Truth

The Hero began telling me about the past.

Since he hadn't organized the whole story beforehand, it unfolded naturally, like a stream: he'd talk about one thing, and when another memory came to him, continue with that story.

At first, I was a little worried that I wouldn't be able to talk properly because I was scared, but as we talked, I became so absorbed that before I knew it, I'd forgotten all about being afraid.

Most of what the Hero told me was about me.

Since it was far too long a story to tell while passing through a haunted house, it naturally became short and concise, with only the important parts being mentioned.

Before he returned, he told me about the various ordinary things and memorable incidents that had happened between him and me.

Although he'd said he would only mention important parts, even those important parts didn't seem all that important for something he'd called me over because he had something to tell me.

His smile as he brought up each story showed how much he missed the past.

Amid stories that, at first glance, looked less like anything important than simple nostalgia, I arrived at one truth.

The more I listened, the more I heard about actions that were unlike Lumia...