Ten Years Ago
Rain drifted gently across the sprawling Kazami Estate, its soft rhythm pattering against curved ceramic rooftops, polished stone pathways, and delicate paper windows with a quiet reverence that made the entire residence feel as though it were being wrapped in a peaceful lullaby. Hidden far beyond the nearest town and surrounded by endless forests that stretched toward distant mountains, the estate rested in complete isolation, protected from the noise of the outside world by towering cedar trees and generations of tradition. Wooden lanterns hanging beneath the eaves swayed lazily with each passing breeze, their warm amber glow reflecting across rain-soaked walkways while the fragrance of damp earth and fresh pine drifted through the cool evening air. Everything about the estate radiated tranquility, yet beneath its peaceful exterior, an invisible tension had already begun taking root.
Deep within the oldest wing of the residence, tucked behind several sliding shoji doors and hidden beyond countless shelves overflowing with ancient scrolls and forgotten manuscripts, a single room remained illuminated despite the late hour. Warm lamplight danced across polished wooden floors, casting long, flickering shadows against towering bookshelves packed with texts that had survived centuries of history. The silence inside the office felt sacred, disturbed only by the faint scratching of a quill gliding across brittle parchment and the occasional crackle of the oil lamp resting upon the edge of an impossibly cluttered desk.
Ayato Kazami sat alone in the center of that quiet room, completely detached from the world beyond its walls. Although he was only in his mid-thirties, there was already a profound weariness woven into the lines of his face, the kind that belonged to a man who had spent years carrying burdens far heavier than anyone around him could imagine. His black hair had been neatly tied behind his head, though several loose strands had fallen across his forehead after hours of uninterrupted work, and faint streaks of premature silver had already begun creeping through the hair near his temples. His sharp, calculating eyes never stopped moving as they drifted tirelessly across the sea of ancient parchments scattered over his desk, each weathered sheet bearing runic symbols so old that many of them had warped beyond ordinary recognition.
The desk itself had long disappeared beneath stacks of crumbling manuscripts, journals filled with handwritten translations, and reference books written in forgotten languages that very few people alive could still decipher. Some of the documents were stained dark with age, others had missing corners that had long since disintegrated into dust, and several bore scorch marks where fire had nearly erased their contents forever. Even so, Ayato treated each page with almost religious care, comparing symbols from one manuscript to another while carefully recording every possible interpretation inside a notebook already overflowing with revisions.
"…Resurrection causes consequences too…" Ayato murmured quietly beneath his breath as his finger slowly traced the jagged outline of a faded rune carved into the parchment before him. His voice remained calm, almost emotionless, but beneath that composure his mind raced endlessly as he pieced together fragments of knowledge lost to time. "…Equivalent exchange… temporal recoil… soul fracture…"
His quill paused for only a moment before he wrote each translation into the margins of his notebook, only to stop again several seconds later and draw a thick line through the entire paragraph.
"No…" he whispered to himself. "That's incomplete."
He reached toward another weathered manuscript, carefully unfolding pages that threatened to crumble beneath his fingertips before comparing an entirely different collection of runes against the first. Symbols overlapped with one another in his notes until entire paragraphs became nearly unreadable beneath layer after layer of corrections, but Ayato never showed even the slightest sign of frustration. Instead, every failed translation only seemed to drive him further forward.
Finally, after several long minutes of silence, he leaned back into his chair.
The old wood creaked softly beneath his weight as he tilted his head toward the ceiling, his eyes narrowing while dozens of possibilities collided inside his thoughts.
"…Then what about immortality?"
The question lingered quietly within the room.
Without hesitation, Ayato reached toward another towering pile of documents resting beside his chair and began sorting through them with increasing urgency. Ancient pages rustled beneath his hands while loose fragments fluttered onto the floor around him, several manuscripts threatening to fall apart entirely as centuries-old bindings finally surrendered to age. Some scrolls had been partially burned long before reaching his possession, leaving entire passages impossible to reconstruct, while others had faded until only scattered symbols remained visible beneath the yellowed paper. None of those imperfections discouraged him. Instead, they seemed to challenge him.
His quill resumed dancing across fresh parchment.
"…Rebirth demands payment…" he read quietly while carefully comparing another series of faded inscriptions. "…But immortality…"
His lips slowly curved upward.
"…Immortality demands continuation."
The realization settled over him like revelation. Every civilization that had ever attempted resurrection spoke of sacrifice. Every forgotten culture warned of imbalance whenever death was defied. Every ancient record described a price that could never truly be escaped.
"If the soul itself can continue indefinitely…" he whispered almost reverently, "…then consequence can be rewritten."
Then, without warning, the quiet creaking of the office door gently broke the silence that had enveloped the room.
"You're still at it."
Ayato didn't lift his head.
He recognized the voice immediately.
Gentle footsteps crossed the tatami mats with practiced familiarity, accompanied by the comforting aroma of freshly brewed green tea that slowly replaced the dusty scent of old parchment filling the office. Rui Kazami entered carrying a small lacquered tray balanced carefully in both hands, her long black hair loosely tied behind her shoulders after what had clearly been another exhausting evening. There were faint shadows beneath her eyes that betrayed her own exhaustion, yet the warmth in her expression remained unchanged as she quietly approached the cluttered desk.
She carefully lowered the tray onto one of the few empty corners that remained, causing two delicate porcelain teacups to clink softly against their matching saucers before a thin trail of fragrant steam rose into the air between them.
"You haven't slept," Rui said gently as her eyes wandered across the mountain of manuscripts covering nearly every inch of the room.
Only then did Ayato finally raise his eyes from the parchment resting beneath his hands.
His expression remained completely composed.
"Sleep," he answered matter-of-factly, "is inefficient."
Rui sighed quietly, though there was more sadness than irritation in the sound.
"So is obsession."
A faint smile briefly touched the corner of Ayato's mouth before disappearing just as quickly. He offered no argument because, somewhere deep beneath the obsession consuming him, he understood that she wasn't entirely wrong.
Rui slowly surveyed the room once more, allowing her gaze to travel across the endless collection of ancient scrolls, loose translations, ink-stained notebooks, and countless sheets of parchment layered atop one another until the desk itself had almost vanished beneath years of relentless research. Symbols covered nearly every available surface, corrections had been written over previous corrections so many times that entire pages resembled incomprehensible mosaics, and open books rested in precarious stacks that looked ready to collapse at any moment.
The sight caused her chest to tighten.
This was no longer simple academic curiosity.
It looked like the physical manifestation of a brilliant mind slowly allowing itself to be consumed by something far darker than knowledge alone.
Quietly folding her hands together in front of her, Rui looked back toward her husband, hoping she could still reach the man she had fallen in love with before whatever lay hidden inside those ancient runes claimed him completely.
Rui gently slid one of the steaming porcelain teacups toward her husband before folding her hands together in front of her, quietly studying the exhausted man seated behind the mountain of ancient manuscripts. Her eyes lingered on the faint shadows beneath his own, the stiffness in his shoulders, and the countless ink stains covering his fingers, each one serving as silent proof that he had spent another night sacrificing sleep in favor of research. Although her voice remained soft, there was unmistakable concern hidden beneath every word as she finally broke the silence that had settled over the room.
"You haven't slept," she said quietly, hoping that this time he might finally listen.
Ayato's quill came to a gradual stop, though only because her voice had interrupted the endless rhythm of his thoughts rather than because he intended to rest. After several seconds, he finally lifted his head from the scattered parchments and met her gaze with calm, unwavering eyes that looked strangely detached from the exhaustion etched across his face. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, carrying none of the warmth it once had, before he answered with complete sincerity.
"Sleep is inefficient," he replied matter-of-factly. "Every hour I spend resting is another hour wasted when I could be translating these runes."
Rui sighed quietly, the familiar answer only deepening the ache already growing inside her chest. She had heard those words countless times over the past several years, yet hearing them now somehow hurt even more than before. Folding her arms across her chest, she allowed a small frown to settle across her face as she looked around the office once again.
"So is obsession," she answered gently.
Ayato merely smirked to himself before lowering his eyes back toward the parchment resting beneath his fingertips, offering neither an argument nor an apology. The silence between them stretched naturally, but Rui could no longer ignore what stood before her. Her gaze slowly drifted across the massive wooden desk, taking in the overwhelming sea of scattered rune sheets layered upon one another until the original surface had almost disappeared completely. Every page was covered in corrections written over older corrections, symbols stacked upon symbols until the writing itself resembled the chaotic map of a mind refusing to let go. Open journals lay balanced atop weathered scrolls, loose parchment covered the floor, and dried ink stains reached nearly every corner of the room as though the obsession consuming Ayato had physically spilled into the world around him.
Her expression tightened, though not from anger, not sadnesz, not fear,
Only the growing realization that she was slowly losing the man sitting only a few feet away.
"You promised," Rui said quietly, her voice barely rising above the sound of rain tapping against the paper windows. "After Shoto was born… you promised me you would stop digging into things like this. You said our family would finally come first."
Ayato's hand froze above the page.
The room became completely still.
After several long moments, he slowly lowered the quill onto the desk before speaking without looking at her.
"…I said I'd slow down," he corrected calmly. "I never said I would stop."
Rui's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as disappointment washed across her face.
"That may be what you remember saying," she replied softly, "but this doesn't look like someone who's slowing down."
Rather than answer, Ayato quietly rose from his chair. The old wood creaked beneath him as he stepped around the cluttered desk and walked toward the nearest window overlooking the rain-soaked courtyard outside. His long sleeves swayed gently with each measured step until he finally came to a stop before the paper glass, his reflection staring back at him beneath the dim glow of the lantern behind him.
Outside, rain shimmered across polished stone pathways while small lanterns hanging beneath the estate's eaves swayed gently in the evening breeze. Somewhere deeper within the courtyard, a child's laughter echoed brightly through the rain, so innocent and carefree that it almost didn't belong in a world capable of producing the knowledge resting upon Ayato's desk.
Shoto.
The sound lingered in the air.
Ayato's eyes softened for only the briefest moment before hardening once more.
"You don't understand," he said quietly while continuing to stare through the rain-streaked window. "This world has never been kind to the weak. It devours them without hesitation, strips away everything they love, and discards them the moment they are no longer useful." His reflection stared back at him with cold determination, his voice growing firmer with every word. "I refuse to let my family become another victim of a world that only rewards suffering."
Rui slowly walked toward him until only a few feet separated them. She studied his reflection instead of his face, almost hoping she might still find the husband she once knew hidden somewhere behind those distant eyes.
"And what happens," she asked quietly, "when you become the monster you're trying so desperately to protect us from?"
Ayato turned sharply to face her, his expression immediately hardening.
"I won't."
His answer came without hesitation.
Without uncertainty.
Without even considering the possibility.
Rui met his stare without taking a single step backward, refusing to allow his conviction to intimidate her.
"That's what everyone says," she whispered.
Silence settled heavily between them.
After several long moments, Ayato's eyes drifted away from Rui and settled once more upon the cluttered desk behind her. Among the countless scattered manuscripts rested one particular parchment unlike any of the others, its edges wrapped carefully in faded red thread while a single ancient rune etched into its center emitted the faintest pulse beneath the lamplight. The glow was subtle enough that anyone else might have dismissed it as imagination, yet Ayato watched it with quiet fascination.
"Immortality isn't life without death," he finally said, his voice softer now but somehow even more unsettling than before. "It's life without end. It's a soul anchored so completely beyond consequence that death itself can no longer reach it." His eyes remained fixed upon the sealed parchment while his thoughts wandered somewhere far beyond the room around him. "If such a thing could truly be perfected… then even the gods themselves would lose the power to erase it."
Rui felt her breath catch inside her throat.
The words frightened her far more than the runes ever had.
"Ayato…" she pleaded softly, taking another hesitant step toward him. "Please…"
Without responding, Ayato crossed the room and gently lifted the sealed parchment into his hands. His fingers brushed carefully across the faded red thread as though he were holding something sacred.
"I'm close," he whispered.
His smile slowly returned.
"Closer than anyone has ever been."
Before Rui could answer, another sound drifted through the open courtyard outside, completely different from the heavy conversation unfolding within the office.
"Wait! Wait! You're cheating!"
Shoto's cheerful voice echoed across the estate, so full of life that it instantly shattered the oppressive silence lingering inside the study.
Ayato and Rui instinctively turned toward the window.
Outside, the rain had softened into a gentle drizzle, allowing two children to race happily across the wide courtyard despite the damp grass beneath their feet. Shoto stumbled forward with all the reckless determination only a young child could possess, his tiny legs struggling desperately to keep pace with the older girl laughing just ahead of him. His arms flailed wildly each time he nearly lost his balance, yet he refused to stop chasing her, determination burning brightly across his flushed face despite being hopelessly outmatched.
The girl suddenly spun around beneath the blooming cherry tree standing proudly in the center of the courtyard, placing both hands confidently upon her hips while laughter rang through the estate like the sound of tiny bells carried upon the wind.
"Big sister rules!" she teased with a playful grin. "You can't win if you keep tripping over your own feet!"
"I'm not tripping!" Shoto protested immediately, puffing out his cheeks while trying to catch his breath. "You're just… you're just running too fast!"
Her smile softened almost instantly.
Instead of continuing to tease him, she crouched until they stood at eye level with one another. Long dark hair slipped gently over her shoulders as warm brown eyes met his with unmistakable affection.
"Then let's try again," she said gently. "This time we'll run together."
She slowly extended one hand toward him.
Shoto stared at it for only a heartbeat before eagerly grabbing it with both of his small hands. Her grip was firm, warm, and reassuring in a way that immediately erased every trace of frustration from his face.
Together they began running once more, this time moving at a pace they could both enjoy. Their laughter echoed across the courtyard as they circled the ancient cherry blossom tree standing proudly at its center, while delicate pink petals drifted gracefully through the air around them until the entire garden resembled a dream painted beneath the evening sky.
Shoto suddenly pointed excitedly toward the branches overhead.
"Look!" he shouted. "It's snowing!"
The older girl laughed softly before reaching up to catch one of the drifting blossoms between her fingertips.
"That's not snow, dummy," she giggled. "Those are sakura petals."
"Oh…"
Shoto frowned thoughtfully as he watched another blossom float gently toward the ground.
"…Can I still make a wish on them?"
Her smile became even warmer.
"Of course you can."
She brushed a stray blossom from his hair before stepping back.
Shoto squeezed his eyes shut with all the seriousness his tiny face could manage, clenching both fists tightly as though his wish might escape if he relaxed for even a moment.
"I wish…" he whispered before briefly peeking through one eye and squeezing it shut again. "…I wish we could stay like this forever."
The girl's smile trembled.
Only for a heartbeat.
Only long enough for something painfully bittersweet to flicker across her eyes.
Then she smiled once more.
"…Yeah," she answered softly. "Forever sounds really nice."
Eventually they settled beneath the massive cherry blossom tree, resting their backs comfortably against its ancient trunk while petals continued falling gently around them. Shoto leaned sleepily against her shoulder, tiny fingers clutching the sleeve of her kimono as exhaustion slowly overtook his excitement.
"Hey…" he mumbled drowsily.
"Hm?"
"When I get bigger…" he whispered, struggling to keep his eyes open, "…I'll protect you."
She blinked in surprise.
"…You will?"
Shoto nodded with complete confidence.
"Dad says strong people protect their family," he declared proudly. "So I'm gonna protect you… and Mom… and everyone."
Her eyes shimmered with emotion she struggled to hide.
She reached over and gently tapped the center of his forehead with two fingertips before smiling once more.
"Then I'll hold you to that promise," she whispered. "But until that day finally comes…"
She brushed another cherry blossom from his hair.
"…I'll be the one protecting you."
Shoto smiled peacefully before slowly drifting off to sleep beneath the falling blossoms, completely unaware that two pairs of eyes had been watching them from the wooden engawa overlooking the courtyard the entire time.
Neither of the children realized they were being watched.
From the polished wooden engawa overlooking the courtyard, Rui stood quietly with both hands folded tightly inside the sleeves of her kimono, her eyes never leaving the sight of Shoto sleeping peacefully beneath the ancient cherry blossom tree while Mizumi sat beside him, gently brushing loose petals from his dark hair. The scene unfolding before her should have filled her heart with warmth. It should have reassured her that, despite everything happening within the walls of the estate, her children were still able to laugh, smile, and enjoy the simple innocence of childhood.
Instead, an unbearable ache settled deep within her chest.
She couldn't explain why, but every smile Shoto wore felt painfully fragile now, as though it were a beautiful glass ornament balanced at the edge of a table, destined to shatter the moment fate decided to brush against it. Watching Mizumi protect her younger brother only reminded Rui of the conversation she had shared with Ayato the previous night, and the growing fear that the peaceful future she wanted for both of them was slowly slipping beyond her reach.
Standing beside her with his arms folded across his chest, Ayato remained completely silent. His expression revealed nothing, his face as composed as ever, but Rui noticed something that unsettled her more than anything else. His attention wasn't resting on Shoto, whose innocent laughter had filled the courtyard only moments earlier. Instead, his sharp eyes remained fixed entirely upon Mizumi, carefully observing every interaction she had with her younger brother, every reassuring smile she offered him, and every protective gesture she made without even realizing it.
After several long moments, Rui finally broke the silence, her voice barely louder than the breeze carrying cherry blossom petals across the courtyard.
"She's wonderful with him," Rui said quietly, allowing herself the smallest smile as she watched Mizumi patiently adjust Shoto's position so he could sleep more comfortably beneath the tree. "Whenever he's scared, upset, or confused, she's always the first person he runs to."
Ayato gave a slow, thoughtful nod without taking his eyes off the children below.
"He trusts her," he answered calmly. "More than anyone."
Rui slowly turned toward her husband, studying the unreadable expression resting across his face. She wanted desperately to believe those words came from a father's quiet pride, yet something about the way he had said them felt far too analytical, as though he were observing an experiment instead of his own family.
"Ayato…" she said softly, "…you promised me."
For several seconds, only the wind answered her.
Ayato remained completely still, his gaze fixed on the courtyard while the silence between them grew heavier with every passing heartbeat.
Rui lowered her eyes briefly before continuing, unable to keep the trembling from her voice.
"You told me Mizumi would never become involved in any of this," she whispered. "You promised me that Shoto would never be exposed to these runes, these experiments, or whatever it is you're searching for."
Ayato finally closed his eyes for a brief moment before exhaling quietly through his nose. The muscles along his jaw tightened ever so slightly, revealing the smallest crack in his otherwise perfect composure.
"She already is," he answered without emotion. "Whether either of us wanted it to happen… it already has."
Rui stared at him in disbelief.
"What do you mean she's already involved?" she asked, fear beginning to creep into every word.
Ayato slowly opened his eyes once more before looking down toward the sleeping children.
"The moment Shoto was born," he replied quietly, "their futures stopped belonging to them."
Those words lingered painfully in Rui's heart long after the conversation ended, and although neither of them spoke another word that evening, the growing distance between husband and wife became impossible to ignore.
Morning sunlight filtered gently through the paper windows of Ayato's office, replacing the warm glow of lanterns with a pale golden light that painted long shadows across the wooden floor. Unlike the previous night, the room appeared strangely calm on the surface. The countless parchments covering the desk no longer pulsed with faint traces of mysterious energy, instead appearing to be nothing more than ordinary sheets of aged paper covered in faded ink. To anyone unfamiliar with the ancient runes scattered throughout the room, it would have looked like nothing more than the study of an overly dedicated historian.
Even so…
Something about the office still felt wrong.
The air itself carried an invisible weight that refused to disappear, as though the countless secrets hidden within those forgotten symbols continued whispering long after the ink had dried.
The sliding door opened quietly.
Mizumi Kazami stepped inside with careful, measured footsteps.
Although she was only twelve years old, there was an unmistakable maturity in the way she carried herself. Her long dark hair had been neatly tied behind her head, and her observant eyes immediately swept across the office before settling on the countless manuscripts scattered throughout the room. She didn't appear intimidated by the overwhelming collection of ancient texts surrounding her. Instead, she simply studied everything with calm curiosity before stopping several feet away from the desk.
"So…" she said lightly, allowing a playful smile to appear across her face despite the serious atmosphere. "This is where you hide all day."
Ayato quietly slid the door shut behind her before walking farther into the room.
"This," he replied calmly, "is where I work."
Mizumi glanced around once more before folding her hands behind her back.
"Mom doesn't like this room very much," she observed.
Ayato didn't bother denying it.
He walked around the desk before calmly lowering himself onto the cushion resting behind it, folding his hands together as though preparing for an ordinary conversation rather than one that would change both of their lives forever.
"Your mother worries too much," he answered.
Mizumi frowned almost immediately.
"No," she corrected quietly. "She worries because you scare her."
For the first time since she had entered the room, silence settled between them.
Ayato slowly lifted his eyes toward his daughter, studying her more carefully than he ever had before. Gone was the expression of a father casually speaking with his child. Instead, he examined her with quiet respect, recognizing a level of perception far beyond what most adults possessed.
After several thoughtful moments, he gestured toward the cushion resting opposite his desk.
"Sit."
Mizumi obeyed without argument, quietly kneeling across from him while maintaining steady eye contact.
After ensuring she was comfortable, Ayato folded his hands together once more.
"You know why I asked you to come here."
Mizumi tilted her head thoughtfully.
"Because of Shoto?"
Ayato's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
"Go on."
She inhaled slowly before choosing her words with remarkable care.
"You've been watching him more often lately," she said quietly. "Every time he gets angry… every time he gets scared… every time something strange happens around him… you're always paying attention."
Her fingers slowly tightened around the fabric resting across her knees.
"You're testing him."
Ayato remained perfectly silent.
Mizumi continued anyway.
"I don't know exactly what you're looking for," she admitted, "but I know you're afraid."
She met his gaze without hesitation.
"You're afraid something terrible is going to happen to him."
The room fell completely silent.
Several seconds passed before Ayato finally allowed the smallest smile to appear.
"…You're remarkably perceptive."
Mizumi gave a small shrug.
"I have to be," she answered quietly. "Someone in this family does."
Ayato slowly stood from his seat before walking toward the desk. His hand reached toward a single parchment wrapped carefully in faded red thread, lifting it gently into the light without removing its seal. Rather than opening it, he simply stared at the ancient document as though weighing far more than its physical weight.
"Shoto is different," he said quietly. "Even at his age… he's already different from anyone else."
Mizumi looked toward the courtyard visible through the nearby window, where her younger brother continued playing without the slightest awareness of the conversation taking place inside.
"He's just a little kid," she whispered.
Ayato's expression remained unchanged.
"He won't be for much longer."
Mizumi stood so suddenly that the cushion beneath her shifted across the floor.
"Then let him stay a kid while he still can," she pleaded. "He deserves that much."
Ayato slowly turned to face her.
"That's not how this world works."
Her expression hardened.
"Then change the world," she answered firmly. "Don't change him."
For the briefest moment, something inside Ayato seemed to waver.
The exhaustion beneath his eyes became visible.
The burden he carried surfaced just enough to remind her that he had once been someone very different.
Finally, he sighed quietly.
"You're asking me to accomplish something impossible."
Mizumi stepped closer without the slightest hesitation.
"You've spent years trying to accomplish the impossible," she replied. "The only difference is that you don't like the version I'm asking for."
Ayato's grip around the sealed parchment tightened noticeably before he slowly returned it to the desk.
"I didn't ask you to come here so we could argue."
Mizumi fell silent.
"I asked you to come because I need your help."
Those words immediately stole the confidence from her expression.
Ayato looked directly into her eyes.
"Shoto trusts you more than anyone else in this family," he said quietly. "More than he trusts me. More than he trusts your mother."
Mizumi felt her chest tighten painfully.
"Of course he does," she answered. "He's my little brother."
"And one day…" Ayato continued softly, "…that bond may become the only thing keeping him human."
The room became impossibly still.
Mizumi swallowed hard before forcing herself to ask the question she already feared she knew the answer to.
"What exactly are you asking me to do?"
Ayato placed the sealed parchment back onto the desk before resting one hand flat against the polished wood.
"I want you to watch over him," he said. "Protect him. Guide him whenever I'm unable to."
His voice became quieter.
"And if the day ever comes when he begins to change…"
Mizumi's hands slowly clenched into trembling fists.
"…Then what?"
Ayato closed his eyes briefly before answering.
"Then you must stop him."
The color drained from Mizumi's face.
"You're asking me to hurt my own brother?"
Ayato slowly shook his head.
"I'm asking you to make a choice."
His voice remained painfully calm.
"If that day ever comes… you'll have to choose between your family… and the world."
Before Mizumi could respond, the office door suddenly slid open.
Rui stood quietly in the doorway.
The sorrow in her eyes made it immediately clear that she had heard every single word.
Neither Ayato nor Mizumi spoke.
After several painful seconds, Rui finally looked toward her daughter, forcing a gentle smile despite the tears threatening to form in her eyes.
"Mizumi," she said softly, "would you go check on your brother for me?"
Mizumi looked helplessly between both of her parents before slowly lowering her head.
Without another word, she quietly walked past her mother and disappeared into the hallway.
The moment the door closed behind her, the warmth vanished from Rui's expression entirely.
She stepped into the office with slow, deliberate footsteps before stopping directly across from her husband.
The disappointment in her eyes had hardened into something far more dangerous.
"You are not going to turn my daughter into your contingency plan."
Ayato didn't hesitate.
"I already have."
Rui stared at him in stunned silence before anger finally overwhelmed every remaining trace of composure.
Her voice trembled, not because she was afraid, but because her heart was breaking faster than she could hold it together.
"You are destroying this family with your own hands, Ayato."
Ayato slowly turned his face away from Rui, refusing to meet her eyes as silence settled heavily between them. For the briefest of moments, something within him appeared to falter. The certainty that had dominated his expression since the beginning of their argument seemed to crack ever so slightly, as though her words had managed to reach the part of him that still remembered what it meant to be a husband and a father. Rui noticed the hesitation immediately, hope flickering faintly within her heart as she watched his shoulders lower by the smallest margin. She wanted to believe that somewhere beneath the obsession, beneath the impossible dreams and endless research, the man she had married was still fighting to return. That fragile hope survived for only a heartbeat before it shattered completely.
Without warning, Ayato disappeared from where he stood. The distance separating them vanished in a single blur of movement as his hand shot forward and seized the front of Rui's kimono with crushing force. His fingers dug deeply into the fabric before violently pulling her toward him, slamming her back against the wooden wall with enough strength to rattle the entire office. Scrolls hanging from nearby shelves fluttered loose from the impact, porcelain cups clattered loudly against the lacquered tray resting upon the desk, and several ancient parchments drifted helplessly onto the floor. Rui gasped sharply as the collision knocked the air from her lungs, pain radiating through her back while her vision blurred for an instant beneath the force of the blow.
Ayato stood over her with terrifying intensity, one forearm pressed firmly against the wall beside her head while the other still gripped her clothing tightly enough to prevent even the slightest movement. The expression on his face no longer resembled anger alone. There was something infinitely more disturbing hidden behind his eyes. His lips stretched into an unnatural smile that bordered on manic delight, while his pupils trembled with feverish excitement, burning with a light Rui had never witnessed before. It was the face of a man who believed he had glimpsed the answer to every question humanity had ever asked, and in that moment she realized she was no longer speaking to the husband she had loved for so many years. She was standing before someone who had willingly surrendered himself to obsession.
"For the first time in my entire life," Ayato whispered, his voice trembling not with fear or uncertainty but with overwhelming exhilaration, "I can finally see it. No… not just me. We can achieve everything humanity has ever dreamed of. Everything we've ever wanted is finally within our reach."
Rui struggled desperately against his grip, her hands pushing weakly against his arm as panic spread across her face. Every instinct told her to run, yet the man pinning her against the wall was still the father of her children, and some part of her refused to believe that he had fallen so completely beyond saving. "Ayato… please," she pleaded through uneven breaths. "Stop. This isn't you."
Instead of releasing her, Ayato slammed his forearm even harder against the wall beside her head, causing the wooden frame to groan beneath the impact. His breathing had become uneven now, every sentence spilling from him faster than the last as though the thoughts inside his mind could no longer be contained. "The Rune Gate," he said, almost reverently, "and whatever power sleeps inside Shoto… it's beyond anything I ever imagined. It's not simply an ancient artifact or forgotten knowledge. It's power in its purest form, untouched by limitation, untouched by mortality itself." His smile widened further as his eyes seemed to lose focus entirely. "Do you understand what that means? Pure power… absolute power."
Tears slowly welled within Rui's eyes as she searched desperately for even the smallest trace of familiarity inside the face staring back at her. Every line of his expression felt foreign, every word colder than the last, until she could no longer recognize the man standing only inches away. "That's our son," she whispered, her voice breaking beneath the weight of disbelief. "You're talking about him like he's nothing more than a tool… like he's some experiment instead of your own child."
A low laugh escaped Ayato's throat, beginning almost quietly before twisting into something hollow and broken that echoed unnaturally throughout the office. He shook his head with genuine disbelief, almost pitying her inability to understand what he believed he had discovered. "Can't you see it?" he asked, his eyes widening with frightening intensity. "This isn't cruelty. This isn't madness. This is evolution. Every fear we've ever carried, every tragedy we've ever suffered, every loved one we've ever lost… all of it ends here. There will be no more helplessness. No more meaningless deaths. No more gods deciding who deserves to live and who deserves to disappear."
His grip tightened unconsciously around Rui's clothing as he leaned even closer, lowering his voice until it became little more than a dangerous whisper. "With this power," he said quietly, "nothing will ever be able to touch us again. Fate will lose its authority. Death will become meaningless. Even the world itself will no longer possess the strength to stand against us."
Rui slowly raised trembling hands and placed them gently against his chest. She wasn't trying to push him away anymore. Instead, she searched desperately for something beneath her fingertips, some familiar heartbeat that might remind her the man she loved was still alive somewhere inside the stranger before her. Tears finally spilled freely down her cheeks as her voice became barely audible. "This isn't you, Ayato," she whispered. "The man I married would never sacrifice his family just to become powerful."
For the briefest instant, something flickered across Ayato's expression. The wild smile faltered. His eyes softened ever so slightly, as though buried beneath countless layers of obsession, a forgotten memory had managed to surface. Rui's heart leapt hopefully.
Then the moment disappeared.
His expression hardened once again until nothing remained except cold certainty.
"That man," Ayato replied quietly, "was weak."
Beyond the paper windows, the innocent laughter of children drifted gently across the courtyard. Shoto's cheerful voice echoed through the estate as he played happily beneath the clear afternoon sky, completely unaware that only a few rooms away, his family was beginning to fall apart. Hearing that carefree laughter sent a wave of unbearable sorrow crashing through Rui's heart, and in that instant she finally accepted the terrible truth she had been refusing to face.
The person standing before her still wore Ayato's face.
He still carried Ayato's voice.
But her husband was already gone.
Several long seconds passed before Ayato's grip gradually loosened. His fingers slipped away from the fabric of Rui's kimono, allowing her body to slide helplessly down the wooden wall until she caught herself on trembling legs. He didn't offer an apology. He didn't even acknowledge her presence anymore. Instead, his attention drifted away as though she had ceased to exist entirely. Without another glance in her direction, he turned his back on her and slowly walked toward the cluttered desk occupying the center of the office.
A quiet chuckle escaped his lips as he lowered himself into his chair once more. What began as a thoughtful murmur slowly transformed into hollow laughter that sent chills crawling down Rui's spine. His fingertips moved reverently across the scattered parchments covering the desk, brushing gently over faded runes as though greeting old companions. Beneath the warm glow of the morning sunlight, several of the ancient symbols seemed to pulse faintly in response, their barely visible light flickering beneath his touch as though the forgotten language itself welcomed his devotion.
Rui remained frozen where she stood, her breathing uneven while tears continued streaming silently down her face. Every instinct told her to say his name one final time, to reach out and pull him back before it became too late, yet the words refused to leave her throat. The man sitting before those parchments no longer looked toward his family. His entire world had narrowed until only the Rune Gate remained.
Unable to bear another second inside that room, Rui turned and hurried toward the door. The wooden panel slid open with a sharp scrape before slamming shut behind her as she fled into the hallway, her footsteps uneven and hurried while ragged breaths echoed throughout the silent estate. She never once looked back, because deep down she already knew nothing she said could bring him home anymore.
Ayato never attempted to stop her.
He simply continued laughing quietly to himself before leaning forward over the ancient desk, resting his elbows upon its worn surface while interlocking his fingers beneath his chin. His brilliant eyes gleamed with unrestrained obsession as they remained fixed upon the parchment sealed by faded red thread, the symbols reflected perfectly within his pupils like stars trapped inside endless darkness.
"The myth of the Rune Gate," he whispered slowly, every syllable overflowing with fanatical conviction, "will belong to me."
A slow smile spread across his face once again.
"No matter what I have to sacrifice."
Outside the office, the world seemed impossibly beautiful.
The rain had vanished completely, leaving behind crystal-clear skies stretched endlessly across the horizon while gentle clouds drifted peacefully overhead without the slightest concern for the tragedies unfolding below. Shoto lay comfortably in the soft grass with both hands folded beneath his head, quietly watching the clouds float past as though the entire world had become one enormous painting created solely for him. The fresh scent of rain lingered in the air, carried gently across the courtyard by a cool breeze that rustled the grass around him.
Soft footsteps crunched against the gravel pathway nearby.
Mizumi approached slowly, though every step felt heavier than the last. Her eyes instinctively wandered back toward the estate, lingering briefly on the hallway where she had seen their mother disappear only moments earlier before returning to the carefree little boy lying beneath the endless blue sky.
"Shoto…" she called softly.
He immediately turned toward her, and the brilliant smile that spread across his face nearly shattered her heart.
"Look, Mizumi!" he exclaimed excitedly while pointing high above the estate. "The sky's blue today!"
She followed his finger upward before lowering her gaze back toward him. For several seconds she couldn't bring herself to answer. The innocence shining inside his gray eyes felt almost unbearable after everything she had just heard inside their father's office.
"…Yeah," she finally whispered, forcing the gentlest smile she could manage before lowering herself onto the grass beside him. "It really is."
Shoto kicked his feet happily against the ground, completely absorbed by the beauty above him. "Yesterday everything was gray because it kept raining," he said with childlike excitement. "But today everything looks better!"
Mizumi slowly reached over and rested her hand upon his head, gently running her fingers through his dark hair while silently swallowing the lump forming in her throat. Her eyes drifted briefly toward the estate before returning to her little brother.
"…Yeah," she whispered once more. "Today feels better."
They remained there together for quite some time without speaking again. The breeze carried loose cherry blossom petals gently across the courtyard while Shoto quietly hummed to himself, perfectly content watching the clouds drift endlessly across the brilliant blue sky. Mizumi, however, found herself unable to enjoy the peaceful afternoon. Every distant sound coming from the estate made her body tense instinctively. The creak of wooden floors, the muffled voices of servants moving through the hallways, and every set of approaching footsteps filled her with quiet dread as though she expected another argument to erupt at any moment.
Her hand remained protectively upon Shoto's head, fingers tightening ever so slightly.
"Hey, Mizumi?" Shoto asked suddenly.
She looked down at him immediately.
"Hm?"
"Why was Mom crying earlier?"
Her heart stopped.
He hadn't witnessed the confrontation.
He hadn't seen Rui flee from the office.
Yet somehow he had still sensed her sadness.
Children always noticed far more than adults realized.
Mizumi forced another reassuring smile onto her face while gently brushing his bangs aside.
"She's just tired," she answered softly. "Sometimes grown-ups cry when they're really tired."
"Oh…"
Shoto accepted the explanation without question before staring back toward the clouds.
After several thoughtful moments, he smiled brightly.
"Then I'll get stronger really fast," he declared confidently. "If I'm strong enough, Mom won't have to be tired anymore."
Mizumi's smile trembled painfully.
"You don't have to rush," she replied quickly. "You're still just a little kid."
He turned toward her with complete sincerity shining inside his eyes.
"But I want to," he answered. "If I become strong, I can protect everybody. Dad told me that's what strong people do."
Those words pierced her heart.
Without thinking, Mizumi suddenly wrapped both arms tightly around her younger brother, pulling him into a warm embrace strong enough to make him blink in surprise. After a moment, Shoto laughed quietly and returned the hug without hesitation.
"M-Mizumi?" he asked curiously. "Are you okay?"
She rested her forehead gently against his hair.
"…Yeah," she whispered.
It was a lie.
One she desperately wished could become true.
Eventually she released him before standing and brushing grass from her clothes.
"Come on," she said gently. "We should head back before Mom starts worrying."
Shoto jumped happily to his feet and nodded enthusiastically.
"Okay!"
Together they began walking side by side toward the estate, their footsteps carrying them peacefully across the stone pathway beneath the afternoon sun.
Halfway back, Mizumi suddenly stopped.
A crushing pressure swept across the estate.
No…
It wasn't pressure.
It felt exactly like the deafening crack of a gunshot echoing directly through her soul.