The date was August 26th.
The heavy summer air clung to the city of Viace, yet for Kaito, everything felt strangely quiet, as if the world itself was waiting for him to take his first step outside the hospital walls.
For days, the hospital corridors had been his cage—white walls, antiseptic smell, monitors that beeped with merciless precision. The doctors had prodded, checked, and whispered theories about his strange resilience. His body was not like other patients; wounds closed faster, fatigue came in waves but disappeared quickly, leaving only questions in their place.
That morning, the doctor with thinning hair and weary eyes had finally told his parents, "He should recover better at home. The mind heals where the heart finds peace."
His mother had almost cried hearing those words, and his father—normally expressionless, like Kaito—only nodded with relief.
---
The car ride was quiet, except for the faint hum of the engine and the occasional sigh of his mother. Kaito sat in the backseat, his forehead leaning against the window, watching buildings pass. The city had changed in subtle ways while he was gone, or perhaps it was just his perception. The corners looked sharper, the colors duller. He felt detached, as though he were still half-dreaming.
When they finally reached the house, something stirred inside him. The two-story building wasn't extraordinary—gray walls, a small garden his mother tried to keep alive despite the city dust. Yet as soon as he saw it, a sensation spread through his chest.
Home.
He didn't smile outwardly. His face had long forgotten how to move like that. But deep inside, the moment was warm, almost fragile.
His mother fussed immediately, helping him out of the car as though he would collapse any second. His father only placed a steady hand on Kaito's shoulder, heavy with unspoken words. They led him inside, and for a second, the hallway smelled of his childhood—wood, soap, and faint traces of incense his mother sometimes lit.
Kaito let his gaze sweep across the familiar living room: the same clock ticking slightly off-beat, the cushions still pressed down where his father usually sat, the faint outline of dust dancing in the sunlight. Everything was frozen in time, as though waiting for him to return.
His chest tightened. He had been away for weeks, but it felt like years.
---
After greetings and endless comfort from his mother, Kaito finally climbed the stairs to his room. His legs were heavier than he remembered, but not from weakness—rather from the weight of stepping into a space where his memories lived untouched.
He opened the door slowly.
The room smelled faintly of paper and dust. His bed was unmade, exactly as he had left it. The desk was stacked with books in uneven towers, notes scattered like fragments of his thoughts before everything collapsed into chaos.
On top of the desk lay one book he remembered clearly: "Black Age: The Rebellion 20 Years Ago." A history of riots and power struggles, banned in some schools for its raw descriptions of blood and betrayal. He had always been fascinated by it, though his teachers had warned him against "delving too deeply into old tragedies."
His broken phone sat on the corner, the screen cracked like a spider's web. His laptop, still slightly dusty, rested beside it. A faint hum of memory washed over him—nights of research, curiosity, and the gnawing sense that the world was hiding something.
For the first time in weeks, Kaito exhaled deeply. The hospital bed had been suffocating, but here, in this room, he felt like he had returned to himself.
He turned and was about to sit on his bed.
And then—
---
Not like fainting, not like dizziness. It was as if the room itself bent for an instant, the edges darkening, the colors bleeding into each other.
When his sight cleared, she was there.
The girl.
Kaito froze. His body reacted with instinctive tension, though his face betrayed nothing.
She stood by the window, where sunlight cut through the curtains, yet the light bent strangely around her figure.
Purple hair cascaded down to her shoulders, strands falling to cover her left eye. The uncovered eye was pure black, depthless, like staring into a void. Her skin was pale, her build small, fragile even, but something about her presence screamed wrong, like a note played out of tune yet echoing in perfect clarity.
She smiled.
It was not wide, not exaggerated. Just a small curve of her lips—gentle, almost kind. But in that subtle expression lay an unshakable strangeness, the kind that unsettled the heart more than open malice ever could.
Kaito's breathing slowed.
He recognized her instantly.
Not from memory, not from reality, but from the illusion—that dreamlike place he had stumbled into before. The girl who appeared in the spaces between waking and sleeping. The one who whispered without words, who lingered like a shadow stitched to his soul.
Why here?
Why now?
His heart thundered against his ribs, yet his face remained a blank mask. He had long ago trained his expression to betray nothing.
The girl tilted her head slightly, the curtain of purple hair shifting as though to tease him. Her black eye shimmered faintly, like the surface of still water catching moonlight.
And then—without a sound—she stepped closer.
---
Kaito tried to move. Tried to speak. But his body resisted him, as though chains wrapped invisible around his limbs.
Not again…
He reached inward, where his faint control over Rim flickered like a dying flame. But nothing responded. His body was locked, his mind dragged downward.
The girl's smile widened just a fraction.
She raised one pale hand, fingers delicate, and brushed them against the edge of his desk as though tracing his world, learning it. The sight sent a chill down Kaito's spine.
"…" Her lips parted as though to speak, but no sound reached him. Instead, silence pressed against his ears, heavy and suffocating.
The world tilted. The floor swayed beneath him.
Kaito's knees buckled. His body fell backward, landing on the bed. His vision tunneled, the edges dissolving into black.
The last thing he saw was the girl's silhouette standing over him, her hair swaying gently, her black eye glowing faintly in the dark.
The last thing he felt was the softness of his own bed beneath him, a cruel reminder that even home was not safe.
And then, darkness swallowed him whole.
---
He fell—not physically, but within himself. A descent into shadow. The hospital, his parents, his room, all of it evaporated like smoke.
Instead, there was only the endless black void.
The girl's laughter—not cruel, not loud, but quiet and close—echoed faintly in his ears.
Kaito struggled, his consciousness fighting to surface. He tried to grasp any fragment of reality, any tether back to his room. But the more he reached, the deeper he sank.
In that abyss, his thoughts scattered. Images flashed: his broken phone, the book on rebellion, his mother's worried eyes, his father's heavy silence.
And always—always—her smile.
The first thing Kaito became aware of was the faint chirping of birds outside his window. The sound cut through the lingering haze of dreams, fragile and almost too bright after the suffocating abyss he had been pulled into the night before. His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the pale gray morning light seeping through the curtains.
The ceiling was the same one he remembered. Smooth white, slightly cracked in one corner, where rain had once seeped through during a storm years ago. He blinked several times, letting the stillness of the room reassure him.
He was in his bed. His room. Safe.
Yet his body felt heavier than usual, as though he had been running through shadows all night. He touched his forehead, slick with faint sweat. The dream—or was it real?—still clawed at his mind. The girl's face surfaced immediately, her smile lingering like a scar. The curve of her lips, the shimmer of her black eye hidden beneath purple strands.
That was the only thing he remembered. The smile.
It unsettled him, not because it was violent or grotesque, but because it was gentle—too gentle. Why would an illusion smile at me like that? What was she?
Kaito pushed himself upright, shaking off the thought. The clock on his desk read 7:42 AM, August 27th.
His stomach growled. The emptiness reminded him he had skipped dinner yesterday.
---
The hallway outside his room was alive with familiar sounds: the faint clattering of plates, the smell of rice steaming, miso soup simmering, the crisp scent of grilled fish. His mother's routine had always been steady, like a rhythm that tethered their family together.
As he descended the stairs, the wooden steps creaked under his weight, their sound so ordinary that it made his chest feel lighter.
When he entered the kitchen, his mother and sister were already seated at the table. His father was nowhere in sight, probably already preparing for work.
His mother, Mika, looked up immediately, her eyes widening. She was still young-looking for her age, with soft brown hair tied loosely back, though lines of exhaustion marked her face from endless weeks of worry.
"Kaito." Relief poured out in that single word. Then her expression tightened, her voice almost scolding. "You didn't come down for dinner last night. We waited."
Kaito stopped in the doorway, awkward. The truth—that he had collapsed after seeing her—was too heavy to speak. He kept his tone flat, hiding the unease clawing inside.
"I wasn't hungry."
Mika frowned, clearly unconvinced. "You worried us more by skipping meals."
Before Kaito could answer, another voice cut through.
---
His sister, Ayaka, leaned forward, grinning. At sixteen, she still carried the brightness of youth, her short black hair tied with a ribbon, her eyes wide and full of energy.
"Don't scold him, Mom," she said cheerfully. "He just came back from the hospital. Give him a break."
She turned toward Kaito, her grin widening. "I'm just glad you're here, onii-chan. The house was so boring without you."
For the first time in days, something warm flickered inside him. Ayaka had always been the one to bring life into the room, the kind of presence that felt untouchable by the shadows he walked through. Seeing her so happy—it was relief, pure and simple.
He sat down at the table, the wood familiar against his palms. His mother placed a bowl of rice and steaming miso soup in front of him, followed by grilled salmon. The smell filled the air, comforting in its simplicity.
Kaito's stomach twisted again, this time in anticipation. He picked up his chopsticks, the faint clack sounding almost ceremonial. The first bite of rice grounded him. Warmth spread through his body, and for a moment, he could pretend that yesterday hadn't happened—that no girl had appeared, no collapse into darkness.
---
As they ate, Mika's eyes lingered on Kaito, as though memorizing every movement, ensuring he truly was alive and well. Eventually, she spoke again.
"The doctors didn't tell us much, but… I'm just glad the scientists didn't do anything worse to you."
Her words carried a shadow. Kaito froze briefly, chopsticks midair. He had felt their experiments, their hands probing into what should have been untouchable. The memory of cold instruments and piercing gazes was enough to bring a dull ache to his chest.
"I'm fine," he replied simply. His voice gave away nothing, though his mind churned.
But something heavier pressed at him. He glanced at his mother. "The others. The… thirty-seven who were taken separately. Did they find them?"
The table fell silent.
Mika lowered her gaze, setting down her chopsticks with deliberate care. "No. Not yet." Her voice was quiet, carrying guilt she shouldn't have borne. "But those who were responsible—the ones they caught—they've been sentenced. Twenty years in prison. At least justice was served, in some way."
Kaito's eyes narrowed slightly. Justice? Twenty years was nothing compared to what those victims endured—what he endured. But he said nothing.
Ayaka, trying to lighten the mood, leaned forward. "You know, on the 29th there's going to be an eclipse! A lunar one." Her eyes sparkled. "It'll be beautiful. We should all go see it together."
Kaito turned to her. "Eclipse?"
She nodded eagerly. "Yes! It'll be visible here too. Everyone's talking about it at school. The moon will turn red. Don't you want to see it?"
For a moment, the word eclipse triggered something in him. The scientists. Their obsession. The power they sought. Yet looking at Ayaka's hopeful face, he forced himself to nod.
"Yes," he said. His voice was flat, but the words were enough to make her grin wider. "I'll watch it with you."
Her happiness was infectious. Despite himself, Kaito felt the corners of his mask loosen, just slightly.
---
The breakfast continued with small conversations—Ayaka talking about school gossip, Mika asking if Kaito needed anything for his room. The rhythm was ordinary, human, warm. Every clatter of dishes, every laugh from his sister, every sigh from his mother—it was relief made tangible.
But beneath it, unease coiled.
The girl's smile still haunted him. The memory clung to him like dust that refused to wash away. Even as he chewed his food, even as he listened to Ayaka chatter, he could feel that presence lingering at the edge of his mind.
Why here? Why my room?
And another thought gnawed at him, quieter but sharper. Why hasn't Arthur come to see me?
Arthur, his closest friend—the one who should have visited, should have been at his side. The absence was louder than words.
He sipped his miso soup, letting the warmth spread down his throat, but his mind was already drifting.
---
When breakfast ended, Mika gathered the dishes, still casting worried glances at him. Ayaka hummed softly, her energy filling the room as she began planning out where they could watch the eclipse.
Kaito excused himself quietly and walked back up to his room. The stairs creaked again, the sound sharp in the silence.
His room was unchanged. The book about the rebellion still sat on his desk. His broken phone glinted in the pale light.
He stood there for a long moment, staring at his bed. The memory of collapsing, of darkness swallowing him, returned in waves. He clenched his fists.
Relief was here, yes. His family was safe, happy, whole. But the shadows had followed him. The girl had followed him.
And two days from now, under the blood-red eclipse, something would happen.
He didn't know what. But he could feel it in the air, in the weight pressing against his chest.
Kaito closed his eyes. For now, he would breathe. For now, he would stay with his family, soaking in the ordinary comfort he had been starved of.
But the unease—the smile—would not leave him.
The afternoon passed in silence.
Kaito had decided, after a brief conversation with his mother that morning, not to return to school for the time being.
"You don't need to rush," Mika had said gently. "You've just come home. Rest. Study here, at your own pace."
He agreed without resistance. His body was strong, but his spirit carried too much fatigue. For now, the thought of stepping back into crowded classrooms, of listening to whispers about what had happened to him, was unbearable. Solitude was kinder.
So, the hours ticked by in his room. The clock's hands crawled toward evening. By the time the shadows outside grew long, it was almost 4 p.m.
That was when the doorbell rang.
---
Kaito blinked, lifting his head from the desk where he had been skimming through old notes. His mother and Ayaka had gone shopping together, their laughter lingering faintly in the air even after the door closed hours ago. Which meant—he was alone.
The chime echoed again.
Kaito rose, his steps steady down the hallway, each creak of the floorboards familiar. He opened the door.
Two figures stood outside.
Arthur, tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair slightly unkempt, a mixture of guilt and relief written on his face. Beside him, a girl—Alia. Kaito recognized her instantly, though they had never exchanged words. Her hair, long and neatly tied, framed a composed face. Her uniform was crisp, her posture precise. She carried a folder in one arm.
Arthur's lips curved into a small, nervous smile. "Hey, Kaito."
Kaito's gaze lingered between them. His expression did not change, but inside, something stirred. Arthur came.
Alia shifted slightly, her voice calm, professional. "I came to deliver your notes. The school assigned me to make sure you didn't fall behind." She extended the folder. "It's my duty."
Arthur scratched his cheek, almost sheepish. "I wanted to come too. I thought… maybe you'd like company. But she insisted she had to do it herself."
Alia's eyes flicked to him, sharp. "A person shouldn't rely on others to complete their responsibilities."
Her words were cool, but not unkind. Just… principled.
Kaito reached out and accepted the notes. His fingers brushed the folder's rough edges. He let his face remain calm, yet deep inside, warmth pressed at him. He turned to Arthur.
"You came," he said simply.
Arthur's shoulders sagged. "I'm sorry I didn't visit you in the hospital. My family…" He hesitated, then exhaled. "They wouldn't let me."
Kaito's lips twitched. The smallest of smiles ghosted across his face, fleeting but real. His voice was even. "It's fine."
Arthur's eyes widened for a moment at the rare expression, then softened.
---
Alia shifted her weight, clearly preparing to leave after fulfilling her duty. "If that's all, then—"
Kaito cut her off with quiet words. "Would you like tea?"
She blinked, surprised.
Arthur grinned. "See? I told you he's not as cold as he looks."
Alia hesitated, then gave a polite nod. "Very well."
Kaito stepped aside, letting them in.
The three of them settled at the small kitchen table. Kaito boiled water, the simple act grounding him. The steam curled upward, carrying the faint scent of roasted tea leaves. He poured carefully into cups, setting them down before Arthur and Alia with measured movements.
Arthur leaned back, relaxed. "Man, it feels weird, huh? You being out of the hospital already. I thought it'd take months."
Kaito lifted his cup, sipping slowly. The warmth spread down his throat. He replied softly, "I'm safe. Nothing happened."
Arthur's brows furrowed. "Nothing? After everything?" His voice lowered, but before pressing further, he caught Kaito's eyes. The expressionless calm told him enough. Arthur let it drop, sighing. "Alright. If you say so."
For a moment, silence wrapped around them, broken only by the quiet clink of cups against the table.
Alia stood after finishing her tea. "Thank you. I should go."
Kaito inclined his head in acknowledgment. "For bringing the notes. Thank you."
Her eyes lingered on him for a second longer than necessary, unreadable, before she turned and left.
---
When the door closed behind her, only Kaito and Arthur remained. The late afternoon light spilled through the window, painting the table in soft orange.
Arthur leaned forward, resting his arms on the wood. His tone shifted, more serious. "Kaito… there's going to be the lunar eclipse on the 29th. Everyone's talking about it."
Kaito tilted his head. He remembered Ayaka's words that morning, her excitement.
Arthur continued, a faint smile on his lips. "I was thinking… we could watch it together. Not from the ground, but somewhere high. Like the old tower near the city edge. Best view in Viace."
The offer hung in the air.
Kaito studied his friend's face. Arthur's expression was open, earnest, waiting.
Finally, Kaito gave a single nod. "Alright."
Arthur grinned, relief flooding his features. "Good. Then it's a promise."
The two of them sat in the fading light, cups empty, silence comfortable between them. For the first time in weeks, Kaito felt something steady—like a bridge forming back to the world he had almost lost.
The eclipse was coming. And this time, he would not face it alone.