After seeing Ide and Titee off, I used my still-clumsy Holy magic to heal Dia. While I managed to remove the Cognitive Impairment condition, the same one that had once afflicted me, the core issue remained—Dia’s Overprotective skill wouldn’t lift.
I’d thought it would be easy to remove once Sith was out of the picture, but it ran deeper than I’d anticipated. The trouble was that it wasn’t a condition but an acquired skill. A skill represented a person’s talent—it was their life, or even their very soul you might say. But I didn’t think that was too much of a problem. It wasn’t something that should be easily solved with magic, anyway.
Besides, I’d just seen a far better solution. Following the siblings’ example, we talked together, going over each mistake one by one.
“So the ‘you’ that comes out at different times, is that the real Dia?” I asked.
We were in the flower field that had bloomed on the former dueling grounds in the heart of the royal capital.
“That’s...me when I’m overwhelmed. When cornered, my true self comes out and I end up speaking differently. Ha ha, weird, right?”
“So that’s your true self... Does that mean your current self is an act? If it’s too painful to talk about, we can stop any time.”
“No, it’s not that. I’m not forcing myself to act here. It’s just that both the me aiming to be a swordsman and the real me are just Diablo Sith.”
Dia’s worries mirrored the conversation I’d just had with Ide. Ide, who’d kept running away from the self he’d wanted to erase. If Dia seemed destined to follow the same path, I absolutely had to stop that. But Dia herself dispelled that fear.
“Don’t worry, Kanami. I saw how Ide and the others ended. I don’t intend to erase my past self.”
Judging from her demeanor, it seemed she retained the memories of her time as Apostle Sith. But she also appeared to have learned from the Guardians who’d passed away just moments ago.
“But I won’t erase the me that I am now either. Even now, I still admire swordsmen and I truly want that to be me. I believe this dream is absolutely not a mistake. What was surely wrong was the duty of being Apostle Sith. That alone wasn’t something I should have had to deal with.”
Simply put, what being a gardener was to Titee was what being a swordsman was to Dia. In the same vein, what the Sovereign Queen was to Titee reflected Apostle Sith for Dia. Faced with that answer, I found nothing to correct.
“I see. Both are Dia, then. In that case, let’s just leave it as it is.”
No matter how she spoke, she was always Dia. Still, if she ever seemed about to take on the burden of responsibility as an Apostle that didn’t even exist anymore, then I would definitely speak up.
As I thought this, Dia timidly, anxiously added, “Thanks for understanding. But I have one small request. When I speak in a girlier way, I know it sounds weird, even to me. But it’s just because I’m a little weak. So, Kanami...whenever I speak like that...could you, if possible, be a little gentler with me?”
I was a bit surprised by that request. Come to think of it, this was the first time Dia had ever asked me something directly. Up until today, she’d desperately held herself back so as not to be a bother to me. Not only had she never asked for anything, she’d always just followed my and my companions’ instructions. Now, realizing that restraint had been lifted, I felt the distance between us closing.
“Is that not okay?” Perhaps because of her small stature, she naturally ended up looking up at me. Furthermore, she moved her single arm, opening and closing her hand. Even without using magic or skills, the magnitude of her anxiety was palpable.
I understood. Dia was summoning her courage, trying to grasp something important.
“Of course, Dia. We’re comrades, Dia. I’ll do anything I can for you.” I grasped her hand, which had continued searching for something to hold.
Dia frowned slightly before smiling. It seemed like she’d finally stumbled onto what she’d been searching for, yet felt a little pathetic for leaning on it. But without averting her eyes from that weakness, she began to tell me, bit by bit, about her inner turmoil from a year ago.
“Kanami...a year ago, I was actually anxious the whole time. I was terrified the Apostle’s memories would come back. It felt like another me was being born. Like everything I was until today would be negated. I was really scared.”
Mid-whisper, Dia pressed her forehead against my chest. She must have been too embarrassed to look me in the eyes, but she didn’t want to pull away, so this seemed to be her only option. I placed my hand on her head and listened to her story.
“But I couldn’t tell anyone. I had to keep worrying alone the whole time, and it was painful. It was really painful...”
“Yeah.” I understood that fear and pain just a little bit myself. I’d been in a similar situation before too because of Palinchron.
“I didn’t know which one was the real me... There were days I couldn’t sleep at all, thinking Sith might be the real me. Those sleepless nights went on and on—it was so painful.”
“I’m sorry. I was so wrapped up in myself that I didn’t notice.”
There had definitely been signs. She’d even shown signs of wanting my help. Ms. Wyss and Maria had probably noticed too. They’d known Dia less time than I had, yet they’d seen it while I hadn’t. That fact alone filled me with regret.
“When I learned it might have been me who destroyed Kanami’s sister a thousand years ago, I couldn’t stay by her side anymore. I couldn’t face her... But I kept wondering if there was some way to atone for my sins. So I ran away. Even knowing running wouldn’t change anything, I ran out of fear. I...”
It wasn’t just me; Dia clearly regretted it too. But unlike a year ago, we weren’t carrying that regret by ourselves. We were sharing it. Somehow that alone made the weight on my heart feel different.
“Naturally, after running away, I lost my place. By acknowledging Sith inside my head, I stopped being either one of my selves. I didn’t know who I was anymore. My mind was a mess of bitter chaos... I couldn’t tell anything apart. It felt like I was constantly dreaming of walking down a dark path.”
When you were alone, your heart would grow weak, and you rarely noticed it until you were truly alone. That’s where Apostle Sith had struck. As I felt anger welling up at Sith, Dia spoke again in a slightly brighter voice.
“But I made it back. Thanks to you, I finally made it back. Because you called my name. I’m really grateful...”
She lifted her face from where it had rested against my chest. Then she gave me a smile that felt incredibly familiar. It was the same smile she’d worn when we’d explored the Dungeon together, fought together, and rejoiced together. Remembering the name she’d called me back then, I smiled too.
“Dia, you can call me Sieg now instead of Kanami. In the Allied Nations, they call me Aikawa Kanami Siegfried Vizzita Vartwhoseyards von Walker. I don’t care what anyone calls me anymore,” I joked.
“Come to think of it, that name spread around too. Well then, I’ll stop holding back and call you whatever I like. Because names and positions don’t matter. What matters is that I am me.”
“And I am me. That’s the most important thing.”
And so, the two of us finished comparing our answers to our regrets. Names no longer mattered to us. Our words were a bit embarrassing, but together, we could just laugh and understand each other.
“Yeah, that’s all that matters. The two of us being here. That alone is enough...” Tears began welling up in Dia’s smiling eyes. What she’d been holding back all this time must have been overflowing now.
Dia must not have wanted me to see her tears, because she clung tightly to my waist. Then she pressed her forehead against my chest and hugged me tighter and tighter.