The house always felt different at dusk.
The flower shop downstairs was closed, its petals and stems resting for the night. The quiet tick of the lantern clock filled the hall. And in the kitchen, warm smells drifted through the doorway—broth, ginger, a hint of something sweet Mom must've added toward the end.
When I stepped inside, Mom was already at the stove, stirring something gently. Her white hair caught the lamplight, soft against her back, green eyes warm when she glanced over her shoulder.
"You're just in time," she said. "Wash your hands."
Her voice was light, steady, the kind that softened the edges of a long day.
Yui sat at the table with her chin propped in her hands. The moment she saw me, she straightened, narrowed her eyes dramatically, and announced:
"Oh. You're home. Finally."
I didn't even have time to sit before she added, "It's not like we missed you or anything, honestly we were excited."
I slid my chair back and sat down slowly. "Okay."
Her jaw dropped. "Okay? That's it? That's your response?"
"You said you were excited."
"I was!" she insisted, crossing her arms so fast she nearly knocked over her cup. "The house was perfectly fine without you."
Mom, still turned toward the stove, let out the softest laugh. She ladled soup into bowls, the steam curling upward.
"Yui asked when you'd be home," Mom said lightly, "three times."
I watched the back of Yui's head tense like a startled cat.
"No, I didn't!"
Mom placed the first bowl in front of her. "Four times, actually. I lost count after that."
"Mom!" Yui practically fell forward, burying half her face in her arms. "Why would you say that?!"
Mom set another bowl in front of me, her lips curving just slightly. "Because it's true."
Yui peeked up at me through her fingers, cheeks bright red. "I wasn't worried! I was just… curious."
"Uh-huh."
"Shut up."
I lifted my spoon. "I didn't say anything."
"Well, your face said something."
"What did it say?"
"That you think you're sooo important."
"I don't think that."
"YOU DO."
Mom sat down across from us, hands folded neatly. "Eat before it gets cold."
Yui stabbed a piece of carrot like it offended her. "I wasn't worried," she muttered into her bowl.
Mom raised a brow. "Then why did you run to the window each time someone walked by?"
"Because I—I thought—those people looked suspicious!"
"Suspicious how?" Mom asked.
"They were… walking weird!"
Mom's smile softened. "Yui, you worry because you care. There's nothing wrong with that."
Yui let out a strangled sound, somewhere between outrage and embarrassment. "I DO NOT CARE ABOUT HIM."
I took another bite. "Thanks."
"Stop thanking me!"
**
Dinner settled into a steady rhythm after that—clinks of utensils, the quiet simmer of broth cooling, Yui's dramatic sighs as she tried to recover her dignity. Despite all her complaining, she sat closer to me than usual. Not directly next to me, but her chair scraped an inch or two closer whenever she shifted.
Mom noticed. I pretended not to.
"So," Mom said gently, stirring a bit of rice with her spoon, "how was your day?"
"It was fine," I said.
"Mine was terrible," Yui declared immediately.
Mom didn't even blink. "What happened?"
"This horrible man," she began, hands flying up, "came into the shop and asked for 'the single prettiest flower.' So I showed him a whole tray, and he said none of them were pretty enough."
Mom nodded as if she hadn't heard this twice already today. "And then?"
"And then," Yui continued, "he said, 'Do you have something that looks less like a flower and more like… a spirit?' And I said, 'No, sir, that doesn't exist.' And THEN he said—" She paused for dramatic effect. "'You lack imagination.'"
Mom suppressed a laugh behind her hand. "He did not say that."
"He did! He definitely did." Yui turned to me. "Kin, I swear he did."
"I believe you."
"Of course you do," she said smugly, then caught herself and scowled. "I mean—good. Whatever."
Mom dabbed the corner of her lip with a napkin. "I thought you handled him very politely."
"That's because I'm amazing at customer service," Yui said proudly.
"You told him to leave," Mom reminded her.
"Well… yes. But nicely!"
She stabbed her spoon into her rice again, this time like she was fighting an invisible spirit herself.
Mom turned her attention to me again. "Did anything happen at school?"
I hesitated, shrugging. "Nothing unusual, just the usual."
Yui leaned forward, squinting. "Are you sure? You look weird."
Mom shot her a look. "Yui."
"What? He does!"
I kept my gaze on my bowl, smiling softly. "I'm fine."
Mom didn't comment, but I felt her eyes on me. She had a way of seeing things beneath the surface, even when I tried to keep them buried. A gentleness that made avoiding the truth harder than facing it.
"Long day?" she asked quietly.
"Sort of."
She reached across the table and brushed a strand of white hair out of my face. "You come home tired a lot lately."
"I'm fine mom, seriously."
Her hand lingered for a moment before dropping softly back to her lap. "If you say so, I won't be a nagging mother."
Yui scoffed. "He always pretends. Kin pretends he's fine, pretends he's cool, pretends he knows how to talk to people—"
"I do talk to people."
"Barely."
"I talk to you."
"That doesn't count!" she snapped, embarrassed again.
Mom covered a laugh. "Be kind."
"I am kind," Yui insisted, then cut her eyes at me. "You know, if you're going to come home looking like a sad statue, you should at least—like—say something. You're weird when you're quiet."
"Would you prefer I ramble on like you?"
"What?!," she grumbled, "I don't ramble!"
I blinked and laughed. "You just were."
Mom set her spoon down with a soft clink. "Both of you eat."
"Idiot," Yui whispered loudly.
I rubbed my forehead. "We heard that."
"I didn't say anything!"
"Yui," Mom said, pinching the bridge of her nose, "please eat."
Yui slouched dramatically but obeyed, grumbling into her bowl, cheeks still pink.
**
The knock came just as Mom was reaching for my empty bowl.
Three quick raps. Not heavy, not hesitant. Like whoever was there already knew they'd be let in.
Mom's hand paused over the dishes. Her eyes flicked to the door, then to me. "Kin," she said, "would you mind?"
"Yeah, I got it."
I pushed my chair back. Yui immediately tensed, eyes darting from me to the hallway.
"It's probably some weirdo from the shop," she muttered, though she didn't sound convinced. "If it's that 'spirit flower' guy again, tell him we're closed."
"You can tell him," I said.
"I'm busy," she replied, even though she clearly wasn't.
Mom's lips curved, just a bit. "Go on," she said.
I walked out of the kitchen, my socks soft against the wooden floorboards as the warmth of the lanterns followed me down the narrow hall. The house felt even quieter away from the clinking dishes and Yui's complaining.
Another pair of knocks came, lighter this time.
"I'm coming," I called.
I reached the door and pulled it open.
The gap had barely formed when something hit me.
Arms wrapped around my shoulders with enough force to slam me back a step, warmth and familiar weight crashing into my chest.
"KIN!"
Her voice burst through the doorway before her face did—bright, overflowing, the same as it had always been, like she didn't know how to say someone's name quietly.
My back bumped the wall. I blinked down at the top of her head—white hair, shorter than I remembered, cut in layered, feathered chunks that brushed the base of her neck and flicked out around her shoulders like they couldn't decide which direction to fall.
"Aiken?" I managed.
She pulled back just enough to grab my face in both hands, squishing my cheeks between her palms like she was trying to mold clay.
"Yes, it is I," she said with an exaggerated grin. "Your wonderful, talented, extremely cool older sister, whom you clearly forgot was coming home today."
"I didn't forget."
Her brown eyes narrowed. "You did."
"I didn't," I said, even though I hadn't thought about it once all day.
Aiken clicked her tongue, then squished my face harder. "You liar. Look at you. You grew."
She leaned back, still holding my jaw, scanning me up and down like she was evaluating a horse at a market.
"Not by much," she decided. "Maybe… this much."
She held her fingers a tiny distance apart.
"I'm taller than before," I said.
"Barely, but maybe you can be at my height soon."
She smirked, then finally let go of my cheeks. Her fingers brushed my hair back, ruffling it. "Still copying Mom, huh?"
"I'm not copying—"
"White hair, green eyes," she said, wiggling a finger between my eyes. "You're a theft. You stole her entire look. Have some originality."
"You have white hair too," I pointed out.
"Yeah," she said proudly, running a hand through it so the layered ends flared. "But mine is stylish. See? Personality."
The cut did suit her. Messy and sharp at the same time—shorter in the back, longer in the front, with strands that framed her face and others that refused to lie flat. It looked like she'd run her fingers through it all day and it somehow made it better.
Before I could reply, another voice cut through the hall.
"Aiken?!"
Yui's chair screeched in the kitchen. Footsteps pounded down the hall in a frantic rhythm, and then Yui appeared, eyes wide.
"Aiken! You're here!"
She barreled forward like a thrown stone. Aiken laughed and opened her arms, catching her cleanly and lifting her off the ground in a spinning hug.
"YUI!" she yelled back, matching her volume. "Look at you! You're huge now. And still loud. Very loud."
"I am not huge!" Yui said, wrapping her arms around Aiken's neck. "You're just weak."
Aiken snorted. "You're like a sack of potatoes with opinions."
"That's rude!"
Yui clung to her like she might disappear if she let go. Her earlier attitude evaporated completely.
Mom appeared at the edge of the hallway, wiping her hands on a cloth, eyes soft and bright.
"You're early," she said.
Aiken set Yui down on her feet and stepped forward, her expression gentling in a way it hadn't with us.
"I caught an earlier train," she said. "Less people, more leg room. Still terrible."
Mom opened her arms. Aiken moved into them without hesitation, folding herself into the hug like it was the easiest thing in the world.
"Welcome home," Mom murmured.
Aiken blew out a breath.
"Okay," she said, clapping once. "I am starving. Did you eat without me?"
"Yes," Yui said, scandalized at the question. "Obviously. But there's still food. Right, Mom? There's still food?"
"There is," Mom said, amused. "I made extra."
"Because you knew I was coming," Aiken said, nudging her shoulder lightly.
"Because I always make extra," Mom corrected.
"Say it was for me," Aiken pleaded.
Mom smiled. "It was for you."
Yui gasped. "You never say that when I ask."
"You don't ask," Mom said. "You declare."
"That's still asking!"
**
Aiken kicked off her boots by the door, dropping them in a way that made Yui wince.
"Don't leave them like that," Yui said, nudging them into a neater line with her foot. "Customers see the entrance in the morning."
"You're twelve," Aiken said. "You shouldn't care about boot aesthetics."
"I care about not getting yelled at," Yui replied.
"Who yells at you?" Aiken asked. "I'll fight them."
"Mom."
"Nevermind," Aiken said, quickly.
We moved back into the kitchen together, the three of them filling the doorway all at once. The room, which had felt warm before, seemed even smaller now with Aiken's presence stretching to fill every corner.
"You sat in my seat," Yui told her, pointing at her own chair.
"This was always my seat," Aiken corrected. "You stole it while I was away."
"You abandoned it."
Mom placed another bowl on the table. "You can sit wherever you like. There's enough space."
Aiken plopped down in the chair beside mine, Yui dragging her own a bit closer on the other side like she wanted to sandwich her sister.
Mom sat down again, folding her hands briefly as if to reset herself in the new rhythm of the room.
"Did you have a long trip?" she asked.
Aiken groaned dramatically. "So long. The ride from Central felt like ten years. I sat next to a man who snored like he was wrestling a demon in his sleep."
Yui's eyes went round. "Did you wake him up?"
"I tried," Aiken said, ladling soup. "I nudged his shoulder. Nothing. I kicked his foot. Nothing. The train hit a bump and he snorted so loudly I thought he was dying, and then he woke up and apologized to everyone except me."
"Why not you?" Yui asked.
"He said I 'looked like I could handle it.'" Aiken mimicked the man's deep, pompous tone. "'Young people are resilient.'"
Mom shook her head, but she was smiling. "You made it here."
"Barely," Aiken said. "My legs have never known such suffering."
She picked up her spoon and took a long sip of broth, then let out a satisfied sigh. "Oh, this is so much better than Academy food. Do you know what they tried to serve us last week? Something green. With eyes."
"It did not have eyes," Mom said.
"It did in my memory," Aiken replied.
Yui giggled. "You should've thrown it away."
"I did," Aiken said. "Into someone else's bowl."
"Aiken," Mom said, trying not to laugh and failing a little.
"What? Sharing is caring."
**
At some point, Aiken's stories shifted.
"Have you seen Kensei lately?" Mom asked quietly, like she knew the answer would land differently than the rest of the conversation.
Aiken's expression changed in the smallest way—a flicker around her eyes, a tiny drop in her shoulders. Not obvious. Not dramatic.
"Not as much as before," she said. "He's… busy."
Yui's face scrunched. "He's always busy."
"He's working hard," Aiken replied. The words came fast, like she'd said them before, to herself or someone else. "He has a lot on his shoulders."
Mom nodded slowly. "You all do."
I kept my eyes on the table.
Kensei. Brown hair like Dad. Brown eyes too. The one people expected to follow in his footsteps from the moment he could stand straight. The one who didn't come home tonight.
Yui poked at her food. "He could visit."
"He'll come when he can," Mom said softly.
Aiken's gaze drifted to me for a fraction of a second before looking away. Then she slapped her palms lightly on her knees and changed the tone.
"Anyway!" she said. "Enough about that. Important question: did Mom make that honey cake I begged her for, or did she lie to me in her last letter?"
Mom's lips curved. "It's cooling in the other room."
Aiken gasped. "You do love me."
"She baked it before she baked the bread this morning," Yui announced. "She was up before the sun. I helped."
"You watched," Mom corrected gently.
"I supervised," Yui insisted.
"Very loudly," Mom added.
Aiken laughed. "I can't wait. Kin, you don't get any."
"What! Why not?" I said.
She squinted. "Because you have to be in top shape."
"I only eat one slice at a time anyways.."
"He's lying," Yui said. "He ate two slices last time."
"Traitor," I said.
"You're a liar," she fired back.
**
After dinner, the four of us drifted into the living room.
Yui claimed the couch the moment she walked in, dragging her blanket over her legs like some kind of miniature dictator. She complained about being "too full to move," then proceeded to roll around every two minutes. Mom sat in her usual chair near the window, drying her hands with a towel as she listened to us talk.
Aiken stretched out on the rug like she'd been traveling for a year. She groaned loud enough for the whole town to hear, then went right back to teasing Yui about her blanket obsession.
I sat on the floor near the corner of the couch.
Aiken kept glancing at me between jokes with Yui. Quick looks. The kind that weren't meant to be caught but were.
After a while, she nudged the back of my shoulder with her foot.
"Come here."
I looked up. "What?"
"Up," she said, already standing. "I need a word."
Yui poked her head out of the blanket like a suspicious animal. "Where are you taking him?"
Aiken tossed a hand in the air. "Calm down. I'm not sacrificing him."
Yui muttered something about "bring him back anyway," but Aiken ignored her and walked toward the hallway.
I followed her.
We stopped near the entrance — the part of the house where the lantern didn't reach as well and the air felt cooler. The front door was still locked, the night quiet behind it.
Aiken leaned against the wall, arms crossed loosely.
"So," she said, "how's your Matter been?"
I shrugged. "Fine."
"Uh-huh." She raised a brow. "Try again."
I hesitated. "…Still hard to control."
She nodded like that was exactly the answer she expected. "Dark Matter's not easy. Yours especially. It's got attitude."
I didn't comment.
Aiken studied me for a moment, her expression losing its usual playfulness. Not serious — just focused.
"You're gonna need to get a better grip on it," she said.
Scratching my head, I let out a sigh, "You don't have to rush me on it, I've been training every day."
Aiken looked at me almost as if I said something wrong, "You don't have much time Kin."
"What are you talking about?"
She stared at me with a shocked expression, like she was waiting for me to figure it out myself.
I didn't.
"…What?" I asked.
Aiken straightened. "Kin."
I blinked.
She let out a short breath. "You know you leave in three days, right?"
I didn't say anything. Not immediately.
Three days.
She watched my reaction, and her eyes widened just a little.
"You forgot," she said.
"No."
"You did."
"I didn't."
"Kin."
I looked down at the floor. "…Maybe a little."
Aiken dragged her hand down her face. "Unbelievable."
She shoved her hair back with her fingers, the layered strands falling right back into place. "The Trials," she said, like she was reminding a kid who misplaced his lunch. "Three days. You're going to the capital. You've known this for years."
"It just slipped my mind, I've still been training regardless." The words came out louder than I wanted.
She didn't look convinced. But she didn't push it either.
She stepped closer, just enough to look me directly in the eyes.
"Kin," she said, "this isn't like school sparring or training assignments. You can't half-pay attention. You show up focused, or you get eaten alive."
"I know," I repeated.
"And your Matter?" she asked. "You need control. Even a little. You can't rely on luck or instinct or that weird stubbornness you have."
Aiken rested one hand on my shoulder. Not dramatic. Not overly comforting. Just steady.
"You're strong," she said. "But strong doesn't matter if your head's somewhere else."
I looked away.
"You've been off lately," she added, voice lower. "Not in a bad way. Just… somewhere else."
"I'm fine, just… tired."
She didn't argue. She just huffed quietly. "Just get yourself together before you go. That's all I'm saying."
She let her hand fall away and stepped back.
Then she paused and looked at me again, her expression softer than before.
"Don't forget why you're training," she said.
She walked back into the living room, shouting something at Yui before she even reached the doorway.
I stayed where I was for a few seconds.
Three days.
Right. That's why I'd been pushing myself. Why instructors were giving me weird looks. Why everything felt like pressure lately.
It's because in Three Days.
I'd be taking The Ascension Trials.