The Illusion of Apologies

Saranya’s eyes immediately welled with tears upon seeing the person who should have been dead.

She gripped the iron bars of the cage, making them creak and groan under her desperate hold, and forcefully pulled her upper body upright.

This way, she could examine Talia, who stood beyond the bars, with greater scrutiny.

Talia possessed a physique of sensuous, well-defined muscles, her long hair clinging to her in wet strands.

Large expanses of sun-kissed, wheat-colored skin were exposed, yet the portions concealed beneath her attire were even fairer and more delicate than those of pampered noblewomen who spent their days avoiding the sun.

It was unmistakably Talia, the sailor.

Sensing Saranya’s gaze, the girl—who should have been gravely wounded and sunk to the ocean floor with the ghost ship—blinked her golden eyes and slowly drew nearer.

“I know… I know you’re… fake…”

This had to be a hallucination; one undeniable reason was that Talia would never address her as “Legion Commander.”

Saranya had never once revealed her former identity to Talia.

This Talia was an illusion, a figment of her own mind.

Hallucinations… there had been several precedents for this. Saranya was acutely aware of her deteriorating mental state.

She knew that in her moments of delirium, her senses were utterly unreliable, and she ought to rely on reason to analyze the situation.

Yet she found herself incapable, convinced that no one truly could.

The Talia before her felt so real, overwhelmingly real… she couldn’t tell the difference.

“Why are you crying, Saranya?”

Talia tilted her head slightly, her thick brown hair falling to one side, and regarded Saranya with a puzzled expression.

Saranya’s cheeks and the tip of her nose were flushed crimson, but she remained unresponsive to Talia’s question.

She refused to engage in any exchange with this apparition.

There was no necessity, no meaning to it, and it would only intensify her suffering.

However, the other did not share her sentiment. The sailor tugged at her linen shirt, then raised an arm and gently pressed her palm against Saranya’s hand, which was still gripping the bars.

There was no soft sensation of skin meeting skin; Talia’s hand was like an insubstantial phantom, passing directly through Saranya’s palm.

Indeed, the girl before her was merely a hallucination, a cruel trick of her own deranged mind.

“Wuu… wuuu…”

Despite having anticipated such an outcome, Saranya was seized by a wave of soul-wrenching agony that stole her breath.

She groaned, clutching her chest, her shoulders trembling violently as tears instantly burst forth, cascading down her cheeks like a broken string of pearls.

“Xiao Ya, you’re quite pathetic like this…”

“You’re… fake…”

“Fake?”

Talia’s gaze flickered, and she leaned sideways against the iron cage, her coiling hair falling to obscure her face.

The sailor shed her previously lighthearted tone, her voice growing desolate and low.

“Then, why me?”

“Eh…?”

Talia spoke like a ghost, her words echoing faintly.

“Why would you want me to appear here, instead of anyone else?”

“Why…”

Saranya mumbled the question, but Talia swiftly cut her off.

“You had quite a few comrades die in the legion, didn’t you? Instructor Hugo, Vice Commander Hold, and Aileen—”

“Stop talking…”

“The first two brave men, they died by Kaelan’s hand. As for Aileen, she perished even earlier, slain by rebels.

That foolish girl took an arrow for you, didn’t she?”

Talia seemed to chew on something unseen, her head bowed in contemplation, before she slowly met Saranya’s gaze, her expression unnervingly calm.

“Poor young Miss Aileen, her throat severed by an arrowhead. I know, she bled so much, so very much. Aileen, dear Aileen…

Lying in her own Legion Commander’s arms, still foolishly smiling even at the precipice of death…”

“Don’t…”

“She had something she wanted to tell you in the end, didn’t she? You saw her lips moving, right? What did Aileen say to you?”

“I… I don’t know… I don’t want to hear any of this… these old stories…”

“It’s all because you failed to save her. After that, you never had anyone by your side who understood you, who could care for you with such devotion again—”

“Shut up! What exactly do you want to say?! You… you persistent, haunting spirit…”

Saranya’s voice suddenly softened, a thin trail of blood tracing its way down from her bitten lip.

Her words were laced with a desperate, heartbroken sob.

“I wanted to save you, I tried to save you… I truly tried my hardest… Talia… I’m sorry… I was too weak… I couldn’t do it…”

“So, you called me here just to apologize to me?”

Talia grinned, her words laced with a teasing, almost petulant tone.

“How cunning, Xiao Ya. You know you’re quite popular, don’t you? You must realize that none of us could ever refuse your apology…”

‘Talia’ was not wrong. Saranya longed to apologize; she felt she owed an apology to everyone who had died because of her.

It was the only, and most fervent, desire in her heart at that moment.

Yet, all of this was merely a form of self-consolation.

From beginning to end, there was only a madwoman here, struggling in a whirlpool of self-reproach and despair.

“So, will you also offer an apology to Paresha? She’s the next one, isn’t she?”

“Paresha…”

Saranya repeated the name, her gaze growing dim and troubled.

“Yes, Paresha. Another person who died because of you. Do you wish to see her?”

The sailor’s words dripped with a seductive allure.

As she spoke, her form subtly began to shift: her hair slowly shortened, transitioning from deep brown to pale gold, and her wild, untamed demeanor softened into something delicate and refined.

Then came the transformation of her features; the imagined Talia was gradually, step by step, becoming Paresha.

“Apologize, Sister Saranya… Xiao Sha doesn’t want you to torment yourself with guilt. Just apologize to Xiao Sha, and you’ll be free, won’t you?”

‘Paresha’s’ voice was incredibly soft, carrying with it a profound, almost heartbreaking, expectation.

Yet, the more ‘Paresha’ spoke this way, the more Saranya found herself unable to utter the apology.

For that apology, she knew, would be utterly meaningless.

“Freedom…?”

Saranya’s voice was hoarse as she gripped the cold bars, slowly propping herself up, inch by painstaking inch.

“I don’t want it… I don’t need that kind of escape…”

‘Paresha’ lifted her head, watching her silently, awaiting her next words.

“Hold and Hugo died, Aileen died, and Talia too… I’ve cried, I’ve blamed myself, I’ve said ‘I’m sorry’ countless times because I failed to save them!”

A searing pain, a torment that threatened to tear her body apart, coursed through Saranya.

She endured this agony, slowly pulling the corners of her lips into a grim smile.

“But it doesn’t matter… I will… I will try again…”

Try again, just as she had strived before.

She would go out now and save the *real* Paresha.

Try again…

Yes, she would give it her absolute all, she would trust everything around her, and then she would try again.

The outcome was not important. What mattered was that she would try again.

Saranya arduously bent down and retrieved the longsword from the ground.

Its blade reflected a cold, metallic gleam, a sight that, surprisingly, brought her a strange sense of peace.

!

Simultaneously, strange, swirling masses of gray magical light suddenly erupted from within her.

They began to dissipate, spreading outwards in all directions.

Saranya gasped in alarm, her eyes swiftly shifting to a dark golden hue.

A tingling sensation erupted at her tailbone, and a slender black tail, forked at its tip, pierced through her skin, thrashing excitedly from side to side.

Concurrently, two small horns punctured her forehead, scarlet threads of blood trickling down from her sweat-slicked temples.

“Ha… haha…”

“Those… apologies, it won’t be too late to utter them in hell.”

She turned, leaving a final statement for the iron cage.

Then, she sprinted towards the wooden door of the cabin.

Behind her, the iron cage stood empty, save for a putrid mass of flesh crawling with maggots.