A faint warmth clung to her skin as consciousness stirred, slowly dragging Chiaki out of the still void and back into the weight of her own body. The room she awoke in was dim, its wooden walls bathed in amber light from a lantern swinging gently from a ceiling beam. The scent of herbs and clean linens lingered in the air, calming yet unfamiliar.
Her eyes blinked open, lids heavy and lashes clumped together from dried tears. A soft blanket was draped over her—rough in texture but clean. Her wounds, once raw and bleeding, were now wrapped in crisp white bandages, fresh and neat.
She shifted slightly, wincing at the ache that pulsed across her ribs and spine. The motion stirred something in the room.
A quiet shuffle.
Her eyes turned toward the source.
Behind one of the wooden pillars near the edge of the room, a small figure peeked out—a boy, no older than ten, his clothes simple and a little oversized, as if passed down. He gripped the edge of the beam tightly, his wide eyes fixed on her, both curious and cautious. In his hands, he held a basin of water, a damp cloth hanging over the rim.
Chiaki didn't speak at first. Her gaze lingered on him, slow and searching, still trying to piece together how far she had managed to walk before collapsing. How she had ended up here… still breathing.
The boy didn't move. He seemed ready to run if she so much as twitched.
She finally found her voice, though it was cracked and rough.
"…Did you… do all this?" she rasped, motioning faintly to the clean bandages on her arms.
The boy hesitated, then gave a small nod. Not bold—just enough to confirm.
Chiaki's breath trembled. Her lips parted again, not quite a smile, but softer than before.
"…Thank you."
The boy placed the basin gently on the floor and took a small step back, retreating behind the pillar like a shadow folding into its source.
The room fell quiet again, save for the soft creak of the lantern above and the fragile sound of her breathing.
Chiaki pushed herself upright with a strained breath, the dull ache in her limbs flaring the moment her feet touched the floor. Her knees buckled almost instantly, sending her back down in a jolt of pain as she landed hard, one hand clutching her side, her expression twisted in quiet frustration. Still, her voice had returned—steady, if slightly hoarse—and though her body protested, she could finally speak and move with more clarity than before.
From behind the pillar, the boy's small voice called out, hesitant but firm, "You shouldn't be getting up yet. Your wounds... they're still open."
He peeked out again, his brows pinched with worry, hands fidgeting nervously at his sides. "If you move too much, they'll start bleeding again."
Chiaki turned her head slowly, eyes settling on the boy's worried face. Despite the pain lacing through every joint, a soft smile broke across her lips—gentle, tired, but genuine.
"Thanks… for looking after me," she said, her voice quiet but warmer than it had been in days. With a small grunt of effort, she braced herself against the wall, one trembling foot pushing beneath her as she slowly climbed to her feet again.
The boy stepped forward instinctively, arms half-raised to stop her, but she waved him off gently.
"I know I should rest... but I can't. I have to keep going," she said, her breath shallow, eyes focused. "There's still something I need to do. Something only I can figure out."
She swayed slightly, catching herself with a hand on the nearby pillar, but her feet stayed firm beneath her—worn, unsteady, yet no longer willing to fall.
The boy shifted from behind the pillar, stepping into view with hesitant feet. His gaze lingered on Chiaki's worn figure—bandaged and bruised, yet somehow still standing. He clutched the hem of his oversized shirt, knuckles pale.
"…Is it true?" he asked quietly. "That you're the one Rhaziel is looking for?"
Chiaki blinked, caught off guard. She didn't answer immediately. The boy took another slow step forward, voice still low, but braver.
"I heard the name. Rhaziel. My father said he's someone even the Marines won't touch. That he's not like the others. He's… something else." His eyes narrowed slightly—not in anger, but in deep thought. "He said if someone like you ever shows up… it means something terrible's about to begin."
He looked down at the floor, then back up at her again.
"Are you going to stop him?"
Chiaki's steps halted just as her hand brushed against the doorframe, her brow furrowing as something caught up with her—something she hadn't admitted aloud until now.
"…Wait," she said, turning back slightly, her fingers still pressed to the wooden edge of the frame for balance. Her voice was hoarse but honest. "Who is Rhaziel?"
The boy blinked, surprised. "You… you don't know?"
Chiaki shook her head slowly, her eyes narrowing just a little. "I've heard the name. Just now. From you. But I've never met him. I don't even know what he looks like, or what he wants. You said he's not a marine. So what is he?"
The boy hesitated, his small fingers curling against the sides of his shirt again as if gripping for the right words.
"My father says he's not part of any nation or faction. Not even the Empress has control over him," the boy answered quietly. "They say he doesn't follow laws, or orders. But people still listen to him… because if they don't, they disappear. Or worse."
Chiaki's expression hardened.
"He doesn't need an army," the boy went on. "People follow him because they're afraid he knows something about everyone. Like he sees what people try to hide inside. What they don't say out loud. Some say he's cursed. Others say he used to be human and gave that up."
"And what does he want from me?" Chiaki asked, her voice low, almost a whisper.
"I don't know…" the boy admitted. "But if he's looking for you, it means he thinks you're part of it. The story that's about to begin. Or maybe... something from the one that already ended."
Chiaki stared for a long time, silent. Then, softly: "Rhaziel…"
She repeated the name under her breath, as if trying to make it mean something. But nothing rose—no memory, no feeling. Just a blank space waiting to be filled.
Still leaning on the wall, Chiaki looked toward the boy again. "Thanks… for telling me. I'll be careful."
She didn't say it, but something about that name chilled her.
Not because she feared him.
But because, somehow, it felt like he'd been waiting for her long before she even knew who she was.
The boy's eyes widened the moment Chiaki whispered Rhaziel's name under her breath. It was as if something inside him snapped awake—a realization he hadn't meant to face.
He flinched, then quickly brought both hands over his mouth, his small frame stiffening like a cornered animal. "I… I wasn't supposed to say that," he mumbled, voice muffled behind trembling fingers. "Papa said not to tell anyone… not even if they asked."
His eyes darted from Chiaki to the door, to the cracks in the walls, as though fearing someone else had overheard. "I didn't mean to—I didn't think—" His words trailed into panic.
Then, without warning, he turned on his heel.
"Wait—!" Chiaki started to push off the wall, but her legs buckled slightly from the pain still gripping her limbs.
The boy ran.
Bare feet thudded across the wood, the oversized shirt fluttering behind him like a cape too big for a child who had seen too much. He disappeared down the corridor, rounding the corner and vanishing from view, leaving only silence behind—thick, uncertain silence.
Chiaki leaned against the wall again, her breath heavy in her throat.
Even his fear felt real. Too real.
"Rhaziel…" she muttered again, quieter this time, the name sinking into her like cold rain against a smoldering flame.
Chiaki remained still, her hand braced against the rough wooden wall, fingers trembling faintly. The boy's footsteps had long since faded, leaving her in the quiet of the dim, unfamiliar room. Yet it wasn't the silence that pressed into her chest—it was a word, one she couldn't shake loose from her thoughts.
Soul Severing.
Desmond's voice echoed in her head, smooth and calculated, like a knife being gently turned. "I'll prove that resonators can be killed without severing their soul…" "…A failed experiment…" "…What are you really, Chiaki?"
Her breath caught. The memories resurfaced—painful and uninvited. That cold chamber. The chains that weren't metal, but sensation. The shadows on the wall, whispering things she was too young to understand. The way her chest had once felt hollow, like something had been stolen before she even had the words to claim it as hers.
"What did they do to me?"
Her hand slowly drifted to her chest, pressing against the faint, lingering ache beneath the bandages. "Was my soul ever intact to begin with? The question hurt more than the bruises."
She shut her eyes, the weight of it all finally breaking the surface of her composure. "If severing a soul means breaking who you are… how much of me was left when they were done?"
Chiaki didn't cry. But the silence inside her heart had never felt louder.
"…I won't be a broken thing," she whispered, grounding herself with that simple truth. Her voice wasn't strong, but it was steady. "Whatever they tried to cut out… I'll find it again. Piece by piece."
And she would.
Even if she had to tear open the truth with bloodied hands.
To be continued...