Sora found himself in a dimly lit room, where the faint sound of brush on paper filled the silence. As he looked closer, he saw someone hunched over, carefully sketching a portrait—his portrait.
The artist paused, glanced up at him, and he realized he was looking into his own face. The version of himself across from him continued to draw, capturing every detail with a astonishing accuracy.
Once finished, the other Sora stood up, placing the portrait on a nearby support. Sora stepped closer to examine it, feeling an odd sense of distance from the face staring back at him. This version of himself looked hopeful and innocent, with a faint smile that hinted at youth and naivety.
This was his appearance before the world changed...
Suddenly, the scene shifted, and Sora found himself standing in a valley, his heart pounding as he watched Enzo and Lara fall in slow motion. They reached out to him, eyes wide with terror, as life drained from their bodies.
He wanted to scream, to run to them, but he was rooted to the spot, powerless to change their fate. Then he felt a sharp pain in his back and turned, only to see Rachel, betrayal etched across her face as she withdrew the blade.
Blood splattered onto the portrait, marking it with crimson streaks before being absorbed by the paper, and the once-clear smile faded, replaced by a grim determination.
The innocence was gone, and Sora in the portrait seemed to have aged ten years in an instant. His once-youthful expression now had grief and revenge written all over it. The face looking back at him was slightly colder, as if the kindness that once inhabited it had been scorched away.
Yet, in this darkness, new figures entered his life. Hiyoko, the little Piou, was sleeping in his arms one night in the cold forest he was training in. He helped his parents find their smile again. And Kara appeared, and with her came a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time. Her gentle smile radiated a healing light, and he felt his own heart soften, the bitterness easing as he remembered her kindness. The man in the portrait reflected this change; his cold expression softened, and the faintest hint of a smile began to return, bringing back a semblance of the youth he’d lost.
But then the ground beneath him shifted, and enemies surrounded him. He stood alone, his staff at the ready, and with a deadly precision, he watched himself cutting them all down.
Blood sprayed around him, coating the valley in crimson. Sarsha appeared next, her tear-streaked face meeting his gaze as he delivered the final blow. Her blood, like that of the others, splattered across the portrait.
Control over his body slowly returned ...
As he turned back to the image, he saw the lasting marks of his actions.
Most of the blood faded, absorbed into the paper, but a few drops remained, staining the portrait. The smile in his reflection dimmed once more, the weight of his sins etched into his face.
Blood covered his hands, and a thin stream trickled from his nose. His stance was more powerful, exuding strength, but also a chilling detachment that hadn’t been there before. This was a man who’d been forged in battle, no longer just a warrior but a haunted figure, carrying the marks of every life he’d taken, every friend he’d lost.
Sora did not like the portrait he was seeing. This was not him. He remembered and regretted every life he took, and it was always by necessity. This was unfair, he was portrayed as someone cold, but he was not that guy... Was he?
The artist turned to him, as if waiting for him to do more things to know how to portray him in the future...
Scanning the surroundings with [Mana Eyes], Sora noticed four people in the house, and soon he heard approaching footsteps. Kara appeared, dressed in an unexpected shade of yellow.
"You’re awake... How are you?" she asked.
"I’m fine. What about you? How long was I out?" he replied, lying about feeling better than he did.
"Half a day," she replied. "We’re in Kiruna. It’s not close to Treriksröset, but it’s the safest place we could find. General Asami gave us all three days to rest before we return to Stockholm."
"Kiruna..." Sora recalled the maps he had memorized while searching for good hunting grounds, realizing how far they were from the battlefield. She must have carried me all the way here, he thought, glancing at her.
Staring at her for a few seconds "Thank you, Kara. For everything."
Before she could respond, a couple in their early thirties entered the kitchen. The woman, with light hair, carried a baby in her arms, while the man, nearly two meters tall and bald, looked at Sora with a warm smile.
"I’m Sven," he introduced himself. "I work in a small inn in the core area. We’ve heard so much about the war these past few weeks, and you can’t imagine how grateful we are to you soldiers... Some people call you players, but to us, you are Soldiers, you are even Heroes. Knowing that one of the heroes behind our safety is here, in this house my father and I built, it gives us hope. Thank you for fighting for us and giving us the chance to stay in our territory."
Sora felt a mix of emotions. After that dream, he felt dirty, and weak, but this family’s happiness and their looks told him a different story. Maybe it was worth having dirty hands if he could protect people from harm.
"Thank you for your kind words, and thank you for having us in your home".
The woman quickly added, "No need to thank us! This is the least we can do for our country’s heroes. Please, join us—we were just having breakfast."
Sora followed them, and the morning passed peacefully. He watched as Kara played with the baby, who looked no older than one or two years. Genuine happiness shone in Kara’s eyes, a rare softness that made her seem almost carefree.
At one point, Kara tried to hand the baby to Sora. He flinched, and she immediately noticed the fear and hesitation in his eyes. Without missing a beat, she brushed it off, tactfully moving to stand near the window with the child instead.
Sora glanced down at his hands, a hint of sadness in his gaze. He didn’t want to touch the baby, afraid that his newfound strength might harm the fragile little life. In his mind, his hands still felt stained—marked by the battles and lives he’d taken. Holding a child seemed too pure of an act for someone who’d known so much violence.
During their three days in Kiruna, Kara often took Sora on walks to explore the city and its surroundings. They visited the Institute of Space Physics and Luleå University of Technology, both of which were now integrating mana and game mechanics into their studies of Space Technology and Space Physics—fields that had shifted dramatically over the past decade.
One day, they made their way to Luossavaara Mountain, spending the hours watching the sun rise and gradually move across the sky until it dipped below the horizon. The landscape was breathtaking, and Sora felt a quiet peace settling over him.
With the beauty of the scenery, Kara’s steady presence, and Hiyoko fluttering nearby, Sora’s heart—so often weighed down by grief—felt like it was slowly beginning to heal, each moment spent here gently easing the pain he carried.