Sunny was a sinner with no gods in the world.
No — no gods in two worlds to punish him for his sins.
But if that's the case, then why is he being confronted with his sins right now, in the form of a girl younger than his very sister would be, crying in front of a picture?
It wasn't just any picture, though. It was a picture of Harper — the boy he killed after being asked his true name.
He could already see the resemblance to him in her. It didn't help that her face was contorted in a flurry of emotions, just like his had been when he killed him.
He should have walked away. After all, was it really his fault?
None of that would have happened if he hadn't sold information to Gunlaug, right?
But he couldn't — because by the time he zoned back in, he was right next to the girl that couldn't be any younger than twelve.
Crouching beside her, he stared at the picture of Harper while listening to the girl's cries.
He feels sick — so sick that he could throw up everything he ate.
The things Harper could also possibly be eating now.
It was utterly abhorrent that the killer of her brother was next to her currently. But he didn't know what to do.
All he could hear was
"Why... who... Harpy..."
—in between her sobs.
Sunny decided to live out of spite, even though he knew he had nobody waiting for him, nobody to care if he died. He lived for himself.
So when faced with the inevitable fact that his selfish stubbornness to hang onto his pitiful life ended up taking the life of someone who did have those things, it made his heart rot from the inside out.
In the end, he was just like that bastard Auro, wasn't he?
No — he wasn't. He was much worse than that bastard.
Because if Auro was a bastard, then he was a treacherous bastard who took lives despite not having any reason to hold onto his own.
Her sobs and torrent of tears — the pained voice calling out for her brother — were eating him alive.
It was as if he was being gutted all over again, but only with maggots eating away at his insides while all he could do was hold in his screams.
Is this fair?
Is it fair for him to feel pity for himself while he is the perpetrator and one of his victims is right next to him — and another in front?
He noticed she was grabbed by the shoulders by a crying woman who seemed to be about in her 40s, and a man of the same, both resembling Harper.
No — he wasn't sure if they did anymore. Because the second he saw them, their son's dying face replaced theirs.
As they dragged off their screaming daughter while they themselves were in pain, tears playing at the edge of their eyes, he stood.
"I killed him."
It was as if time had stopped.
He could feel their stares on him as his head was down.
No — this wasn't right.
For the perpetrator to have his head held down like a victim is undoubtedly wrong.
So he lifted it up, letting them see the face of the person who murdered their son.
All he could hear were screams, cursing his very existence — but for some reason, they were muffled.
All he could see was Harper's face contorting and stretching unnaturally as they yelled, as if melted onto their faces.
He couldn't blame them if they threw stones at him.
If they pinned him down and ripped him to shreds.
If they gutted him and left him in the blazing sun to dry out like jerky.
There were no gods to punish him.
So he would simply have to take it upon himself.
He wouldn't feel guilt.
He wouldn't feel regret.
He wouldn't feel any of those things.
He would live — and continue to live — with the sin he bears.
And one day, when he is on the other side, and he is the victim, not the perpetrator, he wouldn't complain.
No — he would accept it with open arms.
That will be the only apology he could give.
So he wouldn't apologize using words, even with the constant berates they were throwing at him, getting the attention of others also mourning.
He'll embrace all of their hate.
That's all he could do.
"And it's possible I killed someone else's son, brother, lover, or family. But I'll continue to live as long as I can until my sins finally catch up."
Without waiting for a response, he began to leave — knowing that the only reason they weren't actively attacking him was simply because he was an awakened and they were mundane.
A difference that they can never change, as the murderer of their son was seen to be superior in the perspective of two worlds.
Exiting the facility, he could feel the sun hit his face, the chill winds wrapping around his body, the clouds opening for him alone to witness the beautiful blue sky.
He — the perpetrator — experienced the things the victim will never be able to experience again.
So that is why he will live.
Not out of spite.
Not out of guilt.
But he will live to carry his sins on whatever path he takes.
That's the least he could do.
So, breathing out — his breath being taken away by the winds that Harper will never experience again — he put his hands into his pockets, steeling his heart as he walked toward his inevitable guillotine that would take his life one day...
...the same way he took Harper's.