
‘Loving you was the reason I lived, so now…’
Helena slowly stepped into the incoming tide, as if the water itself pulled her.
‘Eugene. Will you read me? Will you know that all the time in Evergale was my will?’
Sea water, mixed with sand, filled her shoes, seaweed brushed her calves, and cold seeped to her bones. The high tide was merciless. Only one more step remained before being fully submerged.
No hesitation, no lingering attachment. This was not being pushed to the gallows—it was a death she chose herself. That alone might make it a peaceful passing. It was foolish, though, that it had taken her this long to summon the courage.
Helena took her final step.
“Helena!”
Then, from behind, she heard splashing and a small shout. Someone’s urgent cry sounded strangely like her name.
Yet nothing had changed. It was probably just a hallucination.
Maybe it was her own farewell, shouted aloud because she had dared to love too much.
‘Will anyone miss me?’
Before she could dwell on that, a new surge of water struck her, pinning her down and pulling her further into the deep.
The light piercing her vision blurred, and her ears rang.
The end was near. Even the suffocating pain felt comforting. All sensations disappeared.
Just as she was about to drift into unconsciousness:
Splash!
“What do you think you’re doing?!”
A fierce shout exploded beside her ears. At the same moment, not only her head but her upper body was dragged back above the surface.
Cold air penetrated her lungs, jolting her senses back to life. She gasped and struggled reflexively, but she would not sink again.
Helena fumbled at her waist, feeling a firm grip. Someone was desperately pulling her and swimming with her.
“Let go… let go!”
She tried to push, but the force around her waist only tightened.
Finally, the water reached her chest. A large palm supported her back while an arm slipped under her knees, lifting her.
Exhausted from the struggle, she gave up and went limp.
Resting her head against the stranger’s chest, she barely breathed. Her body, waterlogged, felt like a stone.
When she lifted her hazy gaze, droplets fell continuously over his face.
Due to the backlight, she couldn’t tell if they were tears or sea spray wetting his hair.
Before she could cough out the water, he reached the shore, fighting through the waves.
Once safely out of reach of the surf, he knelt on the sand.
“You mustn’t lose consciousness, Helen. You cannot—Helena!”
Helena trembled like a trapped mouse.
Her soaked body shivered from the cold, yet a scorching breath kept enveloping her.
He pressed his lips to her forehead, brushing and kissing her repeatedly, whispering her name desperately with every breath.
A voice she had never heard before, yet somehow familiar. He kept calling her.
Following his fervent voice, her last thoughts drifted through Helena’s mind:
Why are you crying for me?
Why do you call my name so desperately?
Why won’t you let me die as I choose?
Who are you, really?
‘Am I clinging to you as if I were your everything?’
At that moment, sunlight pierced through clouds like a spotlight, revealing his face slowly.
Helena gazed at him as if caressing his features with her eyes.
Silver hair, as pure as molten moonlight, and soft lilac eyes.
Everything about him seemed clean and warm, yet the defined bridge of his nose and jawline gave him a rugged aura.
A man more suited to a battlefield drenched in blood than a spring meadow.
And now he was crying, holding her tightly.
“Don’t leave me alone. Stay by my side. Please, please….”
Helena wanted to answer, but her efforts were futile.
The wet voice that never seemed to dry faded slowly. Eyes grew heavy against her will. Exhaustion overtook her.
“Helena, please…!”
Listening to his final plea, she silently prayed:
May my breath stop here, forever.
The farewell she had dropped that night, long ago.
⌜You must find me.⌟
Thirteen years passed since then.
A fleeting whisper, a momentary promise. Words long faded.
Yet no matter how much time, drenched in blood and carnage, covered him, Helena’s presence grew sharper and clearer. She was not forgotten; she became more vivid.
He might not feel the same, but he had to find her again, somehow.
Until then, an unquenchable thirst would remain. So Ian came to the shores of Putua, clinging to that single promise.
He never imagined he would witness a scene he never wished to see.
“Helena! Helen!”
Red hair spread across the blue water, chilling him. The sea seemed dyed with blood. She was slipping into a place he could not reach.
Ian gritted his teeth, overwhelmed by unbearable guilt.
Had he come too late? Was that why she chose this?
He had made his way here with nothing but resolve to protect her.
‘I cannot lose you like this.’
Without hesitation, Ian dove into the sea. Cutting through the rough waters, he finally reached her.
He held her, corrected her sagging posture, called her name, and helped her spit out the water. Yet Helena did not move.
It was as if she refused to wake. Ian’s heart burned black with fear. No thoughts came to him.
He hugged her with all his strength, whispering frantically, pressing repeated kisses to her wet forehead.
Yet, as if betraying all that waiting, Helena closed her eyes.
