"May I… ask you a question?"
Familiar, yet foreign. That really is the best way to describe her — this voice. And this place. These blazing flames. This room. And this figure.
"Why don't you open it?"
Once again, she sits down beside me. Once again, she speaks in riddles.
Even though I never agreed, not to the question, not to her sitting here, not even to her using "you" so casually.
As if we were acquaintances. Friends, even. Separated only by time itself.
But no — I still don't remember her.
"Why do you keep it closed? This door."
I can't quite make sense of her, but she's probably talking about the outline of an entrance door that's long since been devoured by the flames.
Now, where common sense would already answer her question, this voice — or this figure — seems not to understand at all.
Though, if she only knows this kind of cold flame, harmless as a flower swaying in the wind, then I guess her perspective would make sense.
No, wait — actually, it wouldn't.
They're still flames. And what could possibly be so important about that door, anyway?
"Everything lies behind it. The climbing frame, the building blocks, the garden."
Yeah. Of course. The climbing frame. That one, sacred one.
That colorful one. Or was it made of wood?
No, no, no, seriously now, even a broken mind would see the red flags here.
Then again, it doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter if I remember — which I still don't.
And it doesn't matter how insane she sounds.
Because I still can't move.
Not my arm, not my toe, not my tongue, not my mouth.
"I just don't understand."
Don't worry, neither do I.
"Even though it's so close. Even though they're all waiting behind it. Even though they haven't forgotten you."
—
I jolt awake.
Breathing heavily. Drenched in sweat.
Immediately, I shove a striped blanket upward, followed by my torso shooting up. My eyes dart through the darkness of the room.
The bed beneath me is comfortable, though not quite like my own, but… acceptable.
The stuffy air begs for a window, but I don't see one at first glance.
At second glance, I notice the rhythmic beeping of a machine, with its tubes attached to my right arm.
But why?
I recognize this place.
Our improvised medical ward — the emergency station.
A kind of miniature hospital, since not everyone can go to an official one.
Since we have to hide here.
Still, I wonder why.
Because I remember… oh.
I do remember.
The police officers.
The truck.
The boy.
And then—
I rub my stomach with my hand, hiss softly between clenched teeth, and push myself up from the bed.
A failure, I realize, once the world suddenly starts spinning and I topple right back onto the mattress.
"Whoops… too… fast," I mumble quietly, pressing my hand to my forehead in thought.
Another mistake.
"Hot!"
I yelp, shake my hand, and try again.
"Ow!"
I don't learn. I blow on my palm a few times, trying to make sense of it.
But the more I think, the less sense it makes — so of course I touch my forehead again.
This time, I only use one finger.
This time, I close my eyes.
This time, I'm careful.
This time… nothing happens.
No pain. No heat. Nothing.
Disbelieving, I run my whole hand over it. Then I pat, slap, tap — even give it a few experimental knocks.
Still nothing.
I let my arm drop, shake my head, and give up.
No clue what just happened, probably one of those tricks of the mind. A hallucination. That has to be it.
So I hop out of bed again, ripping the tubes from my arm in one quick motion.
Another mistake, as it turns out, once the machines start blaring their alarms.
"Ahh—stop!" I shout in panic, yanking the plug from the socket, only to smack my head against the monitor as I stand up.
"Owww… maaaan!" I groan angrily, shooting the machine a final glare and a light kick before turning my attention to my clothes waiting patiently for me this whole time.
It only takes me a few seconds to pull the red-and-white sweater over my head and finish the outfit with black pants.
After all, I'm a master of disguise.
Or at least, that's what Shato once called me — back when we celebrated that weird thing called Carnival.
One of his many strange ideas.
One of many, because Shato really is creative.
Even though he always says his knowledge isn't anything special — just "stories passed down from the old world."
But seriously…
Chess? Dressing up on certain days? Playing pranks on the first of a month?
No way people back then wasted time with such trivial nonsense.
They were way too advanced for that.
At least, that's what Shato said.
And I believe him. Completely.
Call it naive if you want, but without him, I wouldn't even be here.
So yeah, it makes sense.
Why I trust him blindly.
And why I need to find him now.
With a few quick glances, I make sure I haven't forgotten anything, then hurry toward the door, that's already slightly ajar.
First, I peek through the gap, but the darkness makes it useless, so I just push the cold metal open and step into the hallway without thinking.
A sudden shiver runs through my body as my bare feet meet the icy concrete floor.
The thought of being mad that no one left me shoes runs through my mind, but honestly, they probably didn't expect me to sneak out.
Then again, I over-complicate things, as I know this windowless hall to my best knowledge and that it's not really that long, until I reach a warmer place.
Which is why I'm jolting right, with fast but silent steps.
Until I'm past the first door.
Until I'm annoyed by jumping from one feet to another.
Until I'm jumping the last meter.
And finally reached the stairs and their relieving way outside.
And with it come the creaking old wooden floorboards — much warmer than the bare concrete from before.
A bit of coziness settles inside me, growing stronger with every step toward the gray sliding door at the top of the stairs.
Because the moment I give it a gentle push, the first rays of daylight spill in, quickly followed by the pleasant smell of fried onions sneaking into my nose.
Motivation kicks in.
A motivation that propels me straight through the doorway, my gaze drifting across the familiar walls.
A motivation that drives me up the next staircase until I finally reach the floor where my room is.
An empty and quiet place.
Except for a little boy, patiently staging car crashes and making "pshh" sounds with his lips.
And his father, watching silently — occasionally laughing, but not really present, his eyes lost somewhere far away.
And for the voice.
"...what the hell did you say?!!"
That familiar voice — one that must've slipped out by accident.
Because it's heated.
And definitely not typical.
At least, not for him.
Or maybe I just misheard, I think, turning my eyes to the right, where the large double doors blocking the entrance to our president Luna's room.
That's her space.
And that's where his voice came from.
Blinded by curiosity, I start to sneak closer, more unwillingly than I'd like to admit.
And the closer I get, the louder the voices become.
Random shouting turns into muffled tones.
Muffled tones into full, unmistakable sentences.
Sentences I understand perfectly the moment I press my ear against the rough wood of the door, which, honestly, could really use some sanding.
"...and then you just send us on that mission with him?! Really?! That was your brilliant solution?! We nearly got ourselves killed because of it!! I don't know what the hell you were—"
Now I'm sure.
That nostalgic voice, the one that's never been angry before.
And now it's filled with rage.
"I didn't want to send you there either, but… but what else could I have done? The mission seemed simple, and the conditions were… well, they looked better than usual…"
Now I know who he's talking to.
That trembling voice, on the verge of tears.
Our president.
"Ha… really? That's it?! Just because you thought the mission looked simple?! That's why you threw us in with the boy and put us on a silver platter?! I… I don't even know anymore…"
Shato's voice cracks in frustration, while mixing with something that sounds like sorrow.
It shakes, yet his words are sharp.
It's like he's venting, but that's not who he is.
Not the Shato I know.
"But… in the end… in the end everything worked out fine, so I don't really see…"
The president's voice falters. She's clearly given up defending herself.
And by doing so, only makes things worse.
"IN THE END EVERYTHING WORKED OUT FINE?! ARE YOU—ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?! Is that the new standard now?! As long as things turn out okay in the end, it's totally fine to send us to our deaths?! We'll just figure it out, huh?! I trust you, damn it!
I trust you with my life, the lives of my teammates, and the boy's life too!
And yet… yet you throw it all away and hide behind excuses?!
What, because we're so good, you think it's fine to handicap us even more?! Don't worry, we'll survive — we're practically immortal, right?!"
A thunderous slam on the table punctuates the storm of anger that's been building inside Shato.
"OH, THAT'S JUST GREAT! EASY FOR YOU TO SHOUT ABOUT IT — BUT YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I HAVE TO GO THROUGH TO KEEP YOUR ASSES FED!"
The president's voice now cuts through the air like fire.
"Do you even know what they'd do to us if we didn't obey?! You think I send you out there for fun?!"
"BUT WHY THE BOY, DAMN IT!!! Why did the boy have to come with us?! That was a one-way ticket straight to hell!!! So for god's sake, just leave Vio out of it!! Is that really so hard?!"
I've heard enough.
My hands clench into fists, and tears I've been holding back finally break free.
Every word, every scream, rearranges itself in my mind, piece by piece, until it all makes sense.
I was the problem.
I was the reason they almost died.
With a push, I tear myself away from the door.
At first, dragging one foot after the other, stopping shortly after, for a brief moment.
One, my lips use to twitch upward, to tremble and fall again all the same, as a last, shaky breath escapes my mouth and I start to run.
Just run.
As fast as I can.
Away from the shouting of two clashing perspectives.
Away from words spoken out of emotion.
Past the crashing toy cars and the startled look of a grown man.
Across the red carpet, up the stairs, running and always running, until I reach a door to pass.
To hide.
From the truth.
And from myself.
From who I really am.
Behind the mask.
Behind the act of my inner child, pretending and performing, just to never again show weakness.
That weakness called self-doubt, gnawing at the walls of my ego.
Until those walls finally collapse.
Until there's nowhere left to hide.
And then I'm on the roof.
That roof — you could call it my favorite place, and you'd be absolutely right.
It is.
The terrace.
The railing.
Today, the sky is clouded, but neither rain nor sunlight would reach me anyway.
Because the wall has fallen.
And my true self… doesn't care about such trivial things anymore.
Not even now — as it grips the railing in despair.
Not even now — as it keeps thinking, endlessly thinking.
Not even now — as the tears won't stop falling.
And then it seizes up — trapped in a battle neither it nor I can win.
A battle that once again ends in tears.
In waterfalls.
In chasms of sobbing.
And in more and more thoughts.
Then come the questions.
Then the anger.
And finally… indifference.
It shouldn't matter what they say.
It can't matter.
It's all meaningless.
It makes no difference.
Only I make the difference.
Only I matter.
Only me — no one else.
Only… me.
And yet…
Why him?
Why of all people was Shato the one?
It shouldn't matter.
It doesn't matter.
If only… it weren't him, saying those wor—
"There you are, Vio."
My tear-filled eyes shoot open.
I must've lost track of time — drowned in it.
But the moment I hear Shato's voice, I act on instinct.
I pull up my sleeve and wipe my tears. Well, I try to, at least.
But my glassy eyes and the dark red circles beneath them remain.
Even as he leans against the railing.
My beloved railing.
Ashamed, I turn away — eyes flicking between the ground, then up, then away again.
Anywhere but toward him.
Because he might see me.
And I don't want that.
Not when I'm crying.
Not when I'm sad.
Or angry.
No — actually, it's supposed to be all the same to me.
I don't care what others think.
Right?
…
Right.
That's how it should be.
And yet, a faint breeze brushes past.
And I tremble.
And I sob.
Even though Shato hasn't said a single word.
Nothing, since he arrived.
He just stands there.
Next to me.
Leaning against the railing, against my railing.
And somehow… that's what breaks me.
A single thought strikes me as I look at him.
He just is.
He doesn't do anything.
And maybe that's exactly why.
Because that's what makes him him.
That quiet presence.
The reason I trust him.
The reason I still talk to him — still ask him.
"Was I…"
A sob cuts through my voice, breaking it apart.
My mind fills with useless thoughts, and I fall silent again.
But Shato doesn't move.
Not a word, not an inch.
He just waits.
Like he always does — until I'm ready.
So I swallow.
Gather what courage I have left.
Tell myself he won't hate me.
Won't abandon me.
Won't push me away.
"Was I… getting in the way? You know, last time."
I keep it vague.
And Shato stays quiet, still not looking at me.
"When I just ran off… at that boy. During the mission."
Still nothing.
Now I start to worry.
My eyes lift toward him, now directly to his face, to the corners of his mouth.
Corners, neither rising nor falling.
Just floating.
Neutral, maybe thoughtful.
Both feel right.
Both… oddly comforting.
So I lower my gaze again.
Back to the floor.
This time, though, a tiny grin tugs at my lips.
Barely there.
But it's a grin nonetheless.
And a sniffle.
And no more sobbing.
"Ha…"
A sound — a sign of life.
I look up, and suddenly, he's smiling.
"Hahaha."
He laughs.
He's laughing at me.
"Hey," I protest, puffing out my cheeks.
And I mean it.
Completely — with furrowed brows and all.
But Shato just moves his hand up to my head and ruffles my hair.
Gently.
Reassuringly.
Just like he did back then —
when I couldn't fall asleep,
or when I scraped my knees,
or when I tripped skipping rope,
or when I burned the first breakfast I ever made for his birthday.
"Ah, kiddo," he says softly, as my cheeks burn red.
After all, I wasn't a kid anymore.
And besides…
I didn't care what he thought of me.
"You've still got so much to learn. Do you really think a single kid could ever stand in the way of the Five Aces? You'd need at least twelve to make a dent."
His answer stuns me — not because I disagree, but because somehow, it makes me feel even younger.
"So I really was in the way then."
"Of course you were. But that's okay. In fact, I want you to be. How else are you supposed to learn?"
A shiver runs through me — part from the warmth of his smile, part from the invisible weight inside me collapsing in on itself. Metaphorically, but still.
"And that's exactly why I bring you along. It's my job to teach you about the world. And it's perfectly fine if you've got questions, or if things go wrong along the way. Because this road—"
He pats my shoulder now, letting go of my hair as if he's grown bored of ruffling it. "—this road is one we walk together."
I look down, then up again, right toward the horizon this time, thoughtful and unsure.
"I don't always get things right either," Shato continues. "I've made mistakes. More than a few. And I'm still facing my own challenges. But Vio — none of that is your fault. You might get in the way sometimes, but that's your right. You're allowed to. You have the right to challenge me. The right to disagree with me. The right to be angry with me. Because you're still learning what it means to understand things. Everything that makes us who we are, we learn as kids, from the people who raise us. And it's our job, as adults, to help you grow — even if that means stepping back ourselves."
I look up at him.
Right into his radiant smile.
A smile that gives me strength.
A smile that calms me.
That loosens my fists.
That lifts the corners of my mouth, makes them tremble and then opens me up completely.
So that I can push off from the railing.
Turn a little.
Take a step.
And fall into his arms.
As deep as I can.
I bury everything — the worry, the guilt, the tears — all of it in his jacket, while he wraps his arms around me and gently strokes my back.
"Don't blame yourself," he says softly, nodding. "None of us do. Not me. Not Talan or Zane. Not Daclan, and not even Rin — even if she's a bit harsh sometimes. And certainly not the president. Of all of us, Luna least of all. Because you know what our name stands for, don't you? This place, no this home for everyone. Our refuge without a name. Hm?"
Yeah.
Of course I know.
It's the reason I fight.
The reason I help them.
The reason I want to join the Five Aces.
I know it — just like I know that Shato will always be there.
It's a fact. A rule. Something that will never change.
Even if the whole world turns against me.
Even if there's no one left to stand by my side.
Even then, Shato will be there.
That's certain.
I know it because that's just how it is.
Because that's how it's always been.
Because that's who he is to me.
My hero.
My friend.
My father.
The most important person in my life.