The late afternoon sun painted the village in golden hues, casting long, flickering shadows across the dirt roads. The wind carried the scent of fresh earth and distant cooking fires, blending with the soft rustling of leaves in the trees above. Yet, despite the peaceful scene, an unshakable tension lingered in the air.
Hayato and Hikari walked side by side, their pace slow, their minds heavy. The earlier confrontation with Nyx still clung to them like an unrelenting storm cloud, its weight pressing down with every step.
Hikari trailed just behind her brother, absently fingering the delicate snowflake-shaped hairpiece he had given her earlier that day. Its intricate blue filigree shimmered faintly under the waning sunlight, a quiet contrast to the troubled expression on her face.
Her gaze flickered toward Hayato. The bruises on his face were darkening, a painful reminder of the fight. His usual confident stride was stiff with exhaustion, but his sharp, glowing eyes remained forward, unwavering.
Hikari hesitated before breaking the silence. "Do you think Nyx will come back soon?" Her voice was quieter than usual.
Hayato exhaled, his jaw tightening. "He'll come back," he said, his tone clipped, his fists unconsciously clenching at his sides. "But we'll be ready for him."
Hikari bit her lip. "We barely made it out this time." She hated admitting it, but the battle had pushed them to their limits. If it weren't for that hooded stranger—whoever he was—things might have ended very differently.
Before Hayato could respond, a familiar voice rang out from behind them, cutting through the heavy atmosphere like a refreshing breeze.
"Hey, you two! Wait up!"
They turned to see Saeka jogging toward them.
The moment Saeka got close enough to see Hayato's face, her expression shifted to concern.
"What happened to you, Hayato?" she asked, her brows knitting together.
Hayato waved a dismissive hand, as if brushing the issue aside. "Nothing I couldn't handle."
Hikari shot him a look but didn't argue. Instead, she sighed. "We were just heading home." She glanced at Saeka. "You should come with us."
Saeka's smile returned, though the worry in her eyes didn't completely fade. "Of course. Let's go."
With that, the three of them fell into step, walking down the familiar path toward home.
Despite the tension lingering in the air, Saeka's presence seemed to lighten it ever so slightly. Her voice was animated as she talked about the latest market gossip, the new tools one of the blacksmiths was experimenting with, and even a minor squabble between two shopkeepers over a misplaced bag of rice.
Hikari, listening with quiet amusement, nudged Hayato lightly. "You're too serious all the time. Maybe you should take lessons from Saeka."
Hayato rolled his eyes. "I'll pass."
Saeka chuckled, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "Suit yourself. But don't come crying to me when you realize I was right."
The soft banter between them made the weight on Hayato's shoulders feel just a little bit lighter. Even if it was only for a moment.
By the time the house came into view, the last remnants of sunlight had disappeared behind the hills, leaving the sky a deep shade of indigo. The cool evening breeze carried the distant hum of village life—the murmur of conversations, the occasional bark of a stray dog, and the rhythmic creaking of wooden wind chimes swaying in the wind. The soft glow of lanterns flickered through the windows, casting a warm, welcoming light that contrasted against the lingering tension in Hayato's chest.
The house sat quietly among the trees, a cozy one-story building that looked both modern and rustic at the same time. Its walls were made of a mix of wood and lighter, sturdier materials that gave it a solid, lasting feel—like it belonged there, part of the forest.
The roof had a gentle slope and was covered with solar panels that caught the sunlight and shimmered faintly, hinting that this house might be powered by the sun alone. It felt like the kind of place someone might live to get away from the busy world.
Tall windows with dark frames were spaced along the sides, letting in lots of light. The warm wood panels on the outside gave it a natural charm, and in some spots, the wall was a smooth, pale surface—maybe plaster or something like it. The whole place felt calm and well cared for, tucked neatly into the quiet forest.
Outside, their uncle Kenji stood near the garden, splitting firewood with practiced ease. The sharp crack of the axe meeting wood echoed through the yard as he worked, his broad shoulders barely shifting under his olive-green jacket. The garment was lined with intricate golden embroidery along the sleeves—subtle but carefully crafted. Beneath it, his light-colored undershirt was slightly unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, calloused forearms. His dark beard and mustache framed his sharp features, and his deep-set eyes—always observant, always calculating—flicked up the moment he noticed them approaching.
"You're late," Kenji remarked, setting the axe aside with a dull thud. His gaze immediately locked onto Hayato's face, narrowing slightly as he took in the bruises and faint traces of dried blood. "And what happened to your face?"
Hayato hesitated, barely missing a step. Hikari, already inhaling to answer, was cut off when he swiftly stepped forward.
"I fell off a cliff," Hayato said smoothly, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.
A long silence followed.
Kenji's eyes remained unreadable, his expression blank save for the slight twitch at the corner of his brow. "…A cliff?"
Hayato nodded, doubling down. "Yeah. Slipped. Bad luck, really."
Kenji crossed his arms, glancing between Hayato's bruised face and the small cuts on his knuckles. "Seems like quite the fall."
"It was," Hayato replied, maintaining the act.
Hikari, standing beside him, let out an exaggerated sigh, crossing her arms. "You're the worst liar, Nii-chan."
Kenji exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "I don't know what kind of trouble you got yourselves into, but I expect the full story at some point." He bent down to gather the neatly stacked firewood, balancing it effortlessly against his hip. "For now, go clean yourselves up. Dinner's almost ready."
Hayato let out a relieved breath. "Yes, sir."
As Kenji turned toward the house, Hikari shot her brother a sharp glare, whispering just loud enough for him to hear. "'I fell off a cliff'? Really?"
Hayato shrugged. "Would you rather I say, 'We got into a street fight with a gang leader who may or may not have shadow powers'?"
Hikari sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples. "You're impossible."
Saeka, who had been quietly following behind, chuckled. "Honestly, I respect the effort. If you're gonna lie, at least make it entertaining."
Hayato gave her a playful nudge. "See? Someone appreciates my storytelling."
Hikari rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the small smile tugging at her lips.
The three of them followed Kenji inside, the warmth of home embracing them like a familiar blanket. Whatever troubles lay ahead, at least for now, they had a place to return to.
The dining table, usually a place of warmth and comfort, felt unusually heavy tonight. The soft glow of the solar-powered lantern flickered slightly, casting restless shadows on the worn wooden walls of their small home. The quiet hum of the wind turbines outside filled the silence between them, blending with the distant murmur of villagers finishing their evening routines.
Plates of simple but hearty food—stir-fried vegetables, steaming white rice, and perfectly grilled fish—sat untouched for a brief moment as everyone settled into their seats. The scent of seared herbs and soy lingered in the air, but no one seemed eager to take the first bite.
Saeka, always the one to chase away tension, was the first to speak. Twirling a strand of her fiery reddish-orange hair between her fingers, she forced a bright grin. "The market was lively today," she said, her voice carrying its usual playful lilt. "Some guy tried to sell me an old radio, swearing it had the power to 'summon storms.'"
She let out a light laugh, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. It felt more like an attempt to fill the space rather than genuine amusement.
Kenji, sitting at the head of the table, grunted in amusement, setting down his cup of warm tea. "Summon storms? Sounds like something I'd like to see." He picked up his chopsticks, finally taking a bite of fish. "Anything useful comes through the village today?"
Saeka rested her elbow on the table, thinking for a moment. "Not much. Same old trades, same old gossip." Then, as if remembering something, she tilted her head. "Oh, but there's talk about a group passing through tomorrow—might be Hyperion soldiers."
The moment the words left her mouth, the room shifted.
Kenji's grip on his chopsticks tightened ever so slightly. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, darkened like a brewing storm. "Hyperion soldiers," he repeated, his voice devoid of warmth. The name itself carried weight, each syllable spoken like a curse. "If they come here, we keep our distance. We don't need their attention."
A heavy silence followed.
Hayato, who had barely spoken since sitting down, gave the smallest nod in agreement. His piercing eyes, dimly reflecting the lantern's light, remained fixed on his plate. He pushed a piece of fish around with his chopsticks, but he wasn't really seeing it. His mind was elsewhere—still caught in the echoes of Nyx's words, still replaying the hooded stranger's overwhelming presence.
Hikari, seated beside him, noticed. She always noticed. But she said nothing. Instead, she took a small bite of rice, chewing slowly, deep in thought.
For a while, the conversation drifted toward safer topics. Kenji mentioned patching up the cracked roof earlier that day. Saeka complained about the fading solar battery that needed replacing. Hikari quietly commented on how the air was cooler than usual tonight, the faint scent of rain lingering in the breeze.
But beneath it all, the unease remained.
A fragile peace. A conversation laced with unspoken worries. A family trying to pretend, even for just a meal, that everything was fine.
It wasn't.
And deep down, they all knew it.
As the plates began to empty, Kenji set his chopsticks down, exhaling slowly. His sharp, calculating eyes drifted over the table, lingering on Hayato and Hikari before he finally spoke.
"I've been thinking," he began, his voice measured but heavy. "It might be time for us to move."
The words landed like a thunderclap, sending a ripple of silence through the room. The quiet hum of the wind outside seemed to stretch endlessly, amplifying the weight of what he had just said.
Hikari, mid-bite, froze, the warmth of her food suddenly forgotten. Her glowing blue eyes snapped to her uncle, disbelief flashing across her face. "Move? Why would we move?" she asked, her voice tinged with alarm.
Kenji rubbed the bridge of his nose, clearly anticipating this reaction. "This village isn't safe anymore," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. "Nyx is getting bolder. And if the rumors about Hyperion soldiers passing through are true, it's only a matter of time before things escalate." His gaze darkened. "We can't just sit here and hope the storm passes. It won't."
The weight of his words settled over them, pressing against their already frayed nerves.
"We don't need to leave," Hayato said sharply, his voice breaking through the thick tension in the room. His piercing eyes locked onto Kenji's, glowing faintly in the dim lantern light. "I can keep us safe."
Kenji's brows furrowed, his expression unreadable. "Hayato, you can't take on the world by yourself."
"I've done it before," Hayato shot back, his voice rising slightly. His fists clenched under the table, his frustration barely contained. "I have been protecting Hikari ever since that incident long ago. I fought Nyx. I protected this village. And I'll do it again."
His words hung in the air—raw, unguarded, laced with the defiance of someone who had already lost too much to back down now.
Kenji studied him carefully, his expression a mix of concern and something else—something heavier. "It's not about just fighting, Hayato," he said, his voice quieter now. "It's about knowing when to fight… and when to walk away."
Hayato flinched at that, his jaw tightening.
The silence stretched again, thick with emotions none of them wanted to acknowledge. Hikari glanced between them, her hands gripping the edge of the table. The thought of leaving—the only home they had left—was something she hadn't even considered until now.
"We should at least think about it," Kenji finally said, softer this time. "This isn't about pride. It's about survival."
But to Hayato, they were one and the same.
Hikari's fork slipped from her fingers, clattering against the wooden table with a sharp metallic ring. The sound echoed in the heavy silence, but she barely noticed. Her glowing blue eyes were locked onto her brother, wide with confusion—and something deeper. Something like fear.
"What do you mean by 'that incident long ago'?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. There was an edge to it, a fragile desperation that made Hayato's stomach twist.
Hayato froze, his breath catching in his throat. He hadn't meant to say that. The words had slipped out before he could stop them, and now there was no taking them back. His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists against the tabletop. He could feel their eyes on him—Hikari's piercing, desperate gaze, Kenji's sharp, analytical stare, Saeka's quiet concern.
"Hayato," Hikari pressed, leaning forward now, her voice trembling. "What are you talking about?"
Hikari exhaled slowly, setting her chopsticks down with deliberate care. "You've been keeping something from me, haven't you?" Her voice was steady, but there was something hard beneath it—something that told Hayato that she wasn't going to let this go.
The air in the room grew thick, heavy with unspoken truths. The warm glow of the lantern cast flickering shadows on the walls, elongating their silhouettes like ghosts haunting the space between them.
Saeka glanced between them, her usual cheerful expression absent. She knew this wasn't the time to speak, but the tension in her shoulders showed that she felt the weight of whatever was about to be said.
Finally, Hayato exhaled shakily, his shoulders slumping forward. His hands flattened against the table as if grounding himself. "It's about Grandma," he said quietly.
The air in the room shifted.
Hikari flinched at the mention of their grandmother, her breath hitching. "Grandma?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "What about her?"
Hayato hesitated. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, his glowing markings dimming slightly as if mirroring the weight pressing down on him. He clenched his hands tighter, his knuckles going white.
"She… she didn't die in the car crash."
Silence.
Hikari blinked, her entire body stiffening. "What?" The word was small, fragile, like if she spoke too loudly, the truth would break her.
Hayato swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to continue. "She turned." His voice was thick with emotion, barely controlled. "The Aberrant radiation got to her. She… she became one of them. She was that Aberrant you saw in the forest all those years ago."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Hikari's face drained of color, her fingers curling into the fabric of her jacket. "No," she breathed, shaking her head. "That's not possible. She—she wouldn't—"
"She attacked us." Hayato's voice cut through hers, raw and unflinching. He didn't want to say this. He didn't want to make her relive it. But she had to know.
His mind was already drowning in the memories.
The smell of smoke and scorched flesh. The glint of the moonlight against her milky, unseeing eyes. The way her jaw had hung loose, her once-gentle hands twisted into claws that had reached for him, for Hikari.
"I tried to run," he continued, his voice breaking. "But she found us. She… she tried to kill us. I had no choice."
His hands were shaking now.
"I had to stop her."
The room was silent.
Hikari stared at him, her glowing eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
Kenji let out a slow exhale, running a hand down his face. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw showed he was processing the weight of what had just been revealed.
Saeka placed a hand over her chest, her normally vibrant face softened with quiet sorrow.
The warmth of the house, the scent of food lingering in the air—it all felt distant now.
Hikari finally found her voice, but it was barely audible. "You… you never told me."
Hayato lowered his gaze. "I didn't want you to remember her like that."
Her breath shuddered. "You think I'd rather have believed she just… died in the crash?"
Hayato clenched his fists. "Yes."
Hikari's hands curled into fists against her lap. Her shoulders trembled, but she said nothing.
The truth was out now. And the wounds it left behind weren't ones that could be healed overnight.
The weight of the truth pressed down on the room like an unrelenting storm, suffocating and heavy. No one moved. No one spoke. The soft flicker of the lantern cast long shadows across the walls, but it did nothing to warm the cold silence that had settled over them.
Then, suddenly—
SCRAPE.
The sharp sound of a chair dragging against the wooden floor cut through the quiet like a blade. Hikari pushed back from the table, her breath uneven, her body trembling. Tears welled up in her eyes, reflecting the dim light like fractured glass. Her hands clenched at her sides, shaking, but it was nothing compared to the storm raging inside her.
She stared at Hayato, disbelief and betrayal etched across her delicate features. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried more weight than any scream.
"You lied to me."
Hayato's stomach twisted, his throat tightening as he tried to find the right words—any words—that would make this better. "Hikari, I—"
"You lied to me!" she shouted this time, her voice breaking under the weight of her emotions. The tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilled over, streaming down her cheeks in shimmering, electric-blue trails. "All this time, you let me think she died in the accident! You let me grieve her like she was still... still her—but she wasn't! She was already gone, and you didn't tell me!"
Her voice cracked at the end, raw with anguish, her breathing coming in sharp, uneven gasps.
Hayato's hands curled into fists against the table, his glowing markings flickering unsteadily. "I didn't want to hurt you," he said, his voice desperate, pleading.
Hikari let out a choked laugh, bitter and broken. "You didn't want to hurt me?" she echoed, her voice dripping with disbelief. "Do you have any idea what this feels like? You think finding out like this—after all these years—doesn't hurt?"
Hayato flinched but didn't answer.
"I trusted you."
Those words hit harder than any punch, sinking deep into his chest like a knife.
Hikari's glowing eyes flickered wildly, electricity crackling faintly at her fingertips, but she didn't lash out. Instead, she took a shaky step backward, her breaths ragged. Without another word, she turned and ran.
Her footsteps echoed through the small house, each one ringing louder in Hayato's ears than the last. Then—
SLAM.
The door to her room shut with finality.
Silence.
Hayato sat frozen, staring blankly at the place where she had stood, his mind replaying her words over and over again. His glowing facial markings dimmed, flickering weakly like a dying ember, as the weight of his guilt crushed down on him.
Across the table, Saeka shifted uncomfortably, her usual warmth absent. Her hair cast dark shadows over her solemn face, and though she said nothing, the way she avoided his gaze made it clear—she didn't know what to say.
It was Kenji who finally spoke.
The older man leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. But beneath the stoic exterior, his sharp eyes held something else—something deeper. Not anger. Not disappointed. Just a quiet, heavy sadness.
"You should've told her, Hayato," Kenji said, his voice low but firm. "She deserved to know the truth."
Hayato swallowed hard, his throat dry. He couldn't meet his uncle's gaze. "I was trying to protect her," he whispered, but even to his own ears, the words felt hollow now.
Kenji let out a slow breath, standing up from the table. He grabbed his empty plate, pausing just long enough to look down at Hayato with something that almost resembled pity.
"Sometimes, protecting someone doesn't mean hiding things from them," he said quietly. "It means trusting them to be strong enough to face the truth."
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Hayato alone at the table, drowning in the suffocating weight of his choices.
The warmth of the house felt distant now. The food, once comforting, tasted like ash in his mouth.
And somewhere behind that closed door, his sister was crying.
And it was his fault.
The night air was crisp against Hayato's skin, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and earth. The stars above shimmered dimly, their light struggling to break through the lingering haze of radiation that still clung to the sky even years after Genesis. He pulled his jacket tighter around him as he walked, his boots crunching softly against the grass and dirt beneath him.
His steps carried him toward the edge of the village, past the last few houses, until he reached his favorite spot—a quiet cliffside framed by towering trees. The wind whispered through the branches, rustling the leaves in a way that was almost soothing. From here, he could see everything: the village below, nestled in the valley, its lights flickering like tiny fireflies against the darkness, and the vast, endless sky stretching above.
He leaned against a tree, tilting his head back, his blue eyes tracing the stars. He had always found some level of comfort in this place, but tonight, it did little to calm the storm raging in his chest. His hands tightened into fists at his sides, his mind replaying the scene at dinner over and over again.
Hikari's tear-streaked face. Her voice, shaking with betrayal. "I trusted you!"
He exhaled sharply, trying to push the memory away, but it clung to him like a phantom.
Then, the sound of footsteps broke the silence.
"Hayato."
Saeka's voice was soft, careful, as if she knew he might push her away.
He didn't turn. "You should have headed home," he muttered, his voice dull, empty.
Saeka ignored him, stepping closer. The moonlight caught in her hair, turning its usual fiery hues into a softer, ember-like glow. "I thought you could use some company."
Hayato let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "Company won't fix this."
"No," Saeka admitted, leaning against the same tree beside him, her arms crossing over her chest. "But it might make it a little easier."
For a while, neither of them spoke. The night stretched around them, filled only with the distant hum of the village and the occasional chirp of insects hiding in the brush. The world, at least in this moment, felt quieter than it had all day.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, Saeka spoke again. "You did what you had to do."
Hayato's expression darkened, his glowing markings pulsing faintly before dimming again. "That doesn't make it any easier to live with."
Saeka turned her head slightly, watching him. There was something understanding in her gaze, something warm despite the chill in the air. She reached out, placing a hand on his arm, her touch grounding. "You haven't lost her, Hayato. She's hurt, but she'll come back. She just needs time."
Hayato inhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. Deep down, he wanted to believe her, but the knot of guilt in his chest refused to loosen.
Unbeknownst to them, inside the house, Hikari sat curled up in the dark, her arms wrapped around her knees. Silent tears slipped down her cheeks, her mind spinning in endless loops of confusion, hurt, and anger. The image of her grandmother—someone she had loved, someone she had trusted—being turned into a monster. And Hayato, the person she trusted most, kept that truth from her.
Outside, Saeka studied Hayato's tense posture, her voice softer now. "You carry too much on your shoulders, you know. You don't have to do this alone."
Hayato let out a slow exhale, the weight of his thoughts dragging his gaze downward. "I don't know how to let anyone else in."
Saeka tilted her head, offering a small, knowing smile. "Then start small. Start by forgiving yourself."
Hayato said nothing, but the tension in his shoulders eased—just a little.