CHAPTER 41 — THE LIGHT THAT REMAINS
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The three of them stood in the dark corridor. The air here felt colder than before—or perhaps that was only Kyoichiiro's feeling, no longer knowing what was real and what was merely an illusion from his fracturing mind. The little girl still lay on the floor, her chest rising and falling slowly, but her color remained pale as chalk. Blood—her blood—still dried on Kyoichiiro's hand.
He looked at that hand. His right hand.
It wasn't a hand foreign to him. This was his hand—the same hand that had held a katana, that had written letters, that had wiped away Claire's tears. But now, this hand felt like someone else's. As if there was something inside it he didn't recognize. As if there was something moving it without permission.
I nearly killed her, he thought, and those words felt like stones falling into a deep well. I nearly killed an innocent little girl. My hand moved on its own. I couldn't stop it. And now she lies here, dying, because of me.
He gripped his hand, squeezing it tightly until his nails dug into his palm. The pain was real—sharp, stabbing, red. But the pain wasn't enough to erase what he had just done. Not enough to forget the expression on the girl's face when his hand pierced her chest. Not enough to forget the warm blood on his skin.
Why me? he thought, and his mind began to split in two—one part trying to find logic, the other part wanting only to scream. Why do I have to experience this? Why did my hand move on its own? What is all this? What is all this?!
He looked at the girl. Her face was pale—paler than before—and her chest rose and fell slowly, too slowly. Aetheria had tried to heal her, but she was still unconscious. Still lying on the cold stone floor, like a doll whose strings had been cut.
What should I do? he thought, and for the first time, he had no answer. I can't fix this. I can't turn back time. I can only sit here and stare at my own hand, wondering when it will move again without my permission.
He wanted to be angry. Wanted to scream. Wanted to punch the wall until his hand was destroyed. But what was the point? What was the point of being angry at himself if he couldn't control what was happening? What was the point of punishing himself if he didn't know who to punish?
There's no point, he thought, and for the first time, he felt something strange in his chest—not fear, not anger, but exhaustion. An exhaustion so deep, so heavy, as if he had lived too long and seen too many things he shouldn't have seen. There's no point.
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Amura approached. He didn't speak—not immediately—only stood beside Kyoichiiro, looking at his still-bloodied hand. His red eyes—Crimson Iris—moved slowly from Kyoichiiro's hand to the floor, then back to Kyoichiiro's hand.
And there, between Kyoichiiro's still-trembling fingers, something sparkled. Tiny fragments—not blood, not flesh, but something else. Something hard, glossy, and beginning to crumble slowly like sand blown by the wind.
Amura: (To himself) What's that?
He drew closer, crouching beside Kyoichiiro, and stared at those fragments carefully. Their color was red—deep red like dried blood—but there was a glint within them, like shattered gemstones. And among those fragments, he could feel something—something strange, like lingering remnants of energy.
What exactly is that object? Amura thought, and his mind began to work. Why was it inside that girl's body? And why could Kyoichiiro sense it? I didn't even notice that object's presence. I didn't feel anything. But he—he knew immediately. He moved instantly, as if something was calling to him.
He looked at Kyoichiiro—looking at his silent, hollow profile, like someone who had lost everything. Kyoichiiro didn't move. Didn't speak. Only stared at his own hand, with empty eyes, with a stopped mind.
Is that some kind of curse? Amura thought, and his mind began to spin faster. Or a detonator? From its shape alone, it resembles something deliberately implanted inside her body. Something that had to be destroyed by a specific hand. But why Kyoichiiro? Why was he the one who could sense it?
He remembered all the strange events that had happened recently—Kyoichiiro suddenly stopping in the middle of the corridor, Kyoichiiro shouting at empty walls, Kyoichiiro seeing things they couldn't see. And now this—his hand moving on its own, piercing the girl's chest without command, as if something was controlling him from within.
Don't tell me this is connected to what Kyoichiiro has been experiencing, Amura thought, and for a moment, he felt something strange in his chest—not fear, not anger, but suspicion. Suspicion growing stronger, deeper. But what exactly... I don't know...
He exhaled—a long breath, a breath that felt like releasing a burden he didn't ask for—and finally spoke. His voice was soft, but clear, like trying to wake someone from a nightmare.
Amura: "Kyoichiiro."
No answer. Only silence.
Amura: "Kyoichiiro, why have you been acting strangely lately? Every time something happens, you always know. You always sense it before we do. Even now—you could feel the threat I didn't even know about. You could feel that object in your hand, something I didn't even notice was there."
Kyoichiiro didn't answer. Didn't move. Only stared at his hand, with still-empty eyes.
Amura: "You know what it is, don't you?" His voice rose slightly, but not to shouting. Only filled with questions he could no longer hold back. "What is it? What was inside that girl's body? Why could you feel it?"
Silence. Then, slowly—very slowly—Kyoichiiro moved his lips. His voice was hoarse, barely audible, like someone who had just woken from a long sleep.
Kyoichiiro: "I... don't know."
Amura: (Frowning) "What?"
Kyoichiiro: (Still staring at his hand, his voice hollow) "I don't know what it was. I only... felt it. Suddenly. Like something was pulling my hand there. Like something was calling to me."
Amura: "Calling to you?"
Kyoichiiro: (Nodding—a small, fragile motion, like it could break at any moment) "Yes. Like there was a voice inside my head. A voice that said... that object had to be destroyed. That it was a... binding curse. To keep the girl from going anywhere freely."
Amura: (Silent, his eyes narrowing) "A binding curse?"
Kyoichiiro: (Still staring at his hand) "Yes. It seems... it seems someone wanted to bind her here. To keep her from leaving. To keep her a prisoner, even in her own body."
Amura didn't answer. He only looked at Kyoichiiro, trying to digest those words. A binding curse. An object that had to be destroyed by a specific hand. And Kyoichiiro—Kyoichiiro who could feel it, who could hear the voice inside his head, whose hand moved on its own without command.
What's really happening to you? Amura thought, and for the first time, he felt something strange in his chest—not fear, not anger, but concern. A concern growing deeper, heavier. What's really happening to you, Kyoichiiro?
He wanted to ask more—wanted to dig deeper, wanted to understand what was happening—but before he could open his mouth, another voice broke the silence.
Not the sound of footsteps. Not the sound of breathing. But another sound—a softer, fainter sound, like a whisper coming from far away.
"Gueerasuiii..."
Amura froze. His hand moved to his sword hilt. His red eyes—Crimson Iris—flared with sudden alertness.
Amura: (His voice low, tense) "Did you hear that?"
Aetheria: (Also freezing, her still-glowing hands beginning to tremble) "I... I heard it..."
Kyoichiiro: (Still silent, but his eyes began to move—slowly, like just realizing there was something out there)
That sound came from ahead, from deep within the corridor's darkness. Faint, but clear—like a whisper that didn't want to be heard, but was still audible. And behind that whisper, something moved. Not a quick movement, but a slow, steady one, like the footsteps of someone walking.
Amura: (His sword already drawn, his voice firm) "Who's there? Come out!"
No answer. Only that whisper—"gueerasuiii..." —repeating, growing closer, clearer.
And from behind the shadows, from between the darkness that light couldn't penetrate, someone emerged.
Not a monster. Not a demon. Not an unrecognizable creature. But someone—a figure walking with slow steps, with a black robe covering their entire body, with a face hidden behind a thick hood. And in their hand, they held something—something they couldn't see clearly, but felt like a threat.
Amura: (His sword raised, his voice cold) "Stop. Don't come closer."
The figure stopped—right at the edge of the light, between bright and dark, between real and unreal. No sound. No movement. Only silence, and the whisper beginning to fade.
And then, the figure spoke.
Its voice was unclear—like shards of glass grinding together, like wind whispering through stone cracks. But its words were clear in their ears, like entering their heads directly.
Hooded Figure: "You... have destroyed... the chains..."
Amura: (His eyes narrowing) "What?"
Hooded Figure: (Continuing, its voice still the same—soft, faint, but clear) "The girl... is now free... but you... you are not... You have opened... the door..."
Kyoichiiro: (Finally, his voice emerged—soft, hoarse, but firm) "What door?"
Hooded Figure: (Silent for a moment, then lifting its head—enough to reveal a little of its face beneath the hood, but not enough to be recognized) "The door... that should not have... been opened..."
Amura: (Stepping forward, his sword raised) "Explain! What do you mean?!"
The figure didn't answer. Only stood there, its head slightly bowed, like thinking about something. Then, slowly, it raised its hand—its hand wrapped in black cloth—and pointed toward Kyoichiiro.
Hooded Figure: "You... you are the key..."
Kyoichiiro: (His eyes widening) "What?"
Hooded Figure: (Its voice beginning to fade, like wind blowing away) "You will not... understand... until... until you see... what lies beyond... that door..."
And then, the figure vanished. Not walking away—not fleeing—but vanishing, like mist blown by the wind, like a shadow swallowed by darkness.
Only the final whisper remained, echoing in the silent corridor:
"Gueerasuiii..."
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Amura: (Still with sword raised, his eyes moving quickly, searching for traces of the figure) "He... he left..."
Aetheria: (Still trembling, her voice small) "What... what just happened?"
Kyoichiiro didn't answer. He only stood there, with eyes still wide, with mind still spinning.
The key... he thought, and those words felt like thorns piercing his head. I am the key. A door that should not be opened. What does all of this mean?
He looked at his hand—his hand still bloodied, still trembling. And inside his heart, he felt something strange—not fear, not anger, but a cold certainty. That whatever happened, he wouldn't be able to avoid it. That whatever waited beyond that door, he would have to see it.
Amura: (Sheathing his sword, his voice soft) "Kyoichiiro... I don't know what's happening. But I do know one thing."
Kyoichiiro: (Turning toward Amura, his eyes still empty) "What?"
Amura: (Smiling—a small, tired, but sincere smile) "We'll find out together."