Location: Akira's Bedroom – Late Night
The lamp had dimmed to a soft amber hush, its glow painting slow ripples of light across the tatami. Outside, rain whispered along the eaves—steady, rhythmic, as though the night itself were breathing.
Tsukiko lay half-turned toward him, her tail tucked close beneath the blanket. Sleep hadn't fully claimed her; her gaze drifted between the window and the soft outline of Akira beside his futon. The silence between them was no longer awkward—it was alive, like a held breath neither wished to release.
Akira watched her for a moment, unsure whether to speak. The rain gave him courage.
"Tsukiko," he said quietly, "when you mentioned earlier that storms follow you… what did you mean?"
Her fingers stilled against the blanket. A small pulse of light shimmered under her collarbone—her Astral mark responding to the question before she did.
She turned her head slightly, eyes half-lidded. "You really want to know?"
"I do," he answered, voice firm but gentle. "I can't help if I don't understand what's after you."
The words seemed to linger in the air. For a heartbeat, only the rain replied.
Tsukiko drew a slow breath. "They're not storms in the way you think. They have names… faces." Her voice grew quieter. "The Collectors."
Akira frowned. "Collectors?"
"They hunt Astralkin," she said, her tone flattening to something measured, practiced. "SpiritBorn or Fellkin mostly—half-corrupted ones who serve the Courts of Reclamation. To them, Astralkin like me are strays… resources to be retrieved or erased."
She fell silent again. The faint tremor in her voice wasn't fear—it was exhaustion.
"The Collectors use enchanted nets, cages, and powerful seals to capture us. They're not merely hunters—no, they are jailers. Their goal is to erase anything that doesn't fit into their strict order."
Akira frowned, curiosity mixing with concern.
"SpiritBorn? Fellkin? What exactly does that mean?"
Tsukiko took a slow, steadying breath, then began to explain, her voice soft but clear.
"There are different types of Astralkin. The Realmborn—like me—are born directly in the Astral Realm. We are native, with deep roots and strong ties to that world. Realmborn like me come from royal bloodlines, which makes us especially important—and especially dangerous and precious to the Collectors."
A faint, wistful smile touched her lips, shadowed by the weight of centuries of persecution.
She paused, her eyes distant as if pulling from ancient memories etched into the very fabric of her being.
"The Astral Realm itself, Reikōkai—formed in the silence between stars, where breath gave birth to spirit. It emerged not from light, but from longing—a reflection of collective human dreams, memories, and emotions. It's neither heaven nor hell, but a liminal realm of thought and spirit."
Akira leaned in slightly, the rain outside seeming to soften as if the world itself were listening. Tsukiko continued, her voice gaining a rhythmic quality, like reciting a sacred tale passed down through generations.
"Realmborn Astralkin, like myself, are born from raw astral essence, making us native to these zones. We're tied to the realm's core, often emerging as spirit dragons, phoenixes, or guardian beasts, when the first sapient societies formed."
She shifted under the blanket, her tail curling slightly as she recalled the grandeur of it all. "Astral Codes were etched into celestial ley-lines back then—moral laws like 'bond freely, never enslave.' Mythical tiers emerged too: Minor Astralkin as animals, charm spirits, or forgotten dreams; Greater as elemental beasts or worshipped beings; and Astral Sovereigns like me, rare royal-bloodline spirits."
Akira nodded, absorbing the layers of history. The room felt heavier now, as if the weight of an entire realm had settled into the quiet space between them.
"Then there are the Relicborn—unlike those formed from ideas or belief, they emerge from objects prayed to, cherished, or imbued with meaning. A shrine fox statue, a family heirloom ring, even an old music box treasured for generations… such things can awaken into Astralkin if devotion endures."
Her lips curved faintly. "They're living relics, guardians tied to humanity's deepest sentiments." Her tail twitched beneath the blanket, hinting at weariness and a desire to elaborate. "Relicborn arise from human care, emotional imprints, or forgotten wishes, reformed into melancholic beings. When the veil between Earth and the Astral Realm thinned due to your world's emotional overload, some were summoned or enslaved by priests and oracles. That's why the Celestial Accord was forged, to enforce separation and protect us."
The rain pattered more insistently now, echoing the ancient divide she described. Akira's mind raced, envisioning these living artifacts bridging realms, shaped by human devotion.
"Closely related are the Visionborn—some are also called Dreamborn—spirits that crystallize in the Astral Realm from human belief, imagination, folklore, or recurring dreams, taking form where strong emotions or spiritual meaning converge. They can appear as humans, animals, or hybrids, born from hopes, fears, and memories."
She paused again, letting him absorb the idea, then continued. "Visionborn emerge from worshipped ideas or archetypes— celestial beasts, shadow figures, haunted myth—shaped by collective belief. They're fluid, manifesting where passion or spirituality intensifies, interacting with your world in unique ways. Yet, they're fragile, vulnerable to fading or the Akumirei plague that twists their essence into darkness."
Akira's brow furrowed, the interconnectedness weaving a vivid tapestry in his mind. The lamp's glow flickered, casting shadows that mimicked the ethereal zones she'd mentioned.
"And Spiritborn—they're fragile Astralkin, born from forgotten memories, lost spirits, or those cast aside by both worlds…" She leaned back, her eyes glinting with distant light.
She smiled gently now, a subtle warmth returning to her gaze.
"Some begin new lives in places like the Astral Spirit Night Market you saw. There, they earn remembrance points in the form of crysts—the currency we use in the Realm—by trading, performing acts of kindness, or protecting others. Through this, they redeem their memory in the Human World and keep their gentle existence alive through connection."
Her eyes grew distant, reflective. "SpiritBorn are often the ones most at risk from the Akumirei plague that emerged—a mysterious, fast-spreading phenomenon that infects various zones of the Astral Realm. Named 'Akumirei'—Evil Allure Spirits—it begins as a spiritual sickness, feeding on abandonment and twisting once-harmless spirits. It manifests in escalating stages, starting with Echo Withering, where Astralkin lose vibrancy and forget their names or purpose."
Akira felt a chill despite the warmth of the room, the plague's description evoking images of decaying souls in the Wanehollow Bastion or Ouroburial Marsh. Tsukiko's voice carried a solemn weight, as if recounting a tragedy that still echoed through her realm.
"The Fellkin," Tsukiko continued, her voice dropping into a grim whisper, "are corrupted Astralkin, twisted and broken by a spiritual plague called Akumirei. They are lost fragments of what they once were, driven by rage and hunger. Dangerous and unpredictable."
Akira's brow furrowed deeply, the pieces falling into place but revealing a darker reality.
"So, where do the Collectors fit in all this?"
Tsukiko's gaze hardened, tension creeping into her voice.
"From what I understand, the Collectors are mostly SpiritBorn or Fellkin who hunt Realmborn and RelicBorn—the strongest and most vibrant of our kind. Sometimes, they attack VisionBorn and DreamBorn, or even fight among themselves. But capturing Realmborn and RelicBorn gives them much more power."
Her eyes flashed with bitter knowledge.
"They absorb the energy of their victims to boost their own existence and strengthen their control. There's even a tale of a Collector who once bottled a RelicBorn's last breath. The jar still glows on his belt—like a lantern powered by a scream."
Akira's heart quickened at the enormity of this threat, the weight of the Astral Realm pressing against his chest.
"The Collectors fear the Royal Realmborn," she said, voice low but fierce. "Because we represent freedom, resistance, and the old order that refuses to be controlled."
Her hand instinctively touched the pendant resting at her throat.
"And they hunt me for this—because I carry the SigilBound Anchor Protocol inside this pendant. It's a power they want to capture or destroy, something that could undo everything they've built."
.
.
.
Akira's eyes narrowed with curiosity and concern. "The SigilBound… What exactly is it? What does it do?"
Tsukiko hesitated, her gaze drifting away for a moment as if searching ancient memories. "I don't fully understand it myself. It's said in our bloodline that the Sigil Keeper—the one who activates the Anchor Protocol—is able to foresee events, to know the path forward, to see things others cannot."
She looked back at him, a flicker of hope mingled with uncertainty. "A protector, a guide… someone who can help save the Realm. But the details are lost in time, and much remains a mystery even to me."
Akira nodded slowly, processing her words. "So it's like a key, or maybe a compass—something that shows the way?"
"Yes, I believe so…" Tsukiko whispered, "and I believe… you activated it."
Akira blinked, then nodded slowly. "I did see… something. It's hard to explain exactly. It's not quite like seeing the future like a crystal ball, but the interface shows me paths, missions that come up before they happen. Like a map guiding me toward certain rewards or choices. Like just now back in the spirit market, it hinted that an escape route would appear if I managed to protect you for twenty minutes."
Tsukiko's eyes strained to focus as she tried to absorb his words. "So… you did see something? A way to know what might happen next, or what we should do next?"
"Yes, but not quite everything," Akira said softly. "It feels like a connection—like the SigilBound is showing things to me through these runes and menus, slowly. There's still so much to learn from it, but I want to spend time understanding it—as well as your Realm. I want to protect you, and maybe… save your Realm."
She gave a faint smile, but the exhaustion weighing on her was clear.
Akira leaned closer, his voice gentle. "I'll let you know anything important as soon as the SigilBound notifies me. We'll take it one step at a time, I promise."
He reassured her softly, reminding her that this space was hers to move around in—and that tomorrow he would show her more of his house, bit by bit, at her pace. The atmosphere between them eased, warmer now, more alive, as if the quiet room itself had begun to breathe with them.
Her breathing slowed, eyelids growing heavy as she fought to stay awake. "Will… will it show us the way to happiness? To freedom?" she murmured, her voice soft and fragile.
Akira nodded reassuringly. "I hope so. I promise I'll keep trying."
Tsukiko's voice became a sleepy whisper. "Thank you… Akira…"
Akira stayed beside her, listening to the quiet sound that filled the room—a steady reminder that, for now, she was safe. Her questions faded as sleep gently claimed her, the struggle to understand giving way to peaceful rest.
He settled beside her on the futon, close enough that if she reached, her fingers could find him. The faint warmth of her skin brushed against his palm. The quiet rhythm of her breathing wrapped the room in calm.
With Tsukiko finally asleep, the room settled into a hushed, almost sacred stillness. The night stretched around him, unbroken by urgent footsteps or flashing danger.
His eyes lingered on her resting form—the faint rise and fall of her chest, the pale strands of silver hair spilling across the pillow, the fragile calm of her face. Everything in him wanted to protect that peace.
A thought surfaced, unbidden: the Mirage Veil. He remembered its faint description within the interface—a safeguard meant to shield and heal.
Akira closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the quiet rhythm of Tsukiko's breathing. A thought formed—clearer now than before—as if the system itself had been waiting for him to act. He envisioned a room, a sheltered space large enough for the two of them, where no harm could reach her.
The air shimmered in response. Light unfurled from the floorboards, rising into transparent walls that curved gently around them. A faint glow traced their edges, forming a hologram-like chamber that sealed itself with seamless precision. Within its boundary, the atmosphere shifted—softer, warmer, carrying a pulse that resonated with Tsukiko's own.
He didn't move to sleep. The rain's gentle rhythm outside mingled with the faint shimmer of the Mirage Veil, and something in him stirred—a quiet pull from the SigilBound he could no longer ignore.
Its presence brushed at the edge of his thoughts, waiting.
He glanced once more at Tsukiko, then exhaled softly.
"Alright," he murmured under his breath. "Let's see what this SigilBound is all about."
At that whisper, faint threads of blue light spiraled upward from his chest, weaving into luminous runes that hovered in the air before him—the SigilBound Interface awakening in silence.
============== End of Chapter 8 ===============