What if the deepest wounds were the ones no one could see?
That same morning, the alarm vibrated once, then a second time. Numa instinctively reached out to turn it off, but a searing pain shot through his shoulder. He stifled a groan and lay still, his eyes closed.
His head felt like it weighed a ton. Every breath brought a dull ache to his ribs.
When he finally opened his eyes, he didn't immediately recognize the white ceiling above him.
Then the memories came flooding back.
Soren.
The tunnel.
She had asked him to draw the Watchers' attention so she could escape. He had agreed, never imagining what awaited him.
He saw himself running through the tunnel again, short of breath, footsteps echoing behind him. He had thought he could lose them by taking a side passage.
But the Watchers had caught up with him.
The first blow had landed before he could even speak. His back had slammed against the damp ground. One hand had pinned him to the concrete while another searched his pockets.
Then Blade had crouched in front of him.
"Where is she?"
Numa remembered the metallic taste of blood on his split lip. He had tried to buy time, pretending not to understand.
The second blow had been harder.
His head had struck the ground. For a few seconds, the outlines of the tunnel had blurred. He had struggled to catch his breath, to keep his thoughts clear.
Blade had waited.
"Soren."
Numa had realized there was no escaping him. Around him, the other Watchers stood motionless, waiting for orders.
Then Blade had straightened up.
"He doesn't know anything."
At first, Numa hadn't understood. How could Blade be so sure?
One of the Watchers had asked whether they should take him with them.
"No."
A final blow to the ribs had torn a loud groan from him.
"He'd only slow us down."
Then Blade had walked away.
What Numa remembered most was the sudden silence, the footsteps fading into the distance, the cold concrete beneath his back. The pain that shot through his side every time he tried to breathe.
He had waited before moving, convinced they might still come back.
But no one had returned.
Why?
Blade could have taken him away. Continued questioning him. Made him disappear. Instead, he had simply abandoned him.
Why had he left him alive?
It was only after a long while that Numa had regained enough of his senses to think about his phone. How long had he been lying there, dazed, on the concrete? A few minutes? An hour? He had no idea.
He had finally pulled it from his pocket with trembling fingers, then scrolled through his contacts until he found a familiar name.
Can you come pick me up? I'm in really bad shape…
She had replied almost immediately.
Where are you?
He had sent her his location. Then he had waited, leaning against the wall, unable to get to his feet without groaning in pain.
When she arrived, she rushed toward him.
"Numa! What happened to you?"
"You should see the other guy…"
He had tried to smile, but the pain in his jaw stopped him.
"Cut the crap. Can you stand?"
With her help, he had finally managed to get up. She had wrapped his arm around her shoulders and supported him all the way to her vehicle, stopping several times whenever he needed to catch his breath.
She hadn't pressed him for an explanation. Not right away.
At her place, she had seated him on a chair in the bathroom. She had taken out a first-aid kit and begun cleaning the wounds on his face.
Numa had clenched his teeth when the disinfectant touched his split lip.
"Sorry," she had murmured.
"You know you're usually much gentler than this?"
She had rolled her eyes, unable to suppress a smile.
"Even in this condition, you still find a way to flirt."
"It's a talent."
She had shaken her head before continuing to tend to his wounds.
They had known each other for several months. A few exchanged messages, spontaneous dates, pleasant nights, and no promises. It was exactly the kind of relationship that suited Numa. She didn't ask him to tell her his life story, and he didn't try to become part of hers.
Yet that evening, she had come without hesitation.
Once she had cleaned his wounds and applied the bandages, she had stayed close to him, one hand resting on his arm.
"Do you want me to let you sleep?"
Numa had turned his head toward her.
"Not yet."
She had understood the look in his eyes. Despite his injuries, he still longed for that familiar closeness, her tender gestures, and the pleasure that usually allowed him to stop thinking about anything at all.
She had kissed him gently, avoiding his injured lip, then carefully begun to undress him. When she tried to sit on his thighs, Numa winced and placed a hand on her hip to stop her.
"Sorry… I'm really in too much pain."
She gave him a knowing smile.
"Don't move. Let me take care of it."
She then placed a few kisses on his chest before kneeling in front of him. She enjoyed these moments as much as he did and knew his reactions well enough to know how to bring him pleasure.
Numa had closed his eyes, surrendering to her caresses. For a few moments, he had thought of nothing but the pleasure she was giving him.
When she stood up again, Numa gave her a tired smile. She helped him out of the chair and into the bedroom, taking care not to make him move too abruptly.
Once he was lying down, he gently drew her close. She curled up beside him, and, exhausted, he hoped sleep would come as easily as it usually did.
But every time he closed his eyes, images of the tunnel came back to haunt him: the blows, the cold concrete beneath his cheek, the fear that he might never get up again…
And above all, the question that kept circling through his mind: why had the Watchers left him alive?
He had eventually fallen asleep without finding a clear answer.
The alarm had stopped vibrating some time ago. Numa was still lying there, his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. The memories of the previous day had left him with an unpleasant feeling, mingled with the pain running through his body.
He cautiously turned his head toward the young woman sleeping beside him. Her brown hair covered part of her face, and her breathing was peaceful.
She had taken care of him without asking too many questions, and he was grateful for that.
He remained motionless for a few more moments, then tried to sit up. A sharp pain in his ribs forced him to slow down. He waited for it to ease before carefully getting to his feet, pulling on his T-shirt, and picking up his phone.
In the kitchen, an old coffee maker sat on the counter. Two cups were lying near the sink, which was full of dishes, while a neglected plant drooped sadly on the windowsill.
He started the coffee and leaned against the counter for a moment, still troubled by the events of the previous day.
Behind him, a sleepy voice spoke.
"Leaving already?"
He turned around. The young woman had sat up in bed. She gave him a genuine smile. One he returned almost automatically.
"I have class."
She laughed softly.
"You always give me the same excuse. In your condition!"
Numa shrugged slightly.
"Maybe that's because it's true."
She watched him for a few seconds, as though trying to figure out which of his smiles was real.
"You never stay."
He looked away toward the coffee maker.
"I'm not very good at that."
"You could at least try."
Silence.
She finally got up and approached him without a word. Her fingers gently brushed the bruises on his face.
"Was it some kind of gang fight?"
"It was nothing."
"You're a terrible liar."
Numa gave a small laugh. The same one as always. The one that made people believe everything was fine.
She placed a hand on his arm.
"You know… you don't always have to pretend with me."
For a fraction of a second… his smile faltered. Then it returned, almost perfect.
"I'm perfectly fine."
She looked at him without answering. They both knew it wasn't true. She placed a light kiss on his cheek.
"Do you want me to change your bandages?"
"No… I'll be fine."
"You should still see a doctor, Numa. After the beating you took, you never know…"
"Don't worry. I'll recover."
"You can't be sure of that."
He gave her a reassuring smile, but she didn't seem convinced.
"At least promise me you'll think about it."
"Okay, I promise."
"Take care of yourself."
"I promise."
He already knew he probably wouldn't keep that promise. A few minutes later, the door closed behind him, and his smile collapsed. His shoulders slumped. He slowly made his way down the stairs.
Once outside, he stopped in front of the window of a café that hadn't opened yet. His reflection showed him a man hunched over in pain, his face heavily bruised.
For a few seconds, he held the gaze of that stranger. Then he lowered his eyes.
Around him, Groundward was slowly waking up. Shops were opening. Trams were beginning their rounds again. Passersby walked along as though nothing had happened.
He continued toward the university, moving more slowly than usual. Every step sent pain through his ribs, but it wasn't only his body that troubled him.
For years, Numa had made a habit of seeking comfort in women's arms. He enjoyed seducing them, feeling desired, sharing a night without having to promise anything. It was a way of enjoying the moment, of distracting himself enough to leave little room for his thoughts.
Yet he had changed many things in his life. Some habits had disappeared overnight, and he had sworn never to return to them. But this one had stayed with him. Perhaps because it still gave him the illusion that he could be happy, even if only for a few hours, without having to face his past.
He didn't want to hurt the women he spent time with. He appreciated their company, their tenderness, the moments they shared. It was simply that whenever a relationship threatened to become more serious, he pulled away.
He knew all too well what a life could become when you allowed your desires and carelessness to make decisions for you.
Since arriving in Groundward, he had tried to become someone else. His involvement with Soren was part of that change. For once, he felt he was acting for a cause greater than his own interests. But he also knew that a few good deeds would never be enough to erase certain mistakes.
The pain in his ribs brought him back to the present. Despite the young woman's tenderness, the night hadn't managed to soothe his memories of the tunnel. And that fear, so close to the one he'd thought he'd left behind, continued to haunt him.
Then Sophie came to mind.
He remembered her gaze, the way she looked at him without trying to please him or let herself be impressed by his smiles. With her, he felt an unusual curiosity, a desire to get to know her that went beyond the pleasure of seduction.
It irritated him as much as it attracted him.
He thought back to the moment when he had helped Sophie and Aria cross the Wall. He knew they were now on the other side, far from Groundward, and had no idea when he might see them again. Yet it was Sophie who occupied his thoughts most of all. He wished he could talk to her again, get to know her better, rediscover that growing connection he hadn't expected. Such a simple desire, yet one that unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.
A faint smile appeared on his face, then his expression darkened.
He knew the consequences of his own weaknesses all too well. And if there was one thing he had promised himself when he left Skyward, it was never to drag someone else down with him again.
So why was Sophie taking up more and more space in his thoughts?
Numa resumed walking, unable to answer that question.
For the first time in a long while, he was no longer quite sure what he was trying to run from: his past… or the possibility of becoming attached to someone again.
The Guardian Angel: A man who, through his upbringing and the world he lives in, allows himself to be ruled by the pursuit of his own well-being eventually forgets the consequences of his actions, both for himself and for others.
Cut off from universal harmony, he cultivates a lack of awareness that leads him to destroy what he should protect, until the Earth and its creatures become sick.