Chapter 5
Souta woke up to silence.
It was the kind of silence that felt heavy, like the house itself was holding its breath. No footsteps. No voices. No sound of plates clinking or the television humming in the background. Just quiet.
He stared at the ceiling for a long time, his eyes unfocused. His chest felt tight, like something was pressing down on him. He did not feel rested. Sleep had come and gone without giving him anything back.
Slowly, he sat up.
The room looked the same, yet it felt completely different. His desk was still there. His chair. His books. But the warmth was gone. Everything felt empty, like the life had been drained out of the walls.
He stepped out of his room and walked down the hallway.
In the living room, his mother sat on the couch. She had not changed her clothes. Her eyes were red and swollen, her shoulders slumped forward as if she was carrying a weight too heavy for her body. She stared at nothing, hands resting in her lap.
Souta hesitated before speaking.
"Mom."
She looked up slowly. Her eyes softened when she saw him, but the sadness remained.
"Good morning," he said quietly.
She forced a small smile, but it broke almost immediately. "Good morning."
From down the hall, a knocking sound echoed.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Masa," their mother called softly. "Please open the door. You need to eat something."
There was no answer.
A plate sat on the floor outside Masaki's door. Untouched. Cold.
She knocked again, a little harder this time. "Masaki, please."
Still nothing.
Souta clenched his fists. His brother had not come out since yesterday. He had barely spoken. Barely moved.
Souta clenched his fists. His brother had not come out since yesterday. He had barely spoken. Barely moved.
He stepped closer to Masaki's door and knocked.
"Masaki," he said. "Open the door."
No answer.
His chest tightened. He knocked again, harder this time. "Hey. Open it."
Still nothing.
Something inside him snapped.
Souta slammed his palm against the door. "Locking yourself in your room will not bring Dad back!" he shouted. His voice echoed down the hallway. "You think he would be happy seeing you like this? You are barely eating. You are not talking to anyone. What are you trying to do, follow him?"
His hands were shaking now.
"I do not want to go to your funeral this early!" he yelled.
"Stop it, Souta!" their mother cried, rushing toward him. Her voice trembled as she grabbed his arm. "Please stop."
The hallway fell silent.
Masaki did not respond.
Inside the room, Masaki sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall. His eyes were empty. No tears. No anger. Just a cold, distant look, like something inside him had already shut down.
Outside, Souta lowered his head. His breathing was heavy. He looked away, guilt mixing with fear.
He walked back to his mother and placed a hand on her shoulder. His voice softened.
"Mom," he said gently. "Everything is going to be alright."
The words felt weak even as he said them, but he said them anyway.
She turned toward him, her eyes filling with tears. She pulled him into a hug suddenly, holding him tight like she was afraid he might disappear too.
"I hope so," she whispered, her voice breaking. Then she cried, her shoulders shaking.
Souta hugged her back, his jaw tight. He did not cry. He felt like if he did, he would never stop.
After a while, he pulled away. "I'm going to my room," he said.
She nodded slowly.
Souta walked back upstairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.
Inside his room, he closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment. His breathing was uneven. His mind felt crowded.
He looked around, then moved toward his desk. He began opening drawers, searching through old notebooks, papers, and boxes. He did not even fully know what he was looking for at first.
Then he realized.
A picture.
Something. Anything.
A memory.
He wanted to find a photo of him and his father. Something to hold on to. Something to prove that this was real and that his father had really been here.
He dug deeper into the drawer, pushing things aside.
Then he saw it.
The box.
Small. Dark. Plain.
His hand froze.
His heart started beating faster.
That box.
The one his father had given him.
The one he had told him to hide.
Souta stared at it, anger slowly rising in his chest.
"What even is this?" he muttered.
His hands trembled as he picked it up. The weight felt wrong, heavier than it should have been.
"This thing," he said, his voice growing sharper. "You died because of this."
The memory hit him suddenly.
Blood. Sirens. His father's voice, weak and fading.
Keep this box hidden no matter what happened.
Souta's teeth clenched. "Why?" he shouted. "Why did you have to die like this, Dad?"
His chest burned. Without thinking, he lifted his foot and kicked the box hard.
It slammed against the wall.
The lid cracked open.
A strange darkness spilled out, like smoke but thicker, deeper. It hovered in the air, forming into a perfect black orb. It did not reflect light. It seemed to absorb it.
Souta stepped back, his breath caught in his throat.
"What is this?" he whispered.
His first instinct was to run. He turned toward the door, reaching for the handle.
"MOM," he was about to shout.
Then a voice spoke.
"Souta."
He froze.
His hand dropped from the door.
He turned slowly, his heart pounding so loud he could hear it in his ears.
"It talked?" he whispered, his voice barely steady.
The orb pulsed faintly.
"I am everything," the voice said again, distorted and glitchy, like broken audio. "This orb is my everything."
Souta felt cold. His legs felt weak.
"What are you?" he asked.
"Touch me," the voice said. "Together, we will take revenge for your father."
Souta's breath hitched.
Revenge.
The word echoed in his mind.
Images flashed before his eyes. His father bleeding. His mother crying. Masaki screaming. The hospital lights. The flat sound of the monitor.
He hesitated.
Then his hand moved forward.
The moment his fingers touched the orb, the world disappeared.
Three days earlier.
The ambulance shook as it sped through the streets. The sound of the siren was deafening.
Renjiro lay on the stretcher, blood covering his clothes. His breathing was shallow. His skin was pale.
Miyu held his hand tightly, tears streaming down her face. "Please," she cried. "Don't die. We're almost at the hospital."
Souta stood on the other side, his hands shaking, his vision blurred with tears. Masaki stood beside him, crying openly, his voice breaking.
"Dad, don't die," Masaki sobbed. "Please."
Doctors moved quickly around them, checking monitors, applying pressure, shouting instructions.
"You're fine," Miyu said desperately. "Doctors will treat you. You're fine."
Renjiro's eyes fluttered open. He looked at them, one by one.
"I don't think," he said weakly, "I'm going to make it."
"No," Miyu said, shaking her head. "Don't say that."
"I'm sorry," Renjiro continued. "For my absences. As a father. Forgive me."
"Stop saying things like that," Masaki cried. "Please."
Renjiro looked at Souta. His gaze lingered.
"Souta," he said softly. "Keep this box hidden. No matter what happened."
Souta nodded, tears falling freely now. "I will," he said. "I promise."
Renjiro smiled faintly.
"I love you all," he whispered.
Then his eyes closed.
The monitor let out a long, flat sound.
Silence followed.
Souta gasped as he came back to himself.
The orb glowed faintly in his hand.
His heart was racing. His eyes burned.
"I didn't want this," he whispered.
The orb pulsed again.
"You touched me," the voice said. "Now the path has opened."
Souta swallowed hard.
Outside his room, the house remained silent.
And something ancient had just awakened.
To be continued...