Legacy's Wake

Stitch's body finally gave in, her legs trembling before collapsing onto her knees. The relentless battle had drained every ounce of energy she had left, and now the weight of her wounds pressed heavily upon her. Blood trickled down her thighs, mixing with the rain as cold droplets splashed against the open cuts, sending sharp jolts of pain through her body. Her right shoulder ached with every breath she took, the deep wound throbbing beneath her trembling fingers as she pressed against it, trying to stop the bleeding.

Her breathing was uneven—shallow gasps escaping her lips as exhaustion threatened to pull her under. Her vision blurred at the edges, the pounding of her own heartbeat ringing in her ears. She clenched her teeth, frustration burning within her even as her body refused to obey her will.

"Damn it…" The words barely left her lips, her voice so weak it was almost swallowed by the sound of the rain striking the cobblestone. Her fingers curled against the wet ground as she struggled to keep herself upright, her chest rising and falling with every labored breath. "I… I can't keep going like this for much longer…"

Her gaze fell to the ground, watching the raindrops splash and scatter, forming ripples in the puddles pooling around her. Each droplet mirrored her own dwindling strength, her consciousness wavering as her body screamed for rest.

Across from her, Harvester and Notch slowly pushed themselves back to their feet. Their movements were sluggish, the damage they had sustained evident in the way they rolled their shoulders and stretched their limbs, but their determination had not wavered. Harvester dragged her twin-blade in a slow arc, wiping the water and grime off the steel before locking her piercing crimson eyes onto the battered girl before her.

Notch cracked his neck, the deep metallic hum of his artificial voice breaking the tension. He adjusted his grip on his cleavers, letting the weight of the weapons settle in his grasp. Their gazes locked onto Stitch—watching, waiting. She was weakened, struggling just to remain conscious, and yet… she was still breathing.

"Still not down yet, huh?" Harvester mused, tilting her head. She took a step forward, her blade gleaming under the dim light. "You're tougher than I thought. But it's over, little doll… You can't fight anymore."

Notch exhaled sharply, shifting his stance. "You should've stayed down earlier," he muttered, his tone almost carrying a hint of respect. "Would've spared you the suffering."

The Faceless loomed nearby, his form flickering in and out of existence like a shadow stretching under the rain. Though his voice was silent now, his presence alone sent chills crawling down Stitch's spine.

They were closing in.

And she… she wasn't sure how much longer she could hold on.

Stitch's breath came in ragged, shaky bursts as her knees pressed into the mud, the relentless rain falling in sheets that seemed to drown out all other sounds. Her mind, clouded by exhaustion and pain, struggled to make sense of the world around her. Her vision flickered as her head hung low, the cold water trickling down her face, mixing with the blood that had long since stained her skin. She was covered in cuts, bruises, and fatigue, yet the one thing that hurt most was the overwhelming weight of her failure.

Her fingers dug weakly into the ground as though she could pull herself back to life by sheer force of will. But it wasn't enough. Nothing was. Her body was broken, her spirit was faltering, and the bitter taste of defeat clung to her lips like a curse she couldn't shake off.

"I tried... I really did," her voice broke with each word, soft and distant, barely above a whisper. "I thought if I pushed myself hard enough, if I kept fighting… I could win. I could be strong enough to keep them at bay, to protect those I cared about. I thought I had the power to change things." She looked down at her hands, trembling, caked with dirt and blood. The weight of the needles she once held so confidently felt nonexistent now. "But look at me now. I'm just lying here, broken and useless. All that strength… all that hope…" She laughed softly, but there was no joy in it—just a hollow, painful sound.

She swallowed hard, her throat tight as the memories began to flood her mind. The pain of her past—of everything she had gone through—came rushing back in waves. The nightmares of being abandoned, of her body being treated like a mere vessel. She could feel the weight of the memories pressing on her chest, suffocating her.

"I've always been weak… Even from the beginning." Her voice trembled as she forced the words out, each one tasting like ash on her tongue. "I never had control over my own life. When I was just a little girl, Hollow—he took my vision. He cut into me, stitched me up like I was nothing more than a ragdoll, carving into my body, my soul. My left eye…" She touched the eye patch that covered the gaping wound where her left eye used to be. Her fingers trembled, and her breath hitched. "It's all gone. All of it. Stitched up, sealed shut by the man who saw me as nothing but a tool, a plaything to be used for his own sick experiments."

Her voice faltered as the full weight of her memories crushed down on her. She could almost feel the cold steel of the knives against her skin, the sharp pain of each incision, each stitch. She could feel the coldness of Hollow's eyes as he carved into her, shaping her into something she never wanted to be. She had never been a person to him—just a canvas for his twisted ambitions.

"And it didn't stop there," she continued, the words coming faster now, desperate to purge the bitterness and anguish that had been buried deep inside her for so long. "I wasn't just cursed by him. I was cursed by the world. The pain, the misery, the endless torment of being nothing more than a thing to be used, a thing to be broken." She laughed again, but this time, it was bitter and full of venom. "And when I finally thought I could escape… when I thought I could finally start over, be someone different…" Her voice cracked as the memories swirled around her like a storm. "They were always there, lurking in the background. Always watching. Always waiting for me to slip."

Her hands clenched into fists, but the pain in her body made it feel as though she was holding onto nothing—no strength, no power, no hope. "Why? Why was I always destined to be broken? My body, my soul… just pieces to be stitched together. I thought I could fight back, I thought I could change it, but it's always been this way, hasn't it?" She shook her head, as if she could shake off the curse that had bound her from the start. "No matter how much I fight, no matter how much I try… it's never enough."

The rain pelted her face, cold and unforgiving, but it didn't compare to the chill inside her chest. Her heart felt empty, hollowed out by years of suffering and hopelessness. She had never been strong enough to fight her past, to break free from the pain and the fear that haunted her every waking moment. And now, lying here in the rain, surrounded by enemies, she realized that maybe—just maybe—she never would be.

"I thought… I thought I could be someone worth fighting for," she whispered, her voice breaking as she finally admitted the truth she had been hiding from herself for so long. "But I'm not. I never was. I was just a girl who never stood a chance."

Her eyes, full of unshed tears, flickered upward to meet the faces of Harvester, Notch, and the Faceless. Their eyes were cold, calculating, waiting for her to break. And in that moment, Stitch realized something that twisted her insides:

It wasn't just the enemies standing before her that she feared. It was herself.

The girl who had been broken from the start, who had tried so hard to fight back and had failed every time. The girl who had never truly known what it meant to be free, to be whole. That girl was staring at her from the inside out, and the weight of that realization crushed her chest like a vice.

"I'm sorry…" she whispered softly, a final, defeated breath leaving her lips.

"Sorry for what?" The voice rang out, smooth and steady, as a figure appeared behind her, casting a long shadow in the flickering light of the rain-soaked night. There was a certain calmness in his tone, an almost amused curiosity in the way he spoke. "Why would you think you're weak? You've been up against three of them, all at once. Do you know how many people would've turned tail, given up, or broken by now? They would've crumbled the moment they realized what they were up against." The deep, masculine voice resonated near her right ear, every word rich with sincerity, as though he were speaking to someone far greater than they knew themselves to be.

For a moment, the figure paused, and the quiet of the storm settled around them. Then, the voice continued, softer this time, yet no less powerful. "You didn't stop, Stitch. Even with blood dripping down your body, with your strength waning, with the odds stacked against you, you didn't give up. You kept fighting. And you know what? That's something most people would never even dream of doing. You don't just give up when the going gets tough. That's not weakness. That's... courage. You kept fighting when all of the world seemed like it was against you. That's something that most can't claim, no matter how hard they try."

The figure shifted a little closer, and for the first time, his words seemed to soften, wrapping around her like a cloak. "I watched you, Stitch. Through all of this. I saw you stand, when everyone else would have fallen. You held your ground, even when every step felt like it might be your last. That's strength. Strength that can't be seen at first glance. Strength that doesn't shout its presence from the rooftops. It's quiet. It's in every bruise, every tear, every stitch in your body that tells a story of survival. You're standing here right now because you've learned to fight, not just with your body, but with your will. And that will is stronger than any blade or cleaver."

The figure's presence was now unmistakably close, almost like an anchor amidst the storm. His hand gently touched her shoulder, fingers sifting through her rain-drenched hair, as though offering comfort, a momentary touch of warmth in the cold downpour. "I think you've forgotten how incredible you are. You've been through things—things no one should have to endure. And you're still here, still breathing, still fighting, even when it feels like the world's against you. It's easy to think you're weak, to let those moments of doubt cloud your mind. But I see it. I see the fire in you. I see how you push through, how you never truly give up. That is strength. The kind of strength that builds something beautiful out of pain, something unbreakable from what was once fragile. That strength, Stitch, is the kind that gets you through everything. Even when you don't realize it, it's there. Every scar, every wound, every moment where you wanted to break, but didn't—that's your strength. And it's all you need."

The figure's voice became a quiet echo, like a whisper carried through the rain, reaching her heart. "You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. You've been carrying this burden alone, but you don't have to. You don't have to fight this fight by yourself anymore. There's more to you than just pain. There's resilience. And that's the thing you should hold onto. It's the one thing they can never take from you."

Stitch's eyes widened, her heart skipping a beat, as if the very air around her had changed. It was as though the sun had suddenly burst through the clouds, casting its brilliant rays directly before her. The voice—she knew it well—touched a chord deep within her, and her gaze softened as her mind began to swirl in the haze of emotions that flooded her. Her lips parted, but the words she was about to speak faltered, caught in the rush of her thoughts.

"Temoshí..." she whispered, her voice barely a murmur against the heavy rainfall. Her hands, trembling, gently wiped the wetness from her nose, trying to clear the confusion clouding her vision as her drenched hair clung to her face. "You're a pirate... Right?" she asked, almost as if she were trying to convince herself. "But... I don't understand. You're a pirate, but that title doesn't seem to fit you. Tell me... Why do you care about this island? About me? We've known each other only for a few days, yet you act like we've shared years of history together." Her voice was fragile, soft with the weight of the questions she couldn't quite understand, the uncertainty of it all hanging between them.

Temoshí's smile was gentle, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes as he looked at her. He didn't answer immediately, letting the rain speak for a moment as it pattered against the earth. And then, finally, he spoke—his voice low and steady, like the calm after a storm.

"Why do I care?" he repeated, his tone a quiet reassurance, a mystery in itself. "Will 'because I want to' be enough of an answer?"

Stitch was silent, the simplicity of his words settling within her like a gentle ripple in a still pond. She blinked a few times, still processing everything, before a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She nodded slightly, a quiet agreement, as if this was the only answer she truly needed. "Yeah," she whispered, almost to herself. "It's enough."

Temoshí's gaze softened, his usual demeanor shifting just enough to reveal the depth of his sincerity. "Stitch," he began again, his voice serious but kind, "I have only two favors to ask of you." His footsteps, light yet purposeful, moved past her, his arms slipping casually into his pockets as he walked ahead. He paused a few meters away, facing the spirits that loomed in the distance.

Stitch lifted her chin, squinting slightly to peer at him through the curtain of her wet hair, her curiosity piqued. What was he about to say? What could possibly be his second request? Her heart was racing in anticipation.

He turned his head, glancing back over his shoulder with a quiet intensity in his eyes, as though the weight of his words would change everything.

"Once this is over," he said, his voice distant but full of meaning, "once we've set right what needs to be fixed, what these people here wish to have…" He paused, his words hanging in the air like an unfinished thought. "I want you to join us. Let me take you out into the sea... and show you what the world is truly like."

As he spoke, it felt as though the very world itself shifted before her. His words opened a new realm of possibility—one that stretched before her like an endless horizon. The idea of the open sea, the unknown adventure, the freedom to go anywhere—it filled her vision like an all-encompassing light, burning brighter than anything she had ever imagined.

And then, his voice softened, carrying a touch of vulnerability, as he spoke his final words.

"And the other favor…" he said, his tone almost a whisper, "I want to see your whole face."

The request was simple, but it resonated deeply, like a key unlocking something long forgotten. He turned away, stepping forward with purpose, ready to face the spirits that had haunted her.

As Stitch stood there, the weight of his words settled on her like a quiet dawn. Her heart was full, her thoughts racing as the world around her seemed to stretch out, offering a new beginning. She realized, in that moment, that the journey ahead might not be as terrifying as she once thought. Maybe, just maybe, she was ready to face it—one step at a time.

To be continued...