Kagenashi never believed silence could feel dangerous.
But the silence in his house that night was thick—so heavy it pressed on his chest. He kept staring at the wooden door to the living room, hoping his parents would come back through it with their usual tired smiles, asking why he was still awake.
Instead, he heard footsteps.
Not familiar ones.
Not comforting ones.
Slow. Calculated. Almost polite.
His mother stood in front of him instantly, her arm stretched out to the side as if her own body could shield him from what stood beyond the door. His father moved a step ahead, posture tense, eyes blazing with the kind of fear only a parent could feel.
"Kagenashi," his father said quietly, "don't look."
But he did.
A figure slipped into view. Draped in dark cloth, face hidden behind a mask carved like a blank expression—emotionless, silent. A chilling calm followed them like a shadow. They didn't radiate rage or hatred. They didn't move like someone who wanted revenge.
They moved like someone fulfilling an assignment.
Kagenashi didn't know what to do. He couldn't run. He couldn't scream. His legs trembled, not from fear alone but from confusion. Why here? Why them? Why now?
His parents exchanged only one look—a short, fierce glance filled with wordless agreement. They had never been warriors, but that night, instincts older than their own fears took over. His father stepped forward; his mother shifted to the side. They didn't attack. They simply tried to stop the assassin from reaching him.
"Kagenashi," his mother whispered, "stay behind us. No matter what."
The assassin didn't announce their intentions. They didn't threaten. They simply moved—smooth, sharp, purposeful.
The conflict wasn't loud. No dramatic crashes, no echoes of chaos. Just rapid movements, desperate breaths, the soft thuds of feet against the floor. His parents fought not because they could win, but because they refused not to fight.
For a moment—a single, short moment—Kagenashi believed they might hold on.
But the movement his father made next was a fraction too slow. His mother was a heartbeat too far away.
And then the fight…
ended.
Not with screams.
Not with anything horrifying or graphic.
Just a final, terrible stillness sweeping through the room like wind that suddenly died.
The assassin vanished into the night, leaving only silence behind—deeper, colder, more painful than before.
Kagenashi couldn't process it.
His breath caught.
His thoughts scattered.
Everything inside him froze.
He sank to his knees beside them, shaking, whispering their names, waiting for someone—anyone—to suddenly breathe again.
But nothing moved.
Nothing answered.
Hours passed like he was stuck in a dream he couldn't wake from, each second stretching longer than the last. When dawn finally touched the sky with pale gold light, Kagenashi was still there, still hoping reality would bend backward and fix itself.
That was when the officers arrived.
They didn't knock.
They burst through the doorway in groups of four, boots thudding against the wooden floorboards, armor clinking, voices sharp with authority. Their eyes scanned the scene, but instead of sympathy or concern, something else flickered across their faces.
Recognition.
Suspicion.
Fear.
But not of the assassin.
Fear of him.
"Step away from them," the lead officer said, each word clipped like he'd practiced saying it coldly.
Kagenashi looked up slowly, still dazed. "But… they were—someone came—I tried—"
"Step away," the officer repeated, louder.
They didn't let him explain. They didn't ask questions. They didn't comfort him. One of the officers leaned down and whispered something to another, glancing at Kagenashi like he was a dangerous creature about to break loose.
"It's the bloodline," one muttered.
"It finally happened," another whispered.
"We should've predicted this."
Kagenashi flinched as if struck. "I didn't—what are you talking about? My parents—"
"Silence," the lead officer snapped. "You will come with us."
"Come with you? Why? Someone attacked us—I need to tell you what happened!"
The officer's eyes narrowed. "We already know what happened."
Kagenashi stared, stunned. "But you just walked in—how could you possibly—?"
The officer gestured, and two soldiers seized Kagenashi by the arms. He struggled, but their grips were iron.
"Because," the lead officer said, voice low and venomous, "there is only one explanation for power manifesting violently in a household known to carry the dormant curse."
Kagenashi's breath hitched. "Curse? What curse? I don't have any curse—my parents never—!"
"Quiet."
The officer's tone turned final, absolute.
"By order of the Council, the child Kagenashi—heir to the forbidden bloodline—is to be apprehended and judged."
Kagenashi felt the world tilt beneath him. His parents lay motionless only a few steps away, yet the officers stared at him as if he were the danger. As if he were the cause.
Nothing in the world made sense anymore.
The hall was enormous—stone walls rising like mountains, torches flickering along the edges, banners hanging low. Kagenashi stood at the center, surrounded by council members in dark robes, their faces stiff with disgust and pre-made conclusions.
He was given no seat, no comfort, no chance to rest his trembling body.
"Begin the judgment," a councilwoman declared.
A judge stepped forward. Papers shuffled. Voices echoed. No one spoke to him. They spoke about him, as though he were an object or a dangerous spell someone accidentally released.
"Evidence?"
"Circumstantial."
"Motive?"
"His bloodline is motive enough."
"Witnesses?"
"None needed."
"Verdict?"
"Already clear."
Kagenashi finally burst out, voice cracking, "I didn't do anything! We were attacked—an assassin came in the night—my parents tried to—"
"Lies," a councilman snapped. "Scripted lies from someone whose lineage has always been unstable."
"Unstable?" Kagenashi choked out. "What does that even mean?!"
"It means you are what your ancestors were," another answered, their tone disgustingly calm. "A risk."
The judge read the final verdict as if reciting a poem already memorized.
"Kagenashi, child of the cursed bloodline, is hereby sentenced to removal from this plane."
Kagenashi blinked. "Removal? What—what does that mean?"
A frightening smile touched one of the council members' lips.
"It means," they said slowly, "you will no longer exist within this universe."
His heart lurched. "You can't do that! You can't just—just erase someone!"
"We can," the judge said, "when it is necessary."
Kagenashi felt the world closing in on him. He wasn't even being punished for something he did. He was being punished for who he was—for something he didn't choose, didn't know, didn't even understand.
"Why are you doing this?" he whispered.
A councilwoman leaned forward, eyes cold.
"Because your existence is dangerous, even if you don't know it yet. Your parents knew it. That's why they hid you. And now, with them gone, there is nothing left to contain the threat."
Those words broke something inside him.
"My parents weren't hiding me," he said, voice trembling. "They were protecting me. From people like—like you."
The council didn't flinch. They didn't argue. They simply lifted their hands.
And the universe—his world, his home—began to reject him.
Light surged beneath his feet. Space warped around him. Everything blurred until all he could see was a swirling brightness swallowing the hall, the council, the sky outside—everything he had ever known.
And then...
Silence.
Pure, deafening silence.
Kagenashi opened his eyes and found himself floating in an impossible place. There was no ground. No air. No warmth. Only a vast, endless stretch of stars and darkness.
He wasn't dead—but he wasn't alive in a normal way either.
He simply was.
Every direction looked the same.
Every breath he tried to take felt uncertain.
His body drifted with no weight, no anchor, as if he had been plucked out of reality and left between the lines of existence.
Panic rose inside him slowly, quietly, like cold water filling his lungs.
"Anyone…?" he whispered, though sound didn't travel. "Someone… please…"
No answer came.
No shape moved.
No planet or star drew closer.
He didn't know how long he floated. Minutes? Hours? Days? Time didn't feel real anymore. He hugged himself, eyes stinging, mind replaying everything.
His parents' last look.
The officers' accusations.
The council's cruel verdict.
He wasn't dangerous.
He wasn't cursed.
He wasn't what they said.
He was just a boy who lost everything in a single night.
And now he was alone in a universe that didn't want him.
A soft glow appeared in the distance.
At first he thought it was just another star. But it moved—slowly at first, then faster. A small orb of light drifting toward him like a firefly in the middle of endless darkness.
Kagenashi blinked. "What… is that?"
The glowing shape wobbled closer.
Then closer.
Then—
Boing.
It gently bumped into him.
Kagenashi startled. The glowing thing hovered in front of his face… and jiggled. Like jelly.
"What… are you?" he whispered.
The creature—if it was a creature—was a small, shimmering slime. Its body pulsed with a faint bluish glow, almost like laughter without sound. It nudged him again, this time with intention.
"Hold on—are you trying to… move me?"
The slime vibrated excitedly, as if saying yes.
Then, without warning, it stretched itself into a long, ribbon-like shape and wrapped around his torso—not tightly, but firmly enough to pull him through space.
"W–wait! Where are you taking me?!"
The slime didn't answer, obviously. It just dragged him away from where a large, dark shape approached from behind—a meteor, huge and jagged, passing exactly where he had been moments ago.
If the slime had been one second slower…
Kagenashi swallowed.
"You… saved me."
The slime pulsed proudly.
It wasn't large.
It wasn't intimidating.
It wasn't anything like the heroic creatures from the legends Kagenashi grew up hearing.
But it was the first thing—the only thing—that saved him when everything else wanted him gone.
A tiny, glowing slime.
The most unlikely protector in the entire universe.
Kagenashi let out a shaky breath, the first hint of relief he'd felt in days.
"Okay," he whispered, placing one hand gently on the slime's soft surface. "Take me wherever you're going."
The slime's glow brightened.
And together, they drifted into the unknown.