GAMEPLAY
Charon: Fabien?
The emaciated young man on the bed lifts his eyelids.
Fabien: ... Oh! Paul, it's you!
Charon: Yes, it's ... me. My apologies, it was not my intent to wake you.
Fabien: No, no! It's so good to see you, Paul. It's been lonely here, waiting for so long.
Charon: The doctors and nurses are busy. It took some time to find your new location.
Fabien: Them? Hah! They wouldn't do anything even if we howled the place down.
Fabien: Are we just chunks of meat, waiting to be graded? Old bandages to be tossed aside?
Fabien: The people we wait for, the people we love who are waiting for us—no one gives a damn about them.
Charon: The doctors can only do so much.
Fabien: I know. At least ... I've held on long enough to see you ... and Anna.
Charon: Anna ... she came?
Fabien: Yeah, she was here. The Ginster was withered, but she promised she'd come back with fresh flowers.
A troubled look suddenly shadows his face. After a pause, he speaks his doubts aloud.
Fabien: But the doctors say she never came ... I could've sworn I saw the Ginster.
Fabien: The little clusters of gold ... Anna placed them on my head and left. Why didn't she say goodbye?
Fabien: Was it because the doctors took my leg?
Charon: No, that is not the reason.
Fabien: But they keep saying I'm mad ... that no one's waiting, that no one misses me, no one's looking for me ...
Fabien: So ... maybe Anna didn't come. Maybe she isn't even real at all. I can't stop thinking about it ... It's like my head's splitting in two.
Fabien: But I can't stop. It's like I'm not in control of my thoughts anymore—like someone's trying to take over my body.
Fabien: It's horrible, Paul, pure horror! I've become one of those madmen we used to joke about! Even my own memories are playing tricks on me!
Charon: You're not mad. But you must let your body heal.
Fabien's lips tremble.
Fabien: This is worse than death, Paul!
Charon grips the hand Fabien has lifted toward him. Fabien strains to turn his neck to look at him.
His eyes flicker, turning cold and empty.
A chilling premonition creeps up the back of Charon's neck.
Fabien: ... Who are you?
Charon: I'm Paul, Fabien.
Fabien: No.
Slowly but firmly, Fabien pulls his hand away.
Fabien: You're not Paul. Paul doesn't talk like that.
For a moment, Charon feels as though he sees a crack at the edge of his vision, but when he blinks, it's gone.
Charon: Fabien?
Fabien: Paul would never say the things you do. He was just a schoolboy—a kid fresh on the battlefield, thrust into this hell.
Fabien: No, you're not Paul at all ... but why aren't you Paul?
Fabien: ... There's no Paul ... Then, what about Anna?
Fabien: No one came for me, did they? No one at all.
Fabien: Why are you hiding your face, huh? Why are you pretending to be Paul?
Charon: There is no pretending, Fabien ... I ... really am Paul.
His feeble words fall upon deaf ears.
Fabien: Paul didn't come. Anna didn't come. No one came. They want me to die here alone, all of them ...
He sinks back onto the bed, his voice becoming a broken murmur as he surrenders himself to his fate.
Fabien: But you came—whoever it is you are. You didn't call me mad ... You didn't tell me Anna isn't real.
Fabien: And your words are kind ... Why? Why would you be so kind to a stranger? A dead man?
Charon: I do not believe us to be strangers, Fabien. You're not alone.
Fabien: Yes, I am. Day and night I waited, but no one came. I've been alone all this time, and I'll die alone, too.
Fabien: No prayers, no one at my side, just worms ready to wriggle into my body and eat me from the inside out.
Charon: No, Fabien. If the end finds you, I ... will be with you when it comes.
Fabien: ... What? Even though we're strangers?
Charon tightens his grip on the corner of his notebook.
Charon: When the dead are buried, no prayers leave my lips.
Charon: Death is simply the end of life. Prayers are not necessary.
Charon: But if it comforts you, if, in your final moments, you need a prayer to be uttered by your side ...
Charon: I ... will try to give you the blessing you wish for.
Partita: I heard your conversation.
Realizing she means the words exchanged beside Fabien's bed, Charon gives a faint nod.
Charon: Ah.
Partita: The field hospital's moving back tomorrow. He might survive long enough to get proper treatment back in the rear.
Her gaze is hollow, like she's looking straight through Charon to someone who isn't there.
Partita: You've got something to say to me, haven't you?
Everything hinges on tomorrow. Now is "Paul's" final chance to persuade Partita to leave the front.
Charon knows the one thing that might change her mind, but he hasn't had the courage to face it.
But now, the words must be shaped and spoken, clearly and directly.
Charon: ... A deal. Let's make a deal. You're a person who honors her promises.
Charon: I will tell you the truth about Walter's death, and when the hospital withdraws tomorrow, you will return home.
Charon: Promises still mean something to you, don't they?
For a moment, time seems to freeze. Then, it steadily ticks on. She studies Charon.
Partita: If you can't even trust me, then who can you trust?
Charon: Do you accept? A promise, like when we were children. One you would never break.
A truth too bitter for him to utter. He fears what Partita will do once he tells her.
Partita: Alright, it's a deal. I won't break it, I promise.
She senses what's coming but gives nothing away.
Charon clenches his fists, as if summoning the strength to force the words out.
Charon: Walter died of friendly fire.
There's a visible crack in her expression.
Partita: Who? Why?
Charon: A mistake. The intelligence was delayed and flawed. There was no choice but to call in a strike.
Partita: I asked who. Who gave the order?
Charon: You swore to keep your word.
Partita: I know. Now tell me.
Charon: You said you could be trusted.
Partita: I said yes, alright?! Now stop dragging this out and tell me who gave the order!
It's the height of summer, yet the air hanging between them is cold.
Charon: Lieutenant Colonel Wolker.
The frost descends.
Charon: Friendly fire is a common pain of war. Sometimes, it is unavoidable.
Partita: I don't need you to explain that to me.
She stiffly turns her gaze away.
Charon tries to read her face, but all he sees is a brittle coldness.
Partita: Do you still dream, Paul?
Charon: No. Since coming to the front, I stopped dreaming of things that cannot be.
Partita: I do. I dream of Walter—every single night.
Partita: I dream of the pond we used to play at when we were twelve. Walter waits there, hoping to catch a dragonfly for me.
Partita: I shout with all my strength, telling him to stop waiting, that the dragonfly will never come. But he can't hear me.
Partita: So he keeps waiting, and I keep shouting, until I wake up with tears on my face.
Partita: Then night comes, and I dream it all over again.
Partita: Maybe he's waiting for me to find him ... or maybe he wants me to get justice for what happened.
Charon: In war, justice is always the first casualty.
Charon: Bullets find their mark, lives end. It is inevitable.
A long silence passes. When she speaks again, her voice is weary.
Partita: I need time to think about all of this.