Chiko sat slumped against the cracked wall of the ruined house, her breath shallow, her pulse still uneven. Claous had finally stopped pacing, though his eyes never left the door. The air outside was soaked with cold rain, tapping faintly against the warped boards that made up the ceiling.
She leaned back, closing her eyes — just for a moment.
When she opened them again, the world had changed.
The room was spotless.
No broken walls. No dust. No scent of rot. The floorboards gleamed faintly, as though they had been freshly waxed. Pale curtains drifted in a wind that wasn't there.
And in the corner — a girl sat quietly, her long black hair hanging over her face, a small bundle of white flowers clutched in her hands. She wore a white dress so clean it almost glowed.
Chiko blinked. "…Hello?"
The girl turned her head. Slowly. "Hi." Her voice was soft, melodic, strange.
"Do you know where we are?" Chiko asked, still glancing around. "I—I was somewhere else a second ago."
"We're in my room," the girl said. "But the door's always locked. I've never seen a key."
Chiko frowned. "Your room? How did I get here?"
The girl shrugged, the movement small and deliberate. "I don't know."
Chiko stepped closer, cautious but curious. "What's your name? I'm Chiko."
The girl hesitated. "Nyra."
Chiko smiled gently. "Nice to meet you, Nyra."
Nyra's head tilted slightly. "Do we… know each other?"
"I don't think so."
"Then why," the girl murmured, "did you say my name when you came in?"
Chiko froze. "What? I didn't—"
"You said it when you were lying down. Before you woke up. You whispered it."
"I… don't remember that." Chiko rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled. "Maybe you misheard me."
Nyra looked down at her flowers. "Never mind. Just—please don't hurt me."
"Hurt you? Why would I—"
"Everyone does," Nyra whispered. "They come here. They always hurt me. Then they leave."
Chiko softened her tone. "Hey. I won't hurt you. I promise."
Nyra's fingers tightened on the flowers. "Will you stay?"
Chiko hesitated. The room was too perfect, too still. But there was something fragile in the girl's voice that made her nod anyway. "I'll stay. And maybe we'll get out together, yeah?"
Nyra looked up just slightly, her hair parting enough for Chiko to glimpse one pale eye — almost gray, like moonlight through smoke. "You'll stay?"
"I promise."
Nyra smiled faintly. "Then I'll try not to be so scary. People say I scare them."
"You're not scary," Chiko said softly. "You have a pretty face, actually. Forget those people. I'm here now."
Nyra's small voice trembled. "You promise that too?"
"Yes."
Nyra nodded slowly. "Thank you."
A faint silence stretched between them. The only sound was the rustling of the curtains — though there was no wind at all.
Chiko glanced at the flowers in her hands. "They're beautiful. Where did you get them?"
Nyra smiled, small and strange. "From the funeral."
Chiko's smile faltered. "Funeral? That must've been… hard."
Nyra's tone didn't change. "It wasn't scary."
"Oh…"
Nyra's eyes lifted again. "I never had a friend before. Will you be my friend?"
"Of course," Chiko said gently. "I'll be your friend."
"Can you hold me, please?"
Chiko hesitated, but then nodded. "Sure. Come here."
Nyra stood, her steps soundless across the wooden floor. She smelled faintly of lilies and damp soil. When she reached Chiko, she wrapped her arms tightly around her — too tightly.
Chiko laughed nervously. "Easy, you'll crush me."
Nyra leaned closer until her lips brushed Chiko's ear. Her whisper came out in a breath colder than the room itself.
"I never told you," she said. "Whose funeral it was."
Chiko's stomach turned. "…Whose?"
Nyra's voice dropped into a tone not meant for human throats. "Mine."
Chiko tried to pull away, but Nyra's grip locked. The flowers fell from her hands, revealing a knife hidden among the stems.
"You promised," Nyra hissed.
The blade slid into Chiko's stomach before she could scream. Pain exploded through her body. She stumbled back, gasping, clutching the wound as blood soaked her hands.
Nyra stepped back, her white dress already spattered with red. Dark, feathery wings unfurled from her back, brushing the ceiling. "Remember what I told you," she whispered. "Everyone leaves me."
Then she threw the flowers onto Chiko's chest — white petals fluttering down — and vanished.
Chiko collapsed. The world dimmed at the edges. Her vision wavered. She tried to crawl toward the door, but her limbs felt like stone.
Don't sleep, she told herself. If I sleep, I won't wake up.
Her head hit the floor.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
–––
"Chiko!"
Her eyes snapped open. Claous was kneeling over her, shaking her shoulders. His face was pale, his breaths shallow with panic.
She gasped, clutching her stomach — but there was no wound, no blood. Only her trembling hands.
Claous exhaled hard, half laughing, half cursing. "Thank god. You weren't breathing right. What happened?"
Chiko stared blankly for a moment. Then, slowly, she told him everything — the room, the girl, the funeral.
Claous's jaw tightened. "That's not good," he muttered. "If something got in your head, it might not let go."
"We have to hurry," Chiko whispered. "Something's wrong here."
Claous nodded grimly. "Yeah. Let's move before this place eats us too."
–––
Outside, the rain still fell. Heroca crouched behind a fence, heart pounding, trying to stay out of sight.
The creature he had seen earlier was gone. But something else stood where it had been — something worse.
The figure towered in the fog, wrapped in shattered black armor that glowed faintly from within, as if molten light leaked through its cracks. Each step it took hissed like steam. Its helmet, jagged and spiked like a crown, hid any trace of a face. A torn cloth hung from one shoulder, fluttering in the wind that carried the stench of ash.
In its hands — a single massive sword, its edge scarred and blackened.
And above it, floating in the storming sky, was a girl.
All white. Bare feet. Black wings. The same girl Chiko had seen.
Nyra.
Her voice rang out, clear and echoing. "If you want to save your friends, come with us. Do not resist. Do not ask."
Heroca rose slowly, rain streaming down his face. His expression hardened. "How the hell do you know that?"
"Because," Nyra said softly, "you're not like them. You carry something else. Something old. Something hungry."
Heroca's eyes narrowed. "You've been watching."
"Yes."
He clenched his fist. The cursed ring on his hand pulsed, black light flickering through the cracks. "And you think I'll just come quietly?"
Nyra smiled. "You can't win."
"Wanna bet?"
The ring twitched. Something inside it moved.
A sound like tearing flesh echoed faintly — and a blade of pure darkness grew from his cursed hand, dripping like liquid shadow.
Heroca raised it, teeth bared. "You talk too much, demon. Why don't you tell me your name before I kill you?"
Nyra's wings spread wide. "You could never kill me. But I'll tell you anyway."
She smiled down at him, eyes as white as snow. "Nyra. Remember it."
She gestured toward the armored knight beside her. "As for him — you're not worthy of his name."
The knight moved.
One instant he stood still; the next, he was there.
Heroca barely saw the blur of motion before the sword came down.
He raised his arm — not by choice, but by instinct, as if something inside him took over — and blocked the strike. The impact sent him flying backward, crashing into a pile of stones. Sparks and ash exploded around him.
Nyra's expression flickered — surprise. "You blocked him? Interesting."
Heroca groaned, standing shakily. The black blade reformed, dripping shadow. "Try again."
The knight tilted his head. Then charged.
The next blow came harder. Heroca parried, the ring flaring with dark light, but the sheer force snapped his blade in half. The knight's sword sliced across his shoulder, sending a shock of agony through him.
Blood splashed the ground.
Heroca staggered back. His body wasn't healing. The wounds stayed open, smoking faintly.
Nyra laughed softly. "Looks like your gift doesn't work here."
Heroca gritted his teeth, his vision swimming. "I'll—kill—you—"
Then the voice came.
Deep. Ancient. Crawling through his skull like roots through stone.
You aren't ready yet.
Heroca's strength vanished. His knees buckled. Darkness closed in.
The knight stood over him, lowering his sword. Then, in a motion disturbingly gentle, he lifted Heroca's limp body over his shoulder.
"Let's go," the knight said, his voice deep and metallic.
Nyra nodded once, silent.
And as they disappeared into the fog, the rain kept falling — washing away the blood, the faint glow of the cursed ring still pulsing weakly on his hand.