The sky bled.
A vast canvas smeared in strokes of crimson and burnt gold, as though the heavens themselves had been wounded.
The sun, a swollen sphere of molten red, hung low in the distance, slowly retreating behind the jagged silhouettes of far-off mountains, casting the world into deepening shadow.
Somewhere beneath that dying sky, the chirping of unseen birds echoed faintly across the expanse, distant and thin... Like memories not yet forgotten, but already fading.
Below, an endless field stretched out in solemn silence. The grass there was black, not with soot, but with some strange hue all its own, dark as obsidian but soft, like velvet.
Each blade swayed as if caught in the breath of the earth itself, responding to the murmuring wind that swept low and constant, carrying with it the scent of dusk and something older — something ancient.
In the center of that field lay a girl.
She was still, completely motionless, her eyes fixed on the horizon as though trying to hold back the inevitable fall of night by sheer will alone. The sun inched lower, and the darkness inched closer.
Patient, consuming.
It was, undeniably, a beautiful evening.
And yet...
"...Who am I?"
The question escaped her lips, a whisper more than a voice, but the wind, ever gentle, offered nothing in return — only silence, soft and empty.
No name came to her. None that was truly hers.
Only a word.
Zenbu.
A name that was not chosen but assigned, like a brand rather than a gift. In one tongue, it meant everything... Infinite, whole. In another, it meant nothing. Hollow, absent. Both meanings, she supposed, were true in their own cruel way.
She had never cried. Not even when she was born.
She didn't know what emtions were. No... She was emotionless.
Never laughed. Never learned to smile, or perhaps had forgotten how. The villagers feared what they could not make sense of, and fear, when left to ferment, curdled into hate. They beat it out of her. Or tried. But even the sharpest blows could not carve expression into stone.
Her black hair... hair she despised... Fluttered across her face.
The sign of her mother's infidelity.
The same villagers called her cursed, whispered that she had been born empty. Hollow. A cursed spirit in the hollow shell of a human.
Only one had ever refused to see her that way.
"...Hey. There you are."
The voice came like sunlight breaking through cloud cover — sudden, familiar, irritating in the way comfort sometimes is.
A flash of red broke through the purple foliage at the edge of the clearing. The other girl, wild-eyed and smirking despite the dirt smeared across her cheek and the bandages wrapped tightly around her bruised arm, stepped into the open. The blood on her was still drying.
Ayeka.
Her sister.
The storm of the village, the rebel child, the firebrand with fists that always found trouble — and trouble that always found her back.
Zenbu's gaze did not shift, but her voice emerged in its usual dull monotone. "...You're injured again."
A fresh cut streaked down Ayeka's cheek. She brushed a hanging branch aside as if it had personally offended her, wincing slightly as the movement jarred her arm.
Ayeka snorted. "You? Worrying about me? Gods, maybe a white moon really will rise tonight."
Zenbu said nothing.
With a grunt, Ayeka dropped into the grass beside her, letting her legs stretch out carelessly. She glanced sideways, grimacing at the sky. "I hate this season. The red sky, the black grass, all of it. It's like staring into a wound. And don't even get me started on the nights. Can't see a damn thing."
Her words hung in the air, but Zenbu remained silent, eyes fixed on the last sliver of sun disappearing into the mountains.
Ayeka clicked her tongue. "You never talk unless I make you, you know that?"
Again, no answer. Just the rustling of the wind.
She sighed. "Why do I even try…"
Then something shifted. Her eyes lit with mischief.
"Oh right. Speaking of seasons changing… I brought you something. Took a lot to 'borrow' the pieces, so you better act impressed."
Zenbu didn't turn her head. She expected stale bread, like always — a crust stolen from a meal she wasn't welcome to, tossed to her like scraps to a stray dog.
But what came was different.
She felt the lightest brush of fingers around her neck.
She looked down.
A necklace. Handmade, uneven, but strangely beautiful.
It glittered. Tiny, delicate flowers had been woven into it — golden-white blooms that gleamed even in the encroaching shadow.
Ayeka grinned. "They only grow during Goldlight. The yellow sun's warmth's the reason they grow so well. Guards are pricks, by the way. Got this cut just dodging one of 'em. Worth it, though."
She reached out and touched Zenbu's cheek — just once, gently — then drew back.
"It suits you," she said with a warmth that felt entirely foreign.
Zenbu stared at her. At the necklace. At the girl who smiled without asking for anything in return.
Her voice cracked through the stillness. "...Why?"
Ayeka blinked.
Zenbu turned to her, eyes faintly wide. "Why are you doing this?"
There was a pause. A beat of wind.
Then Ayeka smiled — not her usual cocky smirk, but something softer, deeper.
"Because you're family."
That word again.
Family.
Zenbu had only ever heard it spoken through clenched teeth and slammed doors. Through bruises and punishments. "You are not one of us," her father had said once, voice colder than winter. "You are not part of this family."
But when Ayeka said it...
Something inside her shifted. A small thing. A flicker.
She looked back at the necklace. Her fingers traced the petals, unsure if the glimmer she saw was dew, or just the shimmer of something new—something real.
"…I don't understand."
Ayeka flopped backward into the grass with a groan. "You don't need to. Maybe someday you will. Or maybe you won't. Doesn't really matter."
The grass swayed gently around them, moving like waves on a silent sea.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
Then Ayeka muttered, "They're planning something, you know."
Zenbu blinked. "…Who?"
"The villagers. I overheard them." She made air quotes in the air, mockingly. "'Get rid of the cursed child,' they said. Real subtle."
Zenbu turned her head. "Then why are you here?"
Ayeka raised an eyebrow. "Because I'm your big sister, dumbass."
Zenbu opened her mouth. Closed it again.
Ayeka laughed, poking her in the forehead. "Don't look so shocked. You think I'd leave you here to stew in all this tragic scenery and existential gloom?"
"…Yes."
Ayeka gasped. "RUDE."
Zenbu frowned, rubbing her forehead. "I don't know how to believe in people."
Ayeka's grin softened. "Then I'll keep teaching you. That's what family's for."
The sun vanished completely. Night rose like a tide, swallowing everything in soft black.
Zenbu looked upward. The stars had not yet arrived.
"…Will it hurt?" she asked quietly.
The shadows darkened.
Ayeka hesitated. "I don't know," she said at last. "But if it does…"
She reached over and took Zenbu's hand in hers.
"…You won't be alone. And I won't let it happen."
What came next arrived like a dream collapsing in on itself.
Screams pierced the night.
Torches lit up the field like fireflies in hell.
The clash of steel and shouts of rage replaced the silence.
The black grass burned.
Zenbu didn't remember the beginning. Only the end.
She remembered Ayeka standing in front of her — body battered, voice unbroken.
Screaming at the villagers.
Begging them to stop.
Pleading with them to see her sister as something more than a curse.
But they didn't stop.
The first blow landed.
Then another.
Ayeka never moved.
Never gave up.
She had so many questions.
Why?
Why are you doing this?
Why do you still love me..?
Her voice cut through it all.
"Because you're family."
And then...
Fire.
Soul burning fire.
Everything burned.
And within that blaze, something deep inside Zenbu finally opened. Something ancient. Something divine. The need to protect.
When the flames cleared, when the screams faded, when the sky returned to silence...
All that remained of Ayeka was a single hand, blackened and outstretched- As if still trying to shield her.
Zenbu fell to her knees, the burnt petals from her necklace drifting down like snow.
For the first time, the village fell silent.
For the first time, a newborn bird chirped.
And for the first time... Zenbu Keshite cried.
...
...
She remained kneeling, unable to move, as the very fabric of reality began to dissolve around her.
The world was slowly being swallowed by an inky blackness, a consuming void that devoured all light and sound.
It felt... suffocating. As if the darkness itself were pressing in on her, wrapping her in its tendrils.
The charred hand she had once held was gone, erased as if it had never existed.
She stayed there, her body trembling, staring down at the floor, her face hidden beneath a veil of shadow. Her breathing was slow, uneven, each inhalation feeling more and more like the last.
Then, the voice came. It slithered through the dark like a serpent, cold and mocking.
"...Hah... Quite tragic, isn't it?"
Zenbu didn't move, her heart racing in her chest. She didn't dare look. "...Just kill me already."
A giggle followed. It wasn't the soft, sweet laugh of a human. No, this one was hollow- empty. A sound that seemed to echo from some far-off, hellish place.
"...Oh, darling, you misunderstand. I'm not here to kill you."
Zenbu's spine stiffened at the words. She didn't want to turn, but she felt an unnatural pull. A sickening curiosity. Slowly, her eyes lifted, and she turned her head.
A figure stood behind her.
Pale skin, like the polished surface of a tombstone. Eyes like burning violet coals- hungry, predatory, alive with madness.
Her hair flowed like a river of ink, shifting and twisting, impossibly dark, blending with the void that surrounded them.
She didn't recognize her. But she knew this presence. The air itself seemed to warp and contract around her, heavy with ancient malice.
The figure's lips curled into a grin. A grin that didn't belong to anything human.
"...You were never meant to withstand me," she cooed, her voice rich with amusement, like the cruelest of temptations. "You were always too weak. Too fragile."
Zenbu's mind raced. The crazy bastard. The coffin. The bloodlust. That suffocating darkness. This... this was it.
"You—!" Zenbu gasped, struggling to speak. "How are you-"
A single finger pressed to her lips, silencing her instantly. Her throat seized as if it had been caught in the grip of invisible hands. Air vanished from her lungs. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't speak.
The woman leaned in close, her breath a hot, foul whisper against Zenbu's ear. "Shhh... you look so delicate. So broken, already." The voice was a promise of agony. "It's a shame, really. Captain told me not to harm you. But..."
Her fingers brushed Zenbu's cheek, sending a jolt of cold terror through her.
"...You're already mine."
Zenbu's blood ran cold. The words echoed in her skull like a curse. Mine? What the hell did that mean? Her body trembled, her vision spinning.
She wanted to scream. To fight back. But she couldn't move, couldn't even think. She was trapped.
The woman smiled, her teeth sharp and glistening in the dark. "You're nothing but a puppet, sweet thing."
Zenbu's heart pounded against her ribcage as the figure's hand reached toward her, fingers curling into a fist, dark power crackling in the air.
"...It's time you wake up," the woman whispered, her voice a venomous caress.
Zenbu's eyes widened in horror, realizing too late what was about to happen. The fist drove into her chest with brutal force.
Her breath was ripped from her lungs as the world around her splintered into a thousand shards of pain. The agony was blinding- searing- like fire running through her veins, each second stretching into an eternity.
Her body went rigid as the world buckled and cracked, collapsing around them both. Her vision went black. She tried to scream, but her throat was locked, her chest hollow.
And then, all sound, all sensation, all existence, collapsed into a single, terrifying silence.
Her eyes snapped open.
A ceiling above her-black, oppressive, like the sky before a storm. Cold, unforgiving stone beneath her palms.
Tears ran down her face, even in reality.
Her breaths were shallow, ragged, as the smell of blood, iron, and something sickly sweet filled her nose. The rancid stench of decay and rot. Vomit..? The taste of bile rose in the back of her throat.
Her heart pounded. Her body trembled uncontrollably.
[The Fragment of the Apostle of Lust greets you.]
"...Ksuagh?!"
She sat up immediately, shaken by the sudden red rectangle flickering in her vision, only to come face to face...
With a severed hand.