It was already deep into the night.
High above, Kirihito rested lazily on the branch of an ancient tree.
His long black hair, still damp from his bath in the river, drifted like black ink in the soft breeze.
His chin rested against his palm, eyes half-lidded inside his white fabric on the eyes...lost somewhere between memory and moonlight.
And under that pale moon, his voice... soft as drifting silk, fragile as cotton....slipped into song:
我用利爪把你抱得比怜悯更紧,
My claws~ held you closer than mercy
眼眸比恨更深地割伤你.
My eyes cut deeper~ than hate
你说那是诅咒,
You called it curse~
可那不也是…无名的关怀?
But wasn't it care… unnamed?~
我为你无声地燃烧,
I've burned for you in silence~
一团无名的火焰.
A fire with no name~
而你却惧怕我的火光.
Yet you feared my flame…
The song faded into the hush of leaves.
Kirihito drew his slender fingers through his wet hair, silver strands catching the moonlight.
Below, the white snake lay curled around his lightly folded leg, its scales warm against his skin.
"What should I call that song?"
The snake hissed softly, as if asking too.
Kirihito's gaze drifted toward it, a lock of black hair tangled around his pale fingers.
"Then… it'll be called Nameless Flame."
A quiet sigh slipped from his lips.
He lifted his gaze to the sky again, expression clouded... as if chasing some memory, half-buried in mist.
"Was it… really me who cut that woman's head?
The human boy's cry… why does it feel so familiar…?"
Pain stabbed behind his eyes, enough to make him gasp.
One hand flew to his temple, swallowing down the pulse of agony that roared in his ears.
For a moment, the world seemed to vanish into that single, piercing sound.
The white snake slid higher, coiling around his lap, wrapping gently around his hips like an embrace.
"Agh… I shouldn't try to remember… or I'll tear my mind apart…
Better not recall those yet… maybe… I'm not that strong enough… right now…"
He looked at the snake, petting its head lightly.
Then, as if the thought jumped tracks, his tone softened, childlike:
"I'm hungry again… where's my dragon fruits?
Maybe you couldn't find a pair tonight either… this whole Bayakuya village is drying out…
We might have to shift into Fukaki… or sneak into that old Kyoren's kingdom…"
His lips curled into a sly smile.
"I can do both… but I'd rather go annoy that one pair tail prince and nap on his fancy bed, hehe~"
The snake untangled itself and, somehow... as if by small magic or stubborn loyalty... managed to bring back a pair of dragon fruits.
Kirihito's jaw dropped cutely. He took them, holding the smooth red skins against his cheeks.
"Eh? You got these from a tree, or made them yourself?"
Then his voice softened, a tiny childish gratitude in it:
"Well, thank you~ snakie… you're the best."
He started peeling the thick skins, juice staining his pale fingers red as blood.
While eating, his gaze dropped down the hill, where voices floated up through the night air.
Two of the younger Yin Lan clan members walked below, talking in hushed, uncertain voices:
"Both Crown Ribbon and Ribbon Prince… they're strange.
One steps forward willingly before the blade while the other could dodge it without blinking…
And then father runs upstairs just because his son was too close to his right hand… doesn't it feel… strange..or I should call it disparate overprotection ?"
Kirihito's smirk sharpened slightly, half-hidden by the branch and the drifting hair over his face.
His white fabric on eyes flew faintly, he's amazed.... and listening.
[ End of Chapter 25 ]
Author's Note :
Sometimes I wonder if anyone truly walks beside this slow, quiet path with me — if these strange, bittersweet tales of hidden scars and gentle cruelty ever reach real hearts out there...♡
I see only numbers: quiet footfalls on dusty stone.
No words. No trace.
Yet somehow, each step tells me someone was here.
Maybe you came for a single chapter.
Maybe you stayed longer than you planned.
Maybe you said nothing — but I still felt you there.
Thank you, silent souls, for reading this far.
Even if you never speak, your presence is enough.
And if you do decide to speak, even once, know it will be cherished more than you can imagine.
– With quiet gratitude
-- Akito Yana ( AY )
The one writing in the dark