Chapter 6: The Keeper's Silence
The storm had finally broken.
Colors no longer shimmered in the rain; they simply fell — quiet, tired, ordinary.
Rimuru sat beside the sleeping Aira on the rooftop of an abandoned café. The girl's head rested against her lap, breath slow and even, fingers still curled around that ribbon that refused to stop glowing.
Rimuru stared at the faint silver pulse that throbbed beneath the cloth. Still active. Even in sleep, Aira's power murmured — soft, searching, alive.
> "You really have no idea what you are, do you?" she whispered, brushing a wet strand of hair from Aira's face.
Her blue eyes reflected the moonlight — deep, still, endless. But inside, something flickered. Not fear. Not regret. Just the weight of memory.
She looked up at the sky, tracing the last glimmers of light in the clouds.
Every few seconds, the world around her would shimmer — a pulse from The Veil itself, as if it were breathing in sync with the girl she guarded.
> "The Veil remembers you," Rimuru murmured. "And that means others will too."
A gust of wind swept through the rooftop. Somewhere far away, she could sense new distortions — faint signatures of emotion taking form. The echoes were multiplying.
She closed her eyes, resting one hand gently on Aira's shoulder. Her voice was soft — not the teasing tone she usually wore, but something rawer.
> "You'll hate me if I tell you the truth too soon. You'll hate me even more if I wait too long."
"But this time…" she paused, her throat tightening. "This time, I'll do it right."
The blue glow in her eyes dimmed, leaving only the quiet warmth of a smile that didn't reach her heart.
> "Sleep while you can, Aira. The world's going to start remembering you soon."
The rain began again — not bright or magical, but cold and steady. Rimuru tilted her face toward it, letting the drops trace the same paths they had centuries ago.
And somewhere, beyond the clouds and color, The Veil stirred.