The Asterblume Library was quiet as always at this hour—tucked away from the noisy commons and distant from the spellcraft practice halls.
Deep in the farthest wing, beneath a dusty chandelier that barely glowed, Tanaka Ruka sat curled in a corner chair, surrounded by towers of thick books. The table beside her was piled high—spirit familiars, Pacta theory, possession stabilizers, memory imprinting, and soul anchors.
All old.
All too familiar.
She wasn't really reading, nor focusing on trivial matters.
She hadn't turned the page in five minutes, yet her eyes wandered right and left, concerned.
In her lap, a soft, worn plushie rested quietly—its fur a little frayed, its button eyes dull but somehow… watchful. Then a voice broke the silence, it came from the doll.
"Still digging, huh?"
Ruka blinked, once. Her exhaustion is merely indescribable.
Not startled—just… tired.
She didn't look down as she answered.
"You're awake."
"I'll always be." the doll replied flatly. "I chose not to waste energy unless you start babbling nonsensical things again."
She sighed, almost managing a smile. Almost.
"That often?", Ruka responded briefly, her eyes glued to a pile of books. Each of them was exposed with zero answers.
"Every night," said the plushie—Muir, her Astraga.
Its voice is calm, smooth, but always threaded with that dry edge, caging Ruka's emotions under every word.
"Every week, back to this dead hole, this room. As if one of them will finally justify what happened in the past."
Ruka looked down at the open page, though she couldn't see the words anymore.
"Maybe one of them will, I'm not sure."
"They won't." Muir said bluntly. "Because they don't know what you're looking for. And neither do you."
That stung. Stung like how futile it was for Ruka to wish if she could turn back time.
She said nothing.
"You haven't changed, at all." the doll added, quieter now. "Really. Since the night your village burned to ashes, rubbles scattered all across the streets."
Her throat tightened.
"Don't."
But the doll walked slowly, each step deliberately posing a minor threat. It jumped to the desk in front of Ruka, light thuds of each step sounded low, a small weight of wool tapping to the messy space.
"Why not? It's true. You survived. Everyone else didn't. And you've been running in circles ever since."
Her hands clenched against a book, pressing it closer to her chest.
"I didn't ask to live," she whispered.
Muir didn't respond at first, it knew it hit Ruka's nerves. Her past is filled with unbridled, broken lies that hide a sensitive truth.
It replied, but his voice was lower. Not mocking, yet cold.
"I know you didn't."
Ruka winced her eyes, expression turned with a small tinge of disgust. She blinked, a few times before she let out a defeated sigh.
"But you did. And now here we are.", Ruka loomed at the doll.
"Pestering on me like you have the right to do anything you wished for. While this body will never be yours."
Ruka finally looked at him. At the stitched mouth that didn't move, and the button eyes that somehow felt too alive.
The doll sat on top of the open book that remained still in Ruka's vision.
"You never told me why you chose me." Ruka added. Her voice was already filled with unexpected disbelief.
"You weren't chosen, kid." It replied. "You were the only one left. Don't lump me within those weak spirits."
That broke something small inside her, a crack. As hopeless she could be, fate says otherwise.
As much as she doesn't want to admit, there's a reason behind both of their merged existence.
She turned her face away, pressing her sleeve against her eyes. Her breaths were shallow, and she made the face.
"Then what, just live with it?", Ruka's voice signified her bluntness.
With a poker face, she pointed at the doll with a disappointed look before she slammed the desk with both of her hands.
Annoyed, stunned, offended. "Barged into my life, sticking your nose while I was unprepared, and proudly claimed me as your vessel?"
"Give me a break.", Ruka gave the doll a death stare.
"I gave you a second chance. A miracle that no mortals could give.", Muir replied with a mutual, bitter response.
"You're existing. And the fact you live right now is within my mercy. Show me some gratitude, you should've thanked me."
Ruka gritted her teeth, there's no shyness or any edges for her usual soft-spoken manner. Forgetting and forgiving, both led into obliviousness that a person like her never wanted.
"Don't tell me what to do."
Silence, and guilt.
"And this is what I get for saving you. Ironic.", the doll silently spoke in a hint of anger.
The corner of the library was silent, save for the faint scratching of quill pens and the distant flicker of Æther lamps.
Ruka sat huddled in her usual spot, a book open on her lap—but unread, untouched. Her eyes drifted past the ink, past the pages, into some void her thoughts refused to leave.
Muir sat limp in her lap, the plushie still as ever. A brief moment passed until he spoke.
"You're pathetic."
Ruka didn't answer, for now silence is gold.
"Why do you always keep coming here, while in fact you do nothing?", Ruka's eyes twitched after she heard Muir continuously speak to test her patience.
"Stop pretending.", the doll continued.
She closed the book a little tighter, not looking at him. If she gave in to Muir's words, she would already lose her composure.
"You're hiding. And the worst part is—you're not even hiding from me. You fear something."
She muttered, quietly, "I'm not afraid of anything."
"Oh, really."
"Then what do you call this? Burying yourself in lies so you don't have to face your reality?!"
Her fingers tensed around the edges of his soft, worn arms.
"Give me an honest answer, tell me. At this point you only keep running away from the truth you seek to face.", The doll commanded, its voice echoing within the small corner of the library.
"Shut up.", Ruka retorted.
"You're awfully being in denial.", Muir shook its head, completely baffled. His voice slowed down, lowered enough as a whisper.
"I'm tired of being bound with you.", its voice comes with a small huff.
Ruka stared at him, eyes wide and her jaw tightened. Looking at the moving doll, casually sitting and glancing without a single care.
"You think I wanted this?!" she hissed. "You think I asked to be stuck with you? NEVER!"
"You think I asked to be trapped in this stitched-up body for years, watching you pretend none of it ever happened?!"
The doll was taken aback with such a sheer outburst, face lifted a bit as its buttony eyes rapidly flickering with a purplish light.
"I never wanted you to be here, never wanted to have our existence merged, never wanted to shackle myself with you and your ominous powers!"
With shouts, she's undoubtedly blaming aimlessly at whatever. No librarians were around, just her and her doll, for now. Her voice lingers with venom.
"I took away many things from them, something precious."
"Their time, their happiness, their hope, their future, their dreams. Their lives."
"I destroyed them."
"I killed them. I killed them. I KILLED THEM! EVERYONE!"
Ruka clutched herself tight, she covered her face in terror after all that screams, sweats forming down her forehead and cheeks, her body shivering immensely. The doll simply folded its arms, surprised.
"Not like you have a choice. So you remembered it all."
Silence hung up between them for a while, before Muir continued.
"But you choose to live in lies. Every damn day.", it added with intensity. "So you fear them finding that out, that precious secret of yours. Afraid that those tiny hands were already stained with blood."
"Childish."
That alone made Ruka turn away, hugging her knees in fear. She knows it was right, that there's also another reason why everything was possible. It made sense, yet she had to stood there, denied the fact that the Astraga's existence,
It saved her life.
"Now you remembered everything, it puts us on the same page. Aren't we?"
The question stays for a few minutes of silence. Tension heavy in the atmosphere, Ruka feels her entire body slowly burn in anxiety. Yet the doll continues.
"The screams. The fire. The terror. The way the ground split under your feet. The way you laughed when you lost control."
"Horrors on that night that wouldn't be able to be explained in mere words.", its voice stopped.
"That wasn't me.", her breath hitched, Ruka just had to interfere.
"I'm not finished.", but the doll responded back without any remorse. "You don't know anything."
"I just fucking know that you're up to no good.", she added with anger bristled on her entire face.
The doll eerily laughed. It stares at Ruka for a few seconds before it floats right in front of her face, giving the girl a light flick on her forehead. It caused Ruka to stagger backwards with a surprise.
"Oh my, really? Don't give me that. I didn't take over you. We were one. That moment, you let it happen. You gave in to the fear. The wrath simply consumed you."
"The way you give in to it is not my concern.", the doll abruptly stopped with a glare.
A light yelp escaped her lips, her whole body froze just now. "You're lying. Stop trying to deceive me with your sick lies.", Ruka angrily replied to the doll.
Silence stretched again. The words hung like a dagger in the air. Then, Muir's voice turned quieter… not desperate, but simply perplexed.
"You wear me like a safety blanket, Ruka."
"But I was never here to comfort you, Even if you owe me so many things.", the doll's voice becomes clearer now, it doesn't engage as it simply stating its opinion.
"Because I'm only here to remind you what you did."
"Yet you hate me for it. As much as I hate you for pretending none of it ever happened.", with a final sigh, the doll stopped talking.
Ruka slowly looked down at the plushie.
And for the first time—
She didn't see Muir as a guardian.
She saw it as a mirror.
One she had refused to look into for too long.
"You're just a cruel bastard.", Ruka whispered under her breath. She closes her eyes, leaning her back against the chair.
Tears gathered in her eyes, yet the bittersweet taste said enough.
Flashback: The Night Everything Burned
Ruka was just a little child, weak and powerless. Through the first eleven years of her life, she's a fragile, sickly girl that spends her time bedridden. She can't move freely, she can't run, she can't play as much as other kids her age.
Books.
Her parents love to give her books to read, with that she has always been able to study and read up stories and tales that filled the void in her heart.
Only by just that, she's happy.
"If only I was healthy."
"Would be nice."
However, you don't have to be able to run, climb up trees, laugh with other kids, to be happy.
"I wonder where Mom and Dad went."
"Tomorrow is my birthday."
Days, months, and years. Everything passes in a blink, when you have nothing to look up to. With a frail body, everyday feels the same. Numb and repetitive, no colors.
A cough, followed by a clenching sharp pain on her chest. Ruka can't exert herself, even a small strain of muscle would worsen her condition. She's likely to catch a fever, sickness that everyone is supposed to be immune to. Yet it didn't break her heart, not even a scratch to her feelings.
"It's that time again."
There are loud noises outside, people arranging property and setting up stalls, sticking torches to the ground to be lit by night. The kids are helping, so do the adults.
The village often held a festival-like banquet. Happened twice a year, some of the village kids often visited Ruka, accompanying her when no one else could take care of her while her parents were away.
"Sacrificial lambs?"
A year ago, one of the neighbors told Ruka that some kids often witnessed them firsthand.
The village elders took their older siblings whenever their ritual came up. Some are sad, some are happy that God chose them. They said it was a blessing, but Ruka saw them as some kind of twisted mediocrity.
Because in the end, those who were taken never return.
"All of them were twelve year olds."
In the same night, people are humming melodies and tunes, some are doing prayers with a language that God knows. Some are happy, some are not. Some are excited to see the tradition unravel in front of their eyes, to bear witness to the belief they were set in.
The sound of torches crackled as wind hit them. The elders are shouting in mystical language, something ancestral. The kids are awfully quiet, some know the truth, while the others don't. Ruka heard that some shed their tears.
"Why am I laying down here…"
"I'm supposed to sleep in my bed right now."
Cold, the wind is awfully mixed with the smell of ash, her whole body limp and weak against the hard mattress. Ruka laid down on the stage-like altar, for the first time in her life, her words won't come out. She looked to the left, those people were worshiping something.
"I'm not some kind of prize."
"Mom, Dad…"
Ruka spotted her parents. They were crying, as if they had lost something that was out of their reach. She looked up again, her eyes locking against the pitch black skies. Only the bright, crescent moon that accompanied her that time.
"I don't like this. Can you let me down?"
"I want to rest."
"My life is short already, so what do you all need from me?"
She lifted her right hand, palm stretched towards the clouds above. There is no God. There is no one to answer her prayers, or her deepest wishes. No voices were heard but herself, telling that everything is going to be fine.
Those chants growing closer, the elder danced around Ruka. Her eyes noticed him with the corner of her eyes, before she looked to her right. Those sharpened sticks. Those knives. They're going to dissect her alive.
A bitter smile formed on her face.
"God barely gives me strength to live."
The elder crouched down near her left, gripping tightly against Ruka's pale left arm, before scratching a sharp knife against her wrist. Blood trickling down, dripping to the cold mat, where Ruka could feel her left arm scarred with fresh cuts.
"God never gives me a chance to see my future."
"God never gives me a sliver of miracle to survive."
"You left me with this absurd, miserable life. Always."
It's been minutes. Blood trickling all over Ruka's skin, those scratches made their way to her legs and feet. Cries of her both parents were heard the most, Ruka's ears simply catching their voices rather than listening to those who cheered and gasping in shock.
"It's not a show." It's painful.
"It's not fake." It's terrifying.
"It's real." It's irritating.