In the hospital ward, Andreas woke up alone. The soldiers who slept a few beds away and the nurses were gone.
He got out of the bed and went straight to a stone statue of a woman holding a mirror, sitting in what seemed to be a large root made of the same material.
Looking at himself in the mirror, he saw his small smile, as if he were satisfied.
"Well, it seems that the Andreas of this world loves his family a lot... It's a new feeling. I don't think I've ever had those kinds of feelings for my family, but I like it. Have no fear, Andreas—as the man bearing the same name, I will acknowledge and accept your feelings."
After he had finished his speech, the reflection began to blur.
Andreas was overwhelmed by a nauseating feeling in his head and a cool, watery sensation in his body.
He placed a hand over his mouth, retching. A thin, sour liquid pooled in his palm, but only a few drops splattered onto the floor—there was little left to expel after two days without food.
...What happened?
He heard the hinges groan a split second before one of the double doors swung open, revealing a nurse with curly, sandy-brown hair and Andreas's mother, Margaret, with Clara close behind her.
Margaret looked tired. Her dark traveling coat was streaked with dust, and a few strands of her pale brown hair had come loose from the neat braid pinned at the back of her head. Even so, she held herself straight, her chin lifted in that quiet, composed way he remembered.
Clara stood almost a head shorter, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Her long brown hair was plaited over one shoulder, and her eyes were red from crying. She kept close to their mother's side, glancing at Andreas as if she wasn't sure whether to run to him or stay where she was.
Behind them, Andreas's brother lingered in the doorway, nearly as tall as Margaret but with a thinner build. His coat looked too big on him, the sleeves brushing his knuckles. He didn't say anything, only watched Andreas with a stiff, worried expression.
The nurse hurried to grab a towel from the lower shelf of a long wooden counter to her right.
In a beautiful, worried voice, Andreas's mother said, "Andreas…"
Her voice cracked faintly at the end, and for a moment, the whole room seemed to still around that single word. She stepped forward carefully, as if afraid he might vanish if she moved too fast.
Andreas stared at her—at all of them. Their faces were worn and weary, but unmistakably full of love. That quiet ache, still lingering in his ribs and gut, was nothing compared to the strange, bright pressure building behind his eyes.
Without thinking, he took one shaky step forward. Then another. And then he was wrapping his arms around Margaret with surprising strength.
"Mother," he said, the word raw but certain in his throat. "I'm so glad to see you."
These emotions are a wonderful gift, and I'll treasure them for as long as I can. Thank you, Andreas of this world.
Margaret stiffened in surprise—then let out a breath, long and shuddering, and embraced him back tightly. Her gloved fingers curled into the back of his tunic like she didn't trust him to stay standing.
"I was so afraid," she whispered into his shoulder. "You wouldn't wake, and the healers… they didn't know if you ever would."
"I'm here now," Andreas murmured, closing his eyes and grinning from ear to ear. "I won't go anywhere."
He pulled back gently and turned toward Clara, who stood frozen, her hands clutched tight against her chest.
"Clara," he said softly.
She blinked, confused, and glanced between him and Margaret.
"You… you sound different," she mumbled. "Are you… Okay?"
Instead of answering, Andreas wrapped his arms around her too.
She let out a tiny gasp and stiffened, as if unsure what to do with this unfamiliar tenderness from a brother who had always been so quiet, as far back as she could remember.
But slowly, her arms circled his waist. She pressed her face into his chest and let out a soft, shuddery breath.
"I'm glad you're okay," she whispered.
Andreas rested his chin on her head, his voice quiet but warm. "I'm glad you're okay, Clara. More than you know."
At that, she flinched slightly in his arms.
She stepped back, her face flushed with sudden shame. "I… I'm sorry," she mumbled. "You were the one hurt. I shouldn't have run."
"No," Andreas said, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "You made the right choice."
Clara looked down, her eyes glossy again.
Julian cleared his throat from the doorway. "You scared the hell out of all of us," he said, arms crossed, his voice low but strained.
Andreas smiled and walked toward him too. Julian didn't move, but his stiff posture betrayed the weight behind his silence.
"I know," Andreas said. "And I'm sorry."
He pulled Julian into a quick, tight hug before his brother could protest.
Julian let out a stunned grunt, then awkwardly patted his back. "Okay—okay, what's gotten into you?" he muttered, trying not to sound too relieved. "You wake up from a coma and now you're hugging everyone?"
Andreas pulled away and grinned. "Is it so strange to love your family?"
Julian scowled, but his ears had gone red. "It's… unusual of you, that's all."
Margaret's hand returned to Andreas's arm as she eyed him more closely. "You're still pale," she said. "And you were out cold minutes ago—why are you even on your feet?"
Andreas opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off with a sharp look.
"You should be resting, not wandering barefoot across the ward like a fever-struck fool."
"I'm fine," Andreas said, trying to wave them off with a sheepish chuckle. "I just need to eat, that's all."
As he smells the familiar scent of perfume and feels the cool air in the ward, Andreas thinks to himself.
These feelings weren't mine to begin with, but I'll care for them all the same.