04/11/2012, Kuoh Academy, After School
The final bell's shrill cry sliced through the lingering quiet of the classroom, a release valve for the pent-up energy of the school day.
Sunlight, slanting low through the classroom's windows, painted long shapes on the worn wooden floorboards, illuminating dust motes dancing in the afternoon air.
Makoto Yuki methodically began packing his leather satchel, the familiar routine a small anchor in the chaotic currents his life had become—or better to say has ever been.
The blue-haired boy moved with his characteristic quiet efficiency, his expression unreadable beneath the fringe of his hair.
"Yuki," an authoritative voice cut through the rustling of papers and scraping of chairs. Sona Sitri, the bespectacled student council president, rose from the desk adjacent to his. Her posture was impeccable, her gaze sharp and focused directly on him.
"A moment of your time, please?"
Makoto paused, his hands stilling over his textbooks. He met her gaze, a flicker of understanding passing through his grey eyes.
"Okay," he replied simply, his voice low and calm. He finished securing his bag and followed her out of the emptying classroom, the click of Sona's sensible heels echoing in the hallway now filled with the chatter of departing students. They moved away from the main flow, finding a relatively quiet alcove near a bank of lockers.
Sona turned, her arms crossed, her expression a mixture of annoyance and deep concern that tightened the corners of her mouth.
"Rias was… frustratingly vague last night," she stated, her voice clipped. "She contacted me only to insist I prioritize civilian safety protocols and offered no substantive details. What happened yesterday, Yuki? I need to know."
Makoto regarded her steadily. The memory of the shattered house, the monstrous oni, and the desperate fight was vivid, yet he relayed it with characteristic brevity.
"A monster attacked Irumi Ito's residence. I arrived and found Rias already engaged in combat with it."
His words were factual, devoid of unnecessary drama, yet they carried the weight of the violence they described.
Sona's frown deepened, etching lines onto her usually composed forehead. "Irumi Ito?" she murmured, more to herself than to him. "Rias omitted that she was directly involved."
A spark of irritation flared in her eyes. Being kept in the dark, especially regarding threats to her student body and town, was unacceptable.
"As far as I know," Makoto continued, adjusting the strap of his satchel on his shoulder, "she was transported to the Occult Research Club for medical attention."
He shifted slightly, his gaze drifting towards the direction of the old school building. "I intended to go there myself to check on her before you requested my presence."
Sona's analytical mind processed this. The puzzle pieces were incomplete, but Makoto's straightforward account provided crucial context Rias had withheld from her.
"Then we proceed together," she declared, her tone brooking no argument. "I require the full picture." Her determination was palpable; the student council president needed to understand the threat landscape within her jurisdiction.
04/10/2012, Irumi Ito's Mind, ???
Consciousness—or what could called as the state between consciousness and unconsciousness—returned not as a sudden jolt, but as a slow, disorienting drift.
'I died…?' The thought surfaced, formless and terrifying. Irumi Ito felt… nothing. No sensation of a body, no grounding weight. Only an infinite, suffocating void stretched in every direction, a silent, oppressive emptiness that swallowed sound and light.
'Mom… Dad…' The memories slammed into her then, visceral and brutal: the grotesque tableau of her parents' lifeless bodies, the crimson stain spreading across the familiar tatami mats of their living room.
A sob, soundless and raw, tore through the emptiness within her. The grief was a ache greater than any physical pains in this non-space, a crushing weight on her spirit.
"You are not dead."
The voice was neither gentle nor harsh, but immense. It resonated not just in her ears, but through the very fabric of the void, vibrating her insubstantial form. Suddenly, filling the nothingness, was a being of impossible scale and majesty.
Crimson scales, each larger than the door of a car, shimmered with an inner fire. Muscular limbs, thick as ancient tree trunks, ended in claws that could rend mountains. Towering wings, furled but radiating immense power, stretched into the darkness.
Most arresting were the eyes: vast, intelligent orbs of piercing emerald green that fixed upon her with ancient, knowing intensity.
'A… a dragon?' Fear, shock, and an undeniable sense of awe warred within her. Was this a hallucination? A final, bizarre dream before oblivion?
"I am Y Ddraig Goch," the dragon boomed, his voice resonating like distant thunder within the confines of her mind. "The Red Dragon Emperor. The embodiment of domination. And you, human girl, are my partner." The declaration hung heavy in the void.
"Partner?" Irumi stammered, her mental voice trembling. The concept was alien, terrifying. "What does that mean? Am I… am I dreaming? Is this the afterlife?"
"You are very much alive, Irumi Ito," Ddraig stated, his tone shifting to something slightly less overwhelming, though no less powerful. "You were born unique, bearing a great gift within your soul. The Boosted Gear—one of the mightiest Sacred Gears to ever exist. And my mighty self," he rumbled, a hint of pride in the resonance, "is the being who resides within it."
Confusion warred with a desperate need for answers. "Sacred Gear? How… how am I alive? That monster…" The image of Kazan's brutal strength flashed before her. "He… he killed my parents! He would have killed me!"
"The awakening of the Boosted Gear," Ddraig explained, his voice adopting a cadence she instinctively recognized as an attempt at calmness, "unleashed a surge of power unlike anything your body had experienced. It acted as a final defense, a desperate reinforcement that sustained your physical form just long enough for external aid to arrive. It shielded your vital spark when your mortal frame was pushed beyond its limits."
He paused, allowing the explanation to sink into her reeling consciousness.
"As for Sacred Gears… they are divine armaments. Weapons bestowed upon humanity by the God of the Bible. Vessels of power embedded within the soul."
Irumi looked down at her intangible form floating in the void. She clenched her fists, or the essence of them. A cold, hard knot formed in the pit of her spectral being—not just sorrow, not just terror, but something sharper, hotter. Anger. Why anger? Why not just the soul-crushing grief? Why not the paralyzing remorse?
The questions tumbled over themselves. And then the answers surged: anger at the monstrous injustice. Anger at the unfairness of a world that allowed such horror to tear apart her peaceful life. Anger at the loss of everything warm and safe. Anger at her own powerlessness.
It was only now, stripped of everything, that she truly understood the preciousness of the life she had taken for granted. A choked sob escaped her, not of pure sadness, but of sheer, overwhelming frustration.
"WHY!?" The scream tore from her, raw and ragged, echoing in the mental void, directed at the universe, at fate, at the uncaring dragon before her. "WHY DID THIS HAPPEN TO ME!? TO THEM!?"
She screamed again, a primal release of the volcanic pressure building inside, the soundless cry a physical manifestation of her rage and despair. What now? Even if she was alive, what future remained? Alone. Her family gone. Their shared dreams, their laughter, their quiet evenings… all ashes.
The mundane, beautiful world they'd inhabited was shattered. A crushing wave of guilt washed over her—the last words she'd spoken to them.
Had it been a casual "I'm going to school"? The thought was a dagger twisting in her spectral heart.