Saint's Prison - Chapter 79

Your Name

“…Amalthea”

She whispered in a feeble voice, as if it would be swallowed up and erased by the silence.

“…That’s what I’m called. There is no other word that refers to me. If that’s what a name is, then I must be Amalthea.”

Saying this, she looked up at the ceiling as if gazing at the sky. With her distant and unfocused eyes, it seemed like she was looking far away, yet at nothing in particular. What could be reflected in those eyes?

Seeing her fragile figure, I thought she was like a broken radio. No, more accurately, like a radio that was broken and still desperately trying to produce sound. I couldn’t quite understand the analogy myself and involuntarily smirked.

(…But still, she speaks in such a mysterious way.)

I felt a vague sense of discomfort, but I reconsidered that it was natural to feel that way with someone I had just met. However, for some reason, I felt a sense of familiarity with her. It was a feeling like thinking of someone dear to me whom I hadn’t seen in a long time; a mix of happiness and confusion.

I let out a shallow breath and calmed my mind.

I stared straight at Amalthea, who stood there quietly. Although she was close, she didn’t have much presence. No, her presence was too minimal. It gave me the impression that she had stripped away her ego to its limit and merged with the air.

“…So, Amalthea-san.”

I decided to call her name.

Amalthea-san bit her lip with a pained expression. It was like she was a trembling puppy.

“…I’m not…an existence…to be respected.”

Her disjointed, emotionless tone.

To respect… Perhaps she was bothered by the honorifics and polite language?

“Ah, um, then, Amalthea?”

“…Yes.”

In a dark expression, she nodded slightly.

I can’t think of any more words, so I let my gaze wander.

A dusty, stagnant air blew through, and the candlelight flickered. I took a quick look around, but there seemed to be no windows.

The door that was probably connected to the outside was tightly closed.

The space echoed even with the sound of exhaling.

A painful quietness filled the surroundings.

(Maybe I don’t have to be so formal… Maybe I can call her more casually? Like giving her a nickname. Ah, that might be rude since we just met. But I can’t stand this atmosphere any longer, and besides, she’s the only source of information I have right now. I want to communicate as smoothly as possible.)

I gazed at her perfected beauty once again. Emotions drained away, her face was expressionless like a Noh mask. It was as if she was alive yet dead at the same time.

I shook my head to dispel such thoughts.

(But still, a nickname…)

Amalthea.

Al… feels more like a boy’s name. Then how about Tia? It’s a beautiful sound, but… it doesn’t quite fit. Well, then there’s…

“…Amal.”

I muttered softly.

A click, and a sensation settled in my chest.

When I was a university student, I had the opportunity to interact with middle eastern and learned a bit of their language. I believe the word Amal meant hope in Arabic.

“Can I call you by a nickname? I mean, if you don’t mind since we just met. I think it’s more comfortable to call you without being too respectful. So, can I call you Amal?”

“Amal…?”

I stared straight at Amalthea.

Her expression was unreadable. But I thought I saw a faint light in her hollow, crimson eyes.

“Yeah, what do you think?”

“Amal… My, my… My own name.”

She clasped her hands at her chest and lowered her gaze. It was a gesture of prayer. This isn’t good. Did I choose the wrong option?

“Ah, sorry. You didn’t like it, did you?”

“…No.”

For the first time, she looked straight at me.

“It’s not that I dislike it. It’s just… just that my chest is trembling.”

She held her chest. Was she checking her heartbeat? Was she trying to stop it? Or was it both?

“If I am forgiven…”

“Eh?”

“That’s how I want to be called.”

Hearing her hesitant words, I pressed for confirmation.

“Are you sure it’s okay?”

“Yes.”

Amalthea… Amal nodded slightly but surely. And then she muttered softly.

“…Why are you looking at me?”

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have heard her voice, but for some reason, it reached my ears. It must have been a monologue. I knew she didn’t expect a reply from the beginning. Yet, I answered. I felt I had to.

“…Because you’re here right now, aren’t you?”

I heard the sound of her sharp breath. Was she unable to breathe? Did she want to breathe? I couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter. No, more accurately, it no longer mattered.

Because she was smiling.

It was… the face of a lost child who had finally reunited with their parent.