The village of Kurotsuki nestled itself within the valley, surrounded by woodlands and knife-sharp mountains standing guard in silence. Its thatched straw roofs and winding earthen roads were a testament to austerity, far removed from the tradition and strife of Yamaoka. To Hakari, however, it was but a stepping stone for him. For his dark path.
He observed the villagers along the border of the forest as they went about with their activities. Farmers ploughed the lands, their laughs carried in the wind as they exchanged gossip and jokes. Kids played within the curvy routes, their uproarious weepings that dominated the ambiance. Merchants barked goods around the marketplace center, the fragrance of baking bread carried over alongside the fragrance of wild flowers growing at the boundary of the village.
Hakari's corrupted arm twitched at his side, the runes pulsing faintly. His hand brushed the mask at his belt, its presence cold and heavy.
"This place looks so peaceful," he muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with disdain. "But peace doesn't last long... Peace cannot born. Not in a world like this.."
He came out from among the shadows of the trees, his boots crunching gently on the dirt path as he approached the village. His black cloak fluttered slightly in the breeze, covering up the runes on his arm and the mask at his hip. He had spent weeks here, surviving on the edge, observing the villagers' arrivals and departures.
He was not here for their quiet lives or fleeting happiness. He was here for something else—something that would unlock the Immortal Mask's potential.
Within the small tavern in the center of the village, Hakari sat in the corner table, hood forward over his head. The glow of lanterns played across the weathered wood walls, the hum of voices echoing through the room as villagers gathered to swap drinks and news.
Hakari nodded silently, ears perked up catching here and there snippets of conversation.
"The bandits have not been making much noise of late," one man replied, his voice tired and raspy. "Too quiet, if you ask me. Makes me think they're planning something big time."
Another villager, a woman with a creased face, nodded her head gravely. "They've been congregating near the eastern pass. Saw their campfires a few nights back."
"Even more reason to fortify the village," another voice cut in. "We need to prepare ourselves if they attack..."
Hakari leaned back in his chair, gloved hands drumming on the table. Bandits. Rude, undisciplined, but effective. They'll do.
He finished his drink in silence before disappearing out of the tavern, cool night wind rushing over his face. The streets were vacant now, the majority of the villagers having retired. Hakari moved through the darkness, his footsteps quiet as he moved toward the eastern rim of the village.
From the hill of the valley, he saw the far-off light of campfires, their flickering flames an unmistakable sign of the camp of bandits.
The mask on his belt hummed faintly, as if it could feel his brain.
Hakari's hand hovered over it, his fingers tracing its coldness.
"You're starving, aren't you?" he breathed, his voice low. "You hunger for blood. Power. You hunger for me to wield you."
The mask did not say anything, but its weight felt heavier, crushing.
Hakari grinned, his corrupted arm glowing with faint light as the runes pulsed to his heartbeat. "Soon," he said, his voice even. "Soon you'll get what you want. And so will I."
He walked back towards the village, his dark cape flowing behind him as he disappeared into the night.
---
Over the next few days, Hakari continued to guard the village. He observed how the farmers reinforced their fences, how the blacksmith made them crude weapons to be used by those who would defend their homes, and how the children sat together and spun stories of the masked man who had emerged on the edge of the forest.
But Hakari was not interested in helping them. He was not their hero. He was here. Just to stay. No more than that. If anything happened here, he was their shadow, lying just beyond grasp for the day to attack.
He was attracted to the eastern pass, where the bandits were gathering. They were growing in numbers, their confidence fuelled by the fear they caused in the surrounding villages. Hakari watched their movements, their routines, the way they secured their camp.
And he waited.
Let them come, he thought, the mask at his side almost vibrating with anticipation. Let them bring their chaos. Just for satisfy his mask.
For Hakari, this village was more than a hiding place. It was the beginning of something far greater. And as the days passed, the hunger in his chest grew, matching the pulse of the mask at his belt.
The sun was only just rising, bathing the village of Kurotsuki in a warm soft light. Activity in the morning had begun, with villagers traveling to the fields and market square, their voices ringing in the air in a muffled thrum of activity.
Hakari sat at the corner of this tiny tavern, his black cloak over his arm. His hood lay down now, revealing his pointed features and the faint glow of the runes along his tainted arm, half-covered by his sleeve. He sipped his drink slowly, his gaze distant, as though the world's troubles were but a soft wind.
The tavern was quiet this early, but there were scattered patrons already—farmers who needed a hot meal before heading out to work and merchants discussing trade routes in mugs of ale. Hakari did not give them much attention, his thoughts elsewhere with the distant bandit camp and the magic that rested there.
He did not notice the band of villagers making their way to him until one of them cleared his throat.
"Excuse me," a nervous voice speak.
Hakari's eyes flicked up, his expression calm but unyielding. In front of him were three villagers—a thin man dressed in a leather apron, a burly farmer with calloused palms, and a young woman with a basket clutched in her hand. They appeared restless, shifting back on their heels as if unsure of what to do next.
"What do you want?" Hakari asked, his voice level and firm.
The man, aproned and wringing his hands, came forward. "You're. new in the village," he said. "We've seen you around. Hanging around. And, uh..." He glanced at the others for encouragement.
The woman went on after him, her voice trembling. "You don't seem afraid. Of the bandits, that is. Most are. But you." She hesitated, glancing up at the runes on Hakari's arm. "You're... Like you didn't afraid of them..."
Hakari raised an eyebrow, setting his cup down slowly. "And?"
The burly farmer stepped forward, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "We need help," he said bluntly. "The bandits are planning something. We've seen their numbers growin', their campfires closer every night. The guards in this village aren't enough, from strength and the count... and if they attack." He trailed off, his jaw tightening.
Hakari shifted back in his chair, expression blank. "And you hope to have my help?"
The three stared at one another in confusion.
"You have power," the woman went on, her words soft but commanding. "We can feel it. And calm, even with everything happening. Please. if you can help us, we'll do whatever we can to repay you.".
Hakari's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied them. Their desperation was palpable, their fear etched into every line of their faces. These were people clinging to hope, searching for a savior.
But Hakari wasn't a savior.
He smiled faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You think I'm strong?"
The burly farmer nodded. "Stronger than anyone else here."
Hakari's smile expanded, though it contained no warmth. "And you believe I'll put myself in harm's way for your little village? For strangers? Individuals who would not help much as move a finger to rescue me if our positions reversed?"
The three of them flinched at his tone, their spirits dying.
"We'll pay you," the apron-wearing man exclaimed hastily. "We don't have much, but—
"I don't want your coin, you think coin can pay soul?" Hakari interrupted, his voice cold.
The air was thick with the silence of no one breathing.
The woman stepped forward again, her hands wrapped tightly around the wicker of the basket. "Please," she implored. "If the bandits attack, they'll destroy everything. A-and they will kill us! They will kill our families as well. You can prevent it. You can save us please."
Hakari's gaze fell on her for a moment, and there flared up a light—a distant one, beyond the edge of vision.
"I could," he answered finally, his tone softer but no less lethal. "But tell me this—why should I?"
The villagers exchanged fearful glances, desperation and fear on their faces.
Hakari rose from his chair slowly, looming over them. He approached his cloak and flung it over his shoulders as he made a move for the door.
"You're afraid of the bandits," he said to them as he walked past. "But you would do better to be in more fear of what comes about when one like I becomes involved.
The villagers remained where they were, frozen, as Hakari stepped out into the brightness of the morning, his dark cloak billowing behind him.
Outside, he paused at the edge of the tavern, his corrupted arm pulsing faintly as he brushed his hand against the mask at his belt.
"They'll learn soon enough," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "When the bandits come, I'll give them something far worse to fear."
Hakari slowly rose from his chair, towering over them. He reached out to take hold of his cloak and wrap it about his shoulders as he approached the door. His dark figure loomed, etched by the golden light streaming through the open doorway of the tavern.
"You're frightened of the bandits," he informed them, his tone even and cold. "But you ought to be afraid of what happens when a person such as myself is attracted into the picture."
The villagers stood stock still, their hearts shattered by his harsh words. With no second glance, Hakari stepped out into the darkness, the quiet rustle of his cloak the only sound breaking the stillness.
The village was quieter now, the morning hum of activity fading into silence as Hakari headed towards the woods. He needed to be alone, a place where the whisperings of the mask would guide him. His fingers lay upon its face as he walked, the cursed thing shuddering very slightly in resistance.
He did not realize the shadow was still following him until it addressed him.
"Yo, Hakari."
The voice was calm but resolute, with a seriousness that made Hakari freeze in his tracks. His eyes furrowed as he whirled around, his corrupted arm twitch.
A figure stood at the edge of the forest whom he thought he'd never see again.
"Rinne?" Hakari breathed, incredulously, his voice little more than a whisper.
The man himself stepped into the light, moving with the same peaceful and uncompromising gestures that Hakari remembered. His robes, battered and frayed, bore the slight line of red flowers sewn into the fabric. His black hair spilled down around his shoulders in untidy disarray, and his chill blue eyes looked at Hakari with peaceful fervor.
"Impossible," Hakari snarled, his hand instinctively reaching for the mask on his belt. "You're dead! I saw you use the Red Blossom Technique. No one survives that."
Rinne did not answer immediately. He took another step forward, this time slowly. There was something unnatural about him now, an otherworldly presence that clung to his body like the dying sparks of a dying star.
"Ahh... So you are watching us fighting that hollow queen... Such observer.... Hmm... Perhaps I should have died," Rinne said finally, his tone laced with a strange calm. "But death did not claim me as it should."
Hakari's grip on the mask tightened. "What are you doing here?"
Rinne shifted forward a fraction, his gaze fixed on Hakari's face. "I could ask you the same. Right?"
Hakari spat, his poisoned arm burning faintly. "I'm not in the mood for your riddles, Rinne. You shouldn't be here."
"And still, here I am," Rinne said, voice calm. "Just as you are here, removed from Yamaoka, with a mask that was not supposed to awaken."
Hakari's teeth were gritted, his gaze angling. "Don't act like you understand me. You don't know anything about why I came here or what I'm doing."
"Don't I?" Rinne replied, his expression remain calm. "You've abandoned your family, abandoned everything you were taught. And for what? Power? Revenge? To awaken something that will kill your humanity? Oh dear Hakari. The immortal mask bearer. Is your life really that cheap?"
"Enough!" Hakari snarled, his corrupted arm snapping with malevolent energy. "You don't get to lecture me, Rinne. You have no idea what I've gone through. What I've had to do."
Rinne did not flinch, his calm eyes meeting Hakari's anger. "I know more than you think," he spoke softly. "And I know where this path will lead you, Hakari."
Hakari drew closer, his corrupted energy building. "And what path are you on, Rinne? Ghost? Memory? You should have stayed dead."
For the first time, a flicker of emotion flashed on Rinne's face—pity. "Perhaps I should have," he breathed. "But I'm here. And I won't let you fall into the darkness you're running into."
"—talking about path, Rinne? The one you took? The one that left you a ghost?"
Rinne didn't answer right away. His expression remained placid, but there was something in his gaze—something that made Hakari feel as if he were being seen through, dissected, and laid bare.
"I did what I had to," Rinne finally said. "Just as you are doing now. But tell me, Hakari—when the time comes, will you still believe it was worth it?"
Hakari scoffed, his corrupted arm pulsing. "Spare me the philosophy. You're nothing but a relic, clinging to old ideals. You talk about paths, but you don't even walk one anymore, aren't you?"
Rinne exhaled slowly, almost disappointed. "Then tell me—where does your path lead, Hakari? To power? To control? Or does it only lead to an abyss, waiting to swallow you whole?" Rinne chuckles calmly. "Hakari... Let me tell you. You are not walking into strength. Nor control. But your own destruction."
Hakari's fingers curled around the mask at his belt, its weight suddenly unbearable. He wanted to strike. To end this conversation. But something held him back.
Rinne turned away, his silhouette illuminated by the creeping dawn. "You'll see soon enough," he said quietly. "And when you do, I wonder—will you still recognize yourself?"
Hakari's corrupted arm twitched violently, but he didn't move. He only watched as Rinne faded into the mist, his presence vanishing like a whisper.
For the first time in a long while, Hakari felt something unfamiliar.
Doubt.
Hakari's corrupted arm pulsed feebly, the runes twisting under his skin like living things. His breath was steady, but a storm brewed behind his eyes, precariously held at bay. Rinne stood before him, calm, composed, infuriatingly impassive—just as he always was.
Hakari expelled a harsh breath, baring his teeth. "Tch." No more, he turned on his heel, his black cloak streaming behind him as he strode away into the trees.
He had taken precisely three steps before Rinne's voice, as smooth as ever, came after him.
"Leaving already?" The sarcasm was palpable. "I thought we were catching up. You know, reminiscing about the past. Maybe even sharing our darkest regrets around a campfire over tea."
"We never did that."
"Oh that was the reason we should. We never did that."
Hakari's footsteps didn't falter, but his fingers did twitch. Rinne was always like this—infuriatingly calm, impossibly composed, and irritatingly smug in the worst possible way.
Rinne continued, strolling casually behind him, hands in his sleeves. "Oh, come on, Hakari. You can't be seriously going to walk away. Not after a reunion that was so emotionally stirring. I traveled so far, risked life and limb getting out from that red blossom seal with that hollow queen—though, to be honest, I'm not certain how many limbs I have left to risk—in order to catch up with you." He sighed dramatically. "And here you are, taking flight. It's really quite rude. You know rude right? Rude meaning harsh and harsh-"
"I'm not running," Hakari cut, not even looking back.
"Ah, so it's purposefully walking away. Sorry," Rinne mused, nodding as if he'd found something profound and insightful. "Naturally, I understand. Very brooding. Very mysterious. But tell me—do you practice that walk, or is it natural?"
Hakari gritted his teeth, picking up his pace.
"And the cape? Oh, the way it flows so naturally. It's really impressive, you know. Do you time your movements with the wind, or does it just know when to make you look even more dramatic?"
Hakari spun around, his corrupted arm gleaming in the light as his patience wore thin. "Do you ever shut up?"
Rinne tapped his chin, as though to consider it. "Mmm… No, I don't think so."
Hakari groaned and turned back once more, deeper into the forest.
"You sure you don't want to at least attempt to have fun?" Rinne yelled after him. "I mean, how often does an old friend come back from the dead just to harass you?"
Hakari had no reply.
"Ah," Rinne continued, his voice carrying with ease through the trees, "I'll just take this as your way of celebrating, then. Very stoic. Very edgy. But just so you know, I am behind you."
Hakari didn't respond. He just kept walking, boots crunching against the dirt path, his patience unraveling with every step.
Rinne, of course, followed without a care, hands still tucked into his sleeves, the picture of casual amusement. "You know, this reminds me of the old days," he mused. "Me, talking. You, ignoring me. Except back then, you didn't have that whole brooding, corrupted warrior aesthetic going on. It's a good look, by the way. Very tragic. Very fallen hero."
Hakari's grip on his arm tightened, the runes pulsing brighter. "Keep talking, and I'll show you exactly how tragic I can get."
Rinne chuckled. "Ah, see? There it is. That famous Hakari temper." He sighed dramatically. "I missed this. Well, not you specifically, but more the general vibe. You know, the rage, the violence, just like your fath-"
A deep, glowing crack splintered the ground just behind Rinne, Hakari's corrupted energy searing through the dirt. Rinne stopped mid-sentence, blinking down at the scorched earth.
Then, he looked up, grinning. "Oh? Was that a warning shot?"
Hakari kept walking.
Rinne shook his head in mock disappointment. "Ah, so dramatic. Fine, fine. I'll give you some space. For now." His smirk lingered. "But don't worry, I'll back again easily at your side."
The wind rustled the trees as Hakari disappeared into the shadows of the forest, his figure swallowed by the night. And behind him, standing in the dim glow of the dying embers, Rinne simply smiled.
After all, the game had only just begun.
The ascent up to Kurohana was a gradual one, its woodland edges veiled in haze a cloak of secrets. The sun was low in the heavens, wan light filtering through dense cover high. Hakari ascended steadily, his injured arm hidden under his mantle, his mind on where he was headed.
Kurohana.
The accursed mask at his waist hummed happily, as if it were privy to what he was about. It was a village of mystery and of old power, where perhaps mystery—and power—he sought existed.
And yet when Hakari stopped at the outskirts of the village, something stayed his hand.
A spectral wall undulated with pale light in the air, much higher than the sky and encircling the village like a white palisade. The fence was barely perceptible at first, but the closer he drew to it, it shook, golden runes flickering before vanishing into thin air.
Hakari glared, the poisoned arm of him trembling under his cloak. He extended a nervous hand, fingers snapping on the surface of the barrier. A jolt of electricity swept through him, and he drew back with a snarl.
"Of course they would," he snarled, curled fists. "They'd resort to magic."
The barrier whispered, its runes burning with an angry, incandescent light as if mocking him.
Hakari's anger flared. He struck the barrier with his corrupted arm, the runes on his skin igniting with dark energy. But the barrier didn't yield. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the air, but the golden light remained unbroken.
"Damn it!" Hakari snarled, slamming his fist against the ground.
He leaned on the opposite side of the barrier, his mind whirling. Kurohana was always a keep now, walls shutting the world out. But this. this was not protection. This barrier vibrated with power, with power from a bygone age that sang through its contents, its magic threaded with craftsmanship greater than his.
Hakari stood glaring at the shimmering wall, his jaw muscles tensed. He detested the feeling of powerlessness it gave him, the realization that he was still trapped inside borders he had yet to breach.
Finally, following a series of failed efforts to break through the wall, he strode off into the forest, his steps strained with fury.
---
It was long past evening when Hakari arrived at the edge of Kurotsuki. The outline of the village cottages could be discerned, the grass roofs raised to gold by the fading light of evening.
Hakari walked back on the edge of the village to his cover, his head racing with anger and burning with anger. The poisoned mask in his belt was a faint, inward light, a reminder of something that he still could not possess.
As he was walking towards the clearing where his cabin was situated, a snapping halt made him freeze on his heels. His gimpy arm firmed up as his gaze also moved with the turn.
Sitting on a branch of a crooked tree, lazily kicking his legs, Rinne snacked on a red apple that shone in the sunlight. The reverberation of the bite sounded across the quiet clearing, and Rinne's cheerful hum.
Hakari opened his eyes. "You again."
Rinne lifted his head, his face serene and quietly smiling. "Hakari," he said, his tone teasing. "How was the trip?"
Hakari clenched his fists, his jaw set. "I haven't got time for your tricks, Rinne. What do you want?"
Rinne chewed another bite out of the apple, his expression thoughtful before he replied. "Killing time." He gestured out at the forest with the apple. "The scenery is pleasant here. Quiet."
Hakari's poisoned arm throbbed dully as he advanced. "You're very calm for a corpse."
Rinne shrugged against the tree trunk. "Am I living? Am I dead? Is it even relevant?
Hakari's patience was wearing thin. "Push aside the circular logic. How did you get here? The Red Blossom Technique does abandon people behind. You shouldn't have a body, full stop."
Rinne smiled faintly, letting the apple core drop to the grass beneath him. "And yet I am. Eating apples. Breathing air. Enjoying your scowl."
Hakari glared at him, his hand automatically dropping to rest on the mask secured on his belt. "You're impossible."
"Mabye," he said, springing from the branch with reckless, unconsidered bounds. He smoothed his palms in calming movements, taking painstaking, deliberate steps. "But is it not rich? So sure of what is real and what is not, and you who hold a sacred relic and hunger for forbidden power."
Hakari winced, his poisoned arm glowing with gentle blue light. "What are you even saying?"
Rinne stood up, his expression grim. "Maybe you shouldn't be asking how I arrived here. Maybe you should be asking why."
Hakari looked at him, the gasp heavy between them as a tight knot formed in his chest. "What do you want, Rinne?"
Rinne stepped closer, that quick smile again spreading across his face. "Why would you assume it's about what I desire?"
Hakari's glare sharpened, his corrupted arm flaring faintly beneath his cloak. "Then what is it about?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
Rinne's calm demeanor didn't waver. He took a slow step forward, his ethereal presence subtly shifting, the faint glow around him more noticeable now in the dimming light. His gaze met Hakari's, steady and unflinching.
"You dont know? It's about you obviously," Rinne said, his tone light but carrying an undercurrent of amusement. "It's about what you're chasing... And what you're running from. And it's about him."
Hakari's jaw tightened. "Him?"
Rinne gave a faint chuckle, the sound almost amused. "Your father. Takashi."
Hakari's corrupted arm twitched violently, the runes along his skin flaring brighter. "Don't," he said, his voice low and warning. "Don't talk about him."
Rinne ignored the warning, a calm face on his features as he continued. "The flames he employs—are unnatural. You could feel it, couldn't you? That burning. The numbing on the end of your arms, how it affected you. How it consumed your shadows like they meant nothing."
Hakari froze, not breathing. He hadn't told his father about the fight, how the sunfire sword shocked him as if never before he'd ever been struck by any sword. The flame itself had roused, pierced him through beyond any char, leaving him weak and senseless hours since the battle was over.
"You don't know what you're talking about," Hakari muttered, his grip tightening on the mask at his side.
Rinne tilted his head to the side, his pale smile not wavering. "Don't I?" he replied. "Takashi wasn't just fighting you, Hakari. He was burning himself out, too. That flame—that sun—isn't something to be employed for anything longer than a fleeting moment. It drains the body, the mind, the spirit. And yet, he employed it anyway."
Hakari's mind raced, his thoughts colliding in a chaotic storm. He remembered the way Takashi had moved during their fight, the relentless precision of his strikes, the unyielding heat of his blade. He'd thought it was pure strength, a reflection of his father's unwavering discipline.
But now, Rinne's words clawed at the edges of his memory, casting a new light on what he had seen.
"He didn't quit," Rinne spoke softly, as if trying not to hurt him. "Not because he was fighting to win. But because he cared."
Hakari gasped for breath, his tainted power igniting wildly. "Shut up," he snarled, his voice shaking with anger and confusion.
Rinne's eyes softened, his smile wavering as he approached. "He's sleeping now, isn't he? Exhausted. Probably taking his nap that maybe be his last... Hmmm... Maybe sleeping doesnt fit enough.... He is in his uhh... deep sleep. Or called unconcious. Perchance coma... Burning himself out from the inside just to keep you in the back. You think he doesn't care, but whatever he does, whatever he's done—"
"Stop!" Hakari roared, the corrupted runes on his arm writhing with dark power as he swung.
The air crackled as a wave of shadowy power surged toward Rinne, distorting the space around it. But Rinne didn't move. He stood still, calm and unyielding, as the energy passed through him harmlessly, dissipating into the air.
Hakari froze, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he stared at Rinne in disbelief.
"You're not real," Hakari muttered, his voice shaking. "You're not even here."
Rinne's faint smile returned, but there was something sad in his eyes. "Maybe I'm not," he said quietly. "But does it matter?"
Hakari's corrupted arm twitched violently, the runes flaring brighter as his grip on the mask tightened. "You don't know anything about me," he said through gritted teeth.
Rinne's gaze never wavered from Hakari for a good long time before he turned, he is quite amused. "Hakari... I know more than you can even begin to imagine," he said to him, his voice low as he circled Hakari.
He hesitated a moment on the border of the clearing, glancing over his shoulder. "It's not whether I am or I'm not, Hakari. It's whether you're ready to listen to the truth."
And he bolted like a cloud of smoke into the trees, leaving Hakari standing in the clearing by himself.
Panting, shivering, Hakari panted where Rinne stood. Uncertainty and doubt curled in his head, and the distant memory of Rinne's words.
His poisoned arm trembled, the mask beside him clanged dully against him in sympathy for his pain.
For the first time in years, Hakari was lost, his will broken by the stillness, statue-like silence of a figure he was not supposed to find.
Meanwhile, The house of Tsukimura was quiet, a stillness that pressed heavily on Hikari's chest. She sat alone at the low wooden table in the center of the room, the faint creak of the walls and the distant hum of wind through the trees the only sounds to accompany her.
Her judge beads were lying on the ground, their shine declining, as if the owner of the beads is exhausted. They lay next to each other petal pink, thin edges curving upwards, gently reflecting the sunlight coming in the window.
Hikari took the petal in shaking hands, as though delicate, living. The signature of Rinne. The one who had lost everything to protect them, to save them, even if it meant losing his own life.
She had discovered it on the ground following the Red Blossom Technique explosion, buried among the ash and charred earth. It was the only one of his she had kept, a bitter reminder of what he had lost.
Her throat tightened as she clasped it firmly to her, the bright red against the icy whiteness of her hands.
Why
The question troubled her, heavy and persistent. Why had Rinne died for them? For a village whose customs were as rigid as stone, for men who had yielded to his rule as water yields to the path upon which it flows, for a family rent apart by grief and misapprehension.
Her fingers outlined the form of the petal, its fragility a bitter acid irony to the bitterness of her heart.
She glanced over at the back room door, where her father lay unconscious, his body still reeling from battling Hakari. The burden of his lack—or presence—hung around her like a shadow.
Her mother was among the healer squad, working twenty-four/seven to take care of him. Haruka was out to obtain supplies, tense hands mirroring tense mind. And so Hikari stayed home in the house, home in the brain, own mind, and with the red petal goading her for some kind of reaction.
"You sacrificed everything," she whispered, cold. "But was it sufficient?"
She placed the petal down a second time on the table, studying it as she pictured Rinne's mind's eye. His gentle voice, his rocklike stability, how he'd ever been able to stay unaltered in the midst of all the whirlwind of change that whirled around him.
He wasn't there any longer, though. Reduced to a mere petal.
Her fists were balled tightly, her judgment beads softly throbbing as her emotions ran amok. "Why did you do this, Rinne?" she shouted, spluttering. "Why didn't you let someone else—"
She cut herself short, her breath caught in her throat as her eyes filled up with tears. The answer was obvious, wasn't it? He'd done it because no one else could. Because no one else was strong enough to make that choice, to bear the weight of the sacrifice.
Hikari wiped at her eyes, her shoulders trembling. She gazed back at the petal again, its soft light pulsating in the stillness of the room.
"I don't know," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I don't know why it had to be you. Why not me instead."
Her beads glowed softly, the fire warm for an instant before it went out. Hikari looked at them, the aching of her guilt and her terrors pressing on her heart.
The room grew cold now, the quiet oppressing her. She folded the petal to her once more, tucked against her breast as if somehow it would soothe her.
It didn't.
It was only one petal. A broken fragment of something whole, something lost. But...
She was alone.
Or so she thought.
Unseen in the dim light, a shadow lingered at the edges of the room, a presence just beyond the veil of the living. A whisper of breath stirred the air, faint as falling ash. The beads around Hikari's wrist trembled, their glow flickering—not from her, but from something else.
Rinne was near. Or perhaps... what was left of him.