The battlefield disappeared.
The cathedral chamber with its impossible sky dissolved like smoke. The tree, the roots, the pulsing heart beneath my hands, all of it vanished in an instant.
I found myself standing in my childhood home. The cramped apartment in Graystone Park where Kimiko and I had lived before Luka entered our lives.
The peeling wallpaper. The water stain on the ceiling. The smell of cheap ramen and poverty.
And there, sitting at our kitchen table with her back to me, was my mother.
"Satori," she said, turning to face me with that tired smile she used to wear after double shifts at the factory. "Why are you fighting so hard? Come home. You're safe here. You can rest."
My chest tightened. The knife felt impossibly heavy in my burned hands.
This wasn't real. Couldn't be real. This was the Arborist, reading my memories and projecting them. Basic psychological warfare.
But knowing that didn't stop the ache spreading through my ribs when I saw her face.
