S-2858 • L3 Sintoluna • D27 Silenri
"Sintoluna refines the thread of the world. Silenri seals the descent in a fine gleam. The tide draws silence in a living curve. The story prepares a gateway of beginnings."
KURAYAMI NO SORA — RYUHO-KAI CLAN HEADQUARTERS, KARYŪ, FIRE CURRENT
Chiyo woke Hikaru with a generous breakfast.
She gave him a plastic dinosaur.
Dressed him in fresh clothes.
The heat punished the city.
Fifty degrees melted the asphalt.
Suffocated the air.
She drove toward Karyū.
She chatted cheerfully with Hikaru.
The road sank into shadows.
Steel and crystal towers rose like sleeping serpents.
Each building carved with draconic symbols.
The spirit of the dragon slithered through the air.
Pixelated.
Blinking between robotic guardians patrolling the alleys.
The main avenues displayed windows of opulence.
Cyber-implants.
Cutting-edge technology.
High-value products.
Adjacent alleyways wove another world.
Trafficking.
Chemical dependency.
Gambling houses.
Weapons markets.
Whispered negotiations beneath unstable holographic lights.
As they moved forward, Chiyo looked away.
Funny how everything seemed so dazzling on the outside.
Only powdered gold over ruins.
The brilliant shopfronts hid the shadows of the alleys beneath illusory veils.
The bitter smell soaking the air revealed itself in fragile, fleeting cracks.
It was like her.
A shell trying to shine.
The emptiness devoured her from within.
She forced a smile.
Protecting Hikaru from an abyss where she had already drowned.
The headquarters of the Ryuho-kai dominated the skyline.
Ryūden — the Dragon Palace.
Steel and mirrored black glass reflected the darkness of the streets below.
Nano-dragons guarded the tower.
Floors of obsidian marble.
Red veins shimmered beneath low interior lights.
Holograms projected circles of fire.
On the upper floors, protected by maximum security, Kojiro Ryuho oversaw his empire.
The imposing view of his dominance over Karyū.
Over Kurayami no Sora.
Over the Ninkyō dantai.
Kojiro radiated an intimidating force.
His imposing figure dominated the space.
Dark hakama.
Wide-sleeved jinbei.
Traditional symbols engraved in the flowing fabric.
Evaluating eyes pierced the soul like blades.
Beside him stood his nephew.
Kotaro Ryuho.
Four years old.
Black hair.
Brown eyes.
Curiosity.
Boldness.
Resolution in his expression.
He wore a cotton kimono.
Scaled patterns.
Watching everything from the altar.
"He can read and write. Very intelligent.
He turns eight today."
Chiyo trembled.
Her fingers fidgeted restlessly.
The cold gaze of the oyabun fell on her.
"Three million nienes."
"But—"
"Or the deal is off."
Kojiro's voice cut like steel.
"…Fine. Whatever.
Transfer it already."
A gesture from the oyabun.
Hiroshi Tanaka, the saiko-komon, began the operation.
Dark suit.
Controlled posture.
Trimmed beard.
Sharp eyes.
"What are you doing, okaasan?"
Hikaru's voice came out small.
Her chest tightened.
He stared at her, confused.
Chiyo avoided her son's eyes.
Resisted looking.
She believed that as a mother she was not enough.
He needed another path.
Maybe they could manage…
Maybe he would survive better without her.
Better than she had survived.
The knot in her throat tightened until it almost suffocated her.
It strangled her shattered heart, but her voice came out cold.
Cruel.
"You deserve more, Hika-chiba.
More than I can give you.
Your new friends will take care of you."
Silence.
Hikaru's heart rate increased.
Rapid breathing.
Pale skin.
Tense muscles.
Damp palms.
His stomach twisted.
Cold and heat ran through his body.
His mind sharpened in alarm.
"What do you mean, okaasan?
I don't want that.
I just want to stay with you."
"Shh, Hika-chiba.
One day you'll understand."
Chiyo turned.
Past and present collided in fleeting images.
Hikaru playing with an improvised robot.
His laughter filling the shack with light.
The first time he said okaasan in that tiny voice.
Each memory a knife twisting in her chest.
Still she kept walking.
She had to.
Tears burned.
Pain in her heart.
Steady steps.
She left.
Leaving Hikaru's desperate screams behind.
Hikaru struggled in the men's arms, devastated.
The last thing he still had of his mother was her scent.
Cheap shampoo and neo-heroin.
He wanted to scream that he would never understand.
Never.
But the pain suffocated the words.
Chiyo died of an overdose three moons later.
On that sintoluna, Hikaru stayed awake.
He spent the night with the shatei, the younger brothers.
Chiyo's scent still clung to his clothes.
But profane patriarchal hands touched him where they should not.
Stained his skin.
Distorted his mind.
Corrupted his soul.