20 / 02 / 2019, 10:48 - Wednesday, Osaka Business Park, Osaka
The sun was caught between thin layers of clouds, scattering a muted light over the silver skyline of Osaka.
The season was dry, the air crisp, and the glass of the skyscraper carried the faint chill of winter that refused to leave.
Inside one of those towers, Bright Terminal Line's central office, the hum of conversation filled a broad meeting room overlooking the city.
Reports piled upon the long mahogany table. The projection screen at the far end displayed a list of updates in a looping presentation, most of which were bad news.
A director was speaking rapidly, his tone strained.
"Sales from the eastern branches dropped another 12%, and the rival company, Mako Transit, has absorbed half of our suppliers in Kyoto's ring. If this keeps going, the logistics lane to Kobe—"
Another executive interrupted, frustration leaking through his voice.
"Then re-route the lane through Nara! We'll bleed if we keep waiting on those damn negotiations."
Someone else muttered, "That'll triple our costs."
The argument began circling in noise, reason, and desperation clashing in loops of statistics and projections. The tension in the room pulsed like static.
At the head of the table, Riscia Mikhailovich watched them without a word.
Her hands were clasped neatly in front of her, elbows resting lightly on the table's edge. Silver hair fell to her shoulders, a few strands catching the cold sunlight that leaked through the blinds.
Her sky blue eyes were unfocused, not on the screen, nor on the faces around her, but somewhere distant, unreachable.
To her, their words blurred into faint echoes.
Budgets, shareholders, forecasts, all of them sounded too small, too trivial.
Only when silence stretched too long did she speak.
Her voice was calm, but its stillness cut through the air like glass.
"Enough."
The executives froze.
Riscia leaned back slightly, her tone unhurried, distant yet absolute.
"We can discuss this again tomorrow. As long as there are no drastic changes, maintain operations as planned. Do not act out of panic, just do what needs to be done."
Her words were firm, unarguable. The directors exchanged brief glances, reluctant but obedient.
One by one, chairs slid back, papers gathered, and murmured, "Understood, President" followed.
Within minutes, the room emptied, leaving only her, a quiet figure against a wall of glass and light.
When the door shut behind the last man, silence returned.
Osaka stretched before her in full view: rivers of moving cars, the distant pulse of life, and above them, the sky veiled in soft haze.
The hum of the air conditioner merged with the sound of faint traffic below, creating an oddly serene rhythm.
Riscia's gaze wandered beyond the glass, beyond the reflected skyscrapers, as though searching for something that wasn't there.
She leaned back in her chair, exhaled slowly, and pressed two fingers to her temple. The other hand rested against her abdomen, feeling the faint, steady beat of her own heart.
Her lips curved into a bitter, distant smile.
"Old Sis… you've left me too many problems," she whispered softly, the faint Russian accent surfacing when she spoke in Japanese. "You should be glad you had a younger sister who could fix them."
Her eyes lowered.
"But… where are you, Sister?"
The words dissolved into silence. The sunlight fell upon her face, washing her features in pale warmth, but her expression was still wrapped in shadow, conflicted, heavy with longing.
She closed her eyes, and the memory came.
---
Seven months ago — Fukuoka.
A city alive with sound and traffic, then silenced in a single instant.
It happened without warning: the earth tore itself open in the center of the city, forming a crater that devoured everything within a kilometer.
It wasn't an explosion, there was no fire, no shockwave, just a collapse, smooth and soundless, as if the world had been swallowed, gnawed.
The footage that leaked online was blurry, shaky, full of screams and confusion. The crater was enormous, circular, too clean. The edges gleamed black, as if scorched by light itself. No debris, no survivors. Everything simply… ceased.
Within hours, the government sealed off the area.
Within days, it was declared "an industrial contamination accident."
And within a month, it was forgotten, drowned under bureaucracy and excuses.
But some families didn't forget.
They gathered in front of the restricted zone, shouting for answers, holding pictures of missing relatives.
Each report led back to the same location, the crater's heart. Their last phone signals, last messages, last traces… all pointed there.
Riscia had watched the news feed in disbelief, then horror, as she recognized the coordinates. Her sister's residence was within that circle.
She had called again and again. No answer.
Then came the official letter, a condolence notice.
No bodies. No explanation. Just a name on a list.
Something in her chest hollowed that day.
Two weeks later, she received a call, from someone she didn't know, speaking in clipped English, claiming to represent a "department under the Japanese government."
The message was simple: "We've found survivors. They are related to you."
She didn't even pack properly. Just one suitcase, one ticket from Moscow to Tokyo, then an overnight transfer to Fukuoka. Her mind was numb, filled only with static.
When she arrived, the hospital air felt like formaldehyde, cold, sterile, and too clean.
The room was quiet. Three children lay in separate beds, pale and small, tubes and monitors attached to them.
She recognized them immediately, her sister's children.
Ayato. Irina. Akane.
They looked… fragile. Bandages still wrapped around their arms, faint traces of sutures along the skin. Machines beeped softly, steady rhythms of borrowed life.
Riscia stood there, frozen. The youngest girl's hair stuck to her forehead from the fever. Ayato's hand twitched faintly in his sleep. Akane, the youngest twin, was utterly still, his face peaceful, too peaceful, as if he'd already gone somewhere she couldn't follow.
A voice spoke behind her.
"Miss Mikhailovich?"
She turned. Two men and a woman stood there, a Japanese, all dressed neatly, faces unreadable.
The emblem on their badges caught the light, a sun that is rising and a gate beneath it. She didn't recognize the organization, but the air around them carried the kind of quiet authority that told her not to ask questions.
They said they were the ones who rescued the children.
They said the children were found at the edge of the crater, unconscious, but alive.
They said… nothing more.
In exchange for custody and medical treatment, the government arranged to preserve the company her sister had left behind — Bright Terminal Line — and provided Riscia with an apartment in Osaka.
It was all too smooth. Too convenient.
Even then, she knew: nothing from the government came without a reason.
---
Weeks turned into months. The agents stopped visiting.
No one asked for follow-up reports.
No new files appeared.
Life quieted.
Ayato and Irina woke first. They remembered fragments of memory, the city burning, shadows walking in the smoke, a voice calling from above. It sounded like nonsense, but their fear was real.
When Ayato tried to describe it, his nose began to bleed. His hands trembled as if something invisible gripped his mind.
One of the agents, the woman, immediately rushed to stabilize him, placing her hands against his forehead. Within moments, the bleeding stopped, but Ayato had fainted.
The agents exchanged looks.
"We'll come again," they said. They never did.
Riscia stayed behind, sitting at the bedside.
She held the boy's hand gently, feeling its warmth. Her heart ached with the simple, unbearable thought: They shouldn't have to carry this.
But she knew that whatever had swallowed her sister wasn't done.
And that something, someone, certainly was still watching them.
Now, months later, Riscia sat in her office again, staring at the same city under the same pale sun. Osaka had been kind to her, a place to breathe, to rebuild, but even here, she could sense the undercurrent. The faint pulse of something unnatural in the distance, like static under silence.
Her gaze softened, and for a brief moment, her expression warmed.
"Akane… It's been so long. I hope you'll wake up soon."
"The world won't wait for you."