the air in the basement was thick with dust, the kind that settled after years of being untouched. Yuki pulled her scarf over her nose, her flashlight cutting through the dimness as she stepped carefully over scattered papers and rusted metal shelves. her father's secret base, maybe if it could even be called that... felt more like an abandoned bunker than a place of hidden truths.
she had never been allowed down here before. not when she was a child, not even as a teenager. now, with her father gone, she finally had the key to enter.
a desk sat in the corner, its surface cluttered with old notebooks and faded photographs. Yuki ran her fingers over the cracked leather covers, her pulse is steady until her gaze landed on a single book, untouched by dust, resting at the very center in the desk of that table. unlike the others, it's black cover was smooth, its pages crisp as if it had been waiting for someone to find it.
she hesitated before picking it up. the title on the front was simple but foreboding. Yuki read out the title aloud. "Darkbane.."
something about it sent a chill down her spine. it wasn't just the way it seemed too pristine in this forgotten place. it was the feeling of like, the unsettling weight of something more than just the papers and ink.
curiosity won over hesitation. she sat over on the cold floor and flipped open the cover, the scent of fresh parchment mixing with the dampness of the basement. the first line made her breath catch in her throat.
the candle light flickered, casting long, wavering shadows across the damp walls. the air in the basement was thick with dust, heavy with the scent of forgotten things. in the dim light, that girl sat on the cold floor, a worn book resting in her lap. her fingers are delicate yet firm, traced the yellowed pages, showing care not to tear them. she wasn't sure how long she had been sitting there, nor why this book held her so captive.
suddenly the weather has changed. a whisper of rain tapped against the narrow window near the ceiling. the world above was alive, bustling, oblivious. but down here, in the silence, there was only her... and the words before her.
her eyes skimmed over the ink, absorbing each sentence, each stroke of the pen that formed them. the candle's flame wavered, and just like that...
-the world has shifted...
"hey, Akari-chan... Akari-chan..."
her voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried a sharp edge, laced with bitter mockery. "your name means brightness, but how can someone like you be covered in so much of darkness?"
"the mirror never lied.." she answered herself.
Akari-chan stared at her reflection, searching for traces of the girl she once was. but all she saw was a hallow shell, like a ghost trapped in the body of someone who had forgotten how to smile. the dim glow of the dormitory bathroom lights flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows against the tiled walls. the air was thick with the faint scent of antiseptic, mingling with the dampness of the midnight hour. this was her sanctuary, the only place where she could exist without pretense.
she reached out, pressing her fingers against the cold glass. her skin looked almost translucent beneath the fluorescent light, as if she might fade away at any moment.
"it's all start from that night," she murmured herself and remembering an accident that occurred in her childhood.
[since that night, the night where her childhood was stolen in the dark alleys of Kabukicho, Tokyo. from then on she had become like someone else. like something less. emotions had drained from her like water slipping through trembling fingers. laughter felt foreign, kindness felt distant, and trust... trust was a luxurious thing that she was no longer afforded herself.]
the weight of memories pressed against her chest, suffocating, relentless..
suddenly, a distant knock startled her. she turned sharply, her heart pounding in her throat. but it was nothing. just the wind rattling against the old hostel window. letting out a slow breath, she shut off the tap and walked back to her room, the damp strands of her long, dark hair clinging to her skin like a shroud.
the dormitory corridors were silent, save for the muffled murmurs of students still awake in their rooms. she moved through the narrow hallway like a shadow, her footsteps barely making a sound against the wooden floorboards. she had learned to navigate the world unseen. it was easier that way. people who tried to get close always left eventually, intimidated by the invisible wall she had built around herself.
Akari shut the door behind her, locking it with an almost mechanical precision. the small room was as unremarkable as the life she led-plain white walls, a desk littered wit untouched textbooks, and a single window overlooking the city that never slept. Tokyo's neon skyline blinked in the distance, indifference to the girl who watched from the sidelines.
she sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the flickering glow of her bedside lamp. the final year of her school was slipping away, bringing her closer to the inevitable. she only had six months before stepping out into a world she no longer felt part of it. the thought made her stomach twist.
"I think I don't belong to this world." she murmured herself.
thinking of some things like about their classmates or about her family. she always feels like an inferior in front of them. because, she always wanted to be getting close to her friends and teachers in school. she had longed to share in their laughter, to be a part of their conversations, to feel as though she belonged among them. but something always held her back. like an invisible barrier she couldn't break. she watched them from afar, smiling at their happiness but never stepping forward to join them. even when kindness was extended to her, she found herself hesitating, retreating into the comfort of solitude. she always thinks like, "it was safer that way. safer to be alone than to risk the pain of being left behind."
she pressed her fingers into temples, trying to silence the thoughts clawing at the edges of her mind. but no matter how much she tried, they always found their way back. she can only lost her hope of being close with their classmates.
memories of a father who never wanted her.
he never looked at her the way a father should, no warmth, no kindness, just indifference. as a child, she tried so hard to make him notice her. like she got good grades, behaved well, and stayed quiet without asking for anything even for buying her personal things.
he never looked at her with love like as a father he should. but only with resentment. as if her very existence was a mistake.
every night, when he came home, the house became a battlefield. the moment he stepped through the door, his voice would rise, sharp and angry, throwing accusations at her mother.
"she is useless. a burden," he would spit, and glaring at Akari as if she was poison.
her mother would try to defend her, pleading with him to stop, to understand that she was just a child. but it never mattered. his words would turn to fists, and the sounds of her mother crying, the crashes of things breaking. it all became a part of Akari's nights.
she would press her hands over her ears, curl up in a corner of her tiny room, and tell herself it would be over soon. that if she was quiet enough, hide enough, maybe he would forget she existed.
but, he never did.
one night, the fight was worse than ever. her mother shielded her, trying to protect her from the bowls, but it only made him angrier. blood stained the floor, her mother's weak cries filling the air.
that was the last time Akari saw saw her mother.
the next morning, she was sent away to live with her grandparents in Kabukicho, Tokyo. there was no goodbye, no explanation. but, just a suitcase and a quiet, tear-streaked face that wouldn't meet her eyes.
her grandparents were kind. they treated her well, gave her a warm home, and never once made her feel unwanted. unlike her father, who could barely look at her without resentment clouding his eyes.
at first, she adjusted herself well. she still had her bright smile, her easy way of making friends. she did her best in school, talked to her teachers, and acted as if she had never come from a broken home.
until the day that stole everything..
she was only nine years old.
the memory of that night was a tangled mess of shadows and whispers, of rough hands and the overwhelming scent of alcohol. she had been playing outside, just a street away from home, when she felt it the presence behind her.
at first, she thought it was nothing. a passerby. someone walking home. but then a hand covered her mouth, yanking her into the darkness.
she never told anyone what happened that night.
not her grandparents. not to her teachers. she once trusted.
because when she finally made it home- broken, shaking, and hallow inside.
but, at that time she doesn't know what's happening to her. until she grow up.
but, she realized something, like something is wrong. whenever she sees any men, she afraid so much. her grandparents doesn't know what's happening either.
she always thinks like, "no one could protect her."
the world was cruel, and the moment she let her guard down, it would devour her whole.
in her place, a shadow remained.
a girl who had learned to hide behind a quiet mask, who kept people at a distance, who smiled only when necessary but never let anyone see past surface.
because deep down, she knew if she let anyone in, if she ever trusted again....
she would only end up broken.
again...