Renjiro slowly opened his eyes.
A shiver ran through his body as reality prevailed: he wasn't in the dormitory, nor in Yumehara.
The place was… strange. The ceiling was high, arched, made of dark stone, with columns reminiscent of the ruins of a Gothic cathedral. The room had an ancient, almost noble air, but abandoned to time. Heavy, dusty purple velvet curtains hid cracked stained-glass windows that let in only a dim light, fragmented into purple reflections on the stone floor.
In the center, there was a huge carved wooden bed, with torn dark sheets and a dust-covered canopy. Beside it, an old chandelier still held lit candles, which cast flickering flames, casting long, crooked shadows across the walls. A faded tapestry displayed symbols Renjiro didn't recognize: masked figures, circles of Æther, and a male silhouette, erect like a king or tyrant.
Renjiro sat up slowly, his breathing heavy.
"But what… place is this?"
And then he saw.
In the corner of the room, before a carved table covered with dusty books and forgotten silver goblets, a high-backed chair was occupied.
Nyxalith.
She was there, as if she had always been, motionless and imposing, seated with a calmness that made the entire room bow in silence.
Renjiro's eyes fixed on her, and, for the first time, he could absorb every detail of her presence.
Nyxalith was beautiful, but with a disturbing, almost forbidden beauty. Her hair fell in long black strands, with purple highlights when the candlelight touched it. Her eyes gleamed a deep violet, with a dark halo around the iris that seemed to consume everything he looked at.
Her skin was as white as ivory, but contrasted sharply with the clothes she wore: a dark dress, fitted at the torso, with embroidered details in patterns resembling ancient runes. Over her shoulders, a heavy cloak of black and purple silk flowed to the floor, the fabric moving as if it had a life of its own, rippling with the nonexistent breeze of the room.
The sleeves were long and open, revealing delicate hands with nails painted deep black. Around her neck, a dark silver necklace held a purple Æther stone, which pulsed softly like a heart.
Her legs crossed with natural elegance, covered by fine stockings and high-topped black leather boots with silver buckles. And even seated, her posture radiated authority, a balance between queen and predator.
She rested her chin on her hand, leaning slightly, as if she had been watching him for a long time.
And then, in a soft whisper that echoed throughout the entire room, she said:
"You took your time waking up, Renjiro."
Renjiro felt his chest tighten.
"N-Nyxalith… is that you?! What place is this?" he asked, his voice trembling with both fear and fascination.
Nyxalith smiled, a mysterious smile that revealed nothing.
"This room… is as much yours as it is mine. It is the veil where your truths are hidden."
Renjiro's eyes widened, a shiver running down his spine. He pushed back the covers and slowly stood up, his feet touching the cold stone floor.
Nyxalith rose at the same time as him, each of her movements silent, fluid, as if she didn't belong to the normal laws of the human body. Her cloak trailed on the floor, seeming to absorb the light as she walked.
"It's the first time I've seen you in person, Renjiro." Her voice echoed through the room like a multiple whisper, several layers speaking at once.
Renjiro took a deep breath, trying to remain calm, but her presence was overwhelming.
"I... me too. Until now, I only heard your voice."
An enigmatic smile curved her lips. She took a step forward and raised her hand, gently placing her fingers in his hair, sliding them through the dark strands as if they were fragile and precious.
"I brought you to this dream…" she murmured, her eyes fixed on his, "so we can talk without distractions. Without towers, without masks… and without the weight of others around you."
Renjiro swallowed hard, his heart racing.
"But… why now? Why here?"
Nyxalith tilted her face, drawing him close enough for him to feel the coldness of her breath on his skin.
"Because you are ready to hear certain truths. Truths that cannot be spoken aloud… not even to your friends."
Nyxalith stepped back slightly, and with a slow gesture of her hand, indicated a sofa against the side wall of the room. It was dark velvet, worn by time, but still looking noble, as if it had belonged to forgotten kings.
She placed her hand on Renjiro's shoulder, guiding him gently. Her fingers were cold, but the touch conveyed a strange sense of security. He let himself be led, without quite understanding why, and sat down.
Nyxalith quickly settled beside him, so close that the sleeve of her cloak brushed against his skin. Her posture was intimate, protective, almost like a shadow enveloping him, and the contrast was absurd: the enigmatic and powerful figure of darkness, seated on a sofa, holding herself calmly, as if she were the only one who understood his pain.
Renjiro kept his gaze fixed on the floor, his breathing rapid.
"Why did you bring me here? This… this doesn't make sense. It's just a dream, isn't it?"
Nyxalith leaned forward slightly, her voice low but firm.
"Yes, it's a dream. But dreams are reflections of the soul… And yours has much to say, even when you try to ignore it."
She turned to face him, and her violet eyes met his with an intensity that almost made him recoil.
"I want to remind you of something, Renjiro. Not because you forget… but because you try to bury it." Renjiro tensed, his fists clenching against his knees.
"No…" he murmured, almost pleadingly. "I already know what you're talking about."
Nyxalith didn't look away. Her tone softened, but was no less piercing.
"You were just a child. Your older sister was beside you. Both of you standing in front of a door… that door."
The images flooded Renjiro's mind like a blade cutting through ancient flesh. He saw himself, smaller, with wide, tear-filled eyes, holding his sister's hand. In front of them, the wood of the door was covered in fresh blood, seeping through the cracks. From the other side came muffled, desperate screams, a sound that burned the ears of any child.
Renjiro clenched his teeth.
"Stop… I've seen this enough in my nightmares. I don't need you to repeat it."
Nyxalith raised her hand and gently placed it on his arm.
"It's not repetition, Renjiro. It's confrontation. Those screams… that night… shaped who you are. With every step you take, that memory walks with you, even if you don't want it to."
Renjiro closed his eyes tightly, trying to push the scene away. His sister's voice echoed in his head: "Don't let go of my hand, Renjiro. Close your eyes. Don't look."
He swallowed hard, his breath caught.
"I… I never really understood what happened. I only remember the smell, the blood, the screams. And then… silence. A horrible silence."
Nyxalith moved even closer, letting her body lightly touch his. Her presence was cold, but curiously comforting, as if the emptiness she carried offered shelter.
"You don't need to understand everything now. The past will reveal itself when you're ready. But you have to accept that this scar is inside you… and that the mask you wear exists because of it too."
Renjiro opened his eyes and looked back at her.
"What if I don't want to accept it? What if I want to forget?"
Nyxalith leaned in, her face almost touching his. Her smile was beautiful and terrible at the same time.
"Forgetting doesn't erase the wounds. It only hides them. And hidden wounds fester."
Renjiro remained silent, feeling the weight of her words like chains binding his chest.
Nyxalith said nothing more for a moment. She simply let the silence weigh on her before moving with disarming naturalness. With an almost supernatural gentleness, she grasped Renjiro's shoulders and tilted him back.
"Rest." she murmured.
Renjiro barely had time to react when he felt the nape of his neck touch her thighs. Her cloak parted slightly with the movement, letting the cold fabric of purple and black velvet brush against his skin. He arched his eyebrows, about to protest, but… nothing came out of his mouth. Something in that situation felt too safe to reject.
He remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the purple ceiling of the room, and the sound of Nyxalith's slow breathing in the background.
"What are you… doing?" he finally asked, in a low, somewhat tense tone.
Nyxalith placed one hand on his forehead, gently stroking it, like someone cradling a child, and answered in a low tone, heavy with a disturbing calm.
"Calm your soul. You can fight against everything out there, Renjiro… but against me, you don't need to. By my side, you can simply exist."
Her violet eyes shone, fixing him from above, and a small smile appeared on her lips.
"There is much that still awaits you. Many losses… but also many achievements, companionships, and encounters. You will cry, yes. But you will also embrace. You will laugh, you will fall… and get up again."
Renjiro felt his heart clench at hearing that. Her voice seemed to cut him in two directions: part of him wanted to reject it, to get up from there, to refuse that mysterious "vision"; but another part… another part wanted to stay forever in that lap, as if it were the only place where his weight didn't exist.
He clenched his fists, glancing sideways at her face.
"And… and these companions and encounters you mentioned?"
Nyxalith tilted her head, letting a few strands of dark hair fall across her face. She didn't answer immediately. Instead, he chuckled softly, a gentle laugh, but with that hint of teasing.
"I don't know who, or when." she confessed. "But I have a feeling… like something is swirling around you, about to collide with you. Curious companions… unexpected encounters… perhaps allies, perhaps temptations."
Renjiro raised his eyebrows, trying to interpret it.
"Temptation?"
Nyxalith leaned closer to him, her lips almost brushing his ear, and whispered:
"I don't see the future. I feel it. And every time I think of you… my heart races. It beats as if it's expecting something. I don't know if it will be destruction… or salvation. But I know it will be… intense."
Renjiro swallowed hard, feeling the heat of his blood rise in his face.
"You're... you're playing with me."
She laughed again, but now in a lower, more intimate tone.
"Oh, Renjiro... I never joke. I only say what your soul makes me feel. And believe me... there's so much about you that you haven't yet discovered."
Renjiro closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing. The position, the words, Nyxalith's tone… everything left him in a state between absolute comfort and an impossible-to-ignore weight.
He finally whispered:
"So… I'll have to carry all this?"
Nyxalith stroked his hair again, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"No. You will share. With me… and with those who decide to stay by your side. And, Renjiro, remember: not all company is to be trusted… but some, if you don't let them in, you will regret it forever."
Silence returned to dominate the room. Only the light sound of their breathing and the slow beat of his heart could be heard, which seemed to accelerate whenever she looked at him like that.
Nyxalith kept her hand on his forehead, but the gesture became slower, more delicate. Her fingers glided through his hair as if memorizing each strand. Then, in an unexpected movement, she leaned down and placed her other hand on his chest, right over his heart.
Renjiro opened his eyes, perplexed.
"Wh… what are you doing now?" he murmured, his voice faltering.
Nyxalith didn't look away. She was so close he could smell her perfume, a mixture of incense, dark wood, and something sweet, almost forbidden.
"Feeling you. Your heart. Your soul." she said, in a low tone, almost a warm whisper that seemed to echo within his own mind. "Every beat of yours, Renjiro… is like a note in a song that only I can hear."
Renjiro felt his breath catch in his throat. His body wanted to recoil, protest, say that this was too much… but he didn't move.
Speechless, he remained motionless, as if trapped in a web.
"You're… you're talking as if…" he hesitated, searching for the words. "As if you've known me your whole life."
Nyxalith smiled, and that smile wasn't mocking at all, it was intimate, filled with unexpected tenderness.
"And isn't that true? I'm connected to you. To your emptiness. To your pain, but also to your strength. I'm the reflection of what you don't show anyone, and the mirror of what you're yet to discover."
Her hand lightly squeezed his shirt, as if reinforcing the invisible bond between them. Renjiro blushed, unsure whether to move away or lie even deeper in her lap.
Nyxalith lowered her face, bringing it close to his ear, and whispered again:
"Don't run away from me. You don't need to be strong here. You don't need to carry the whole world on your shoulders… not alone."
Renjiro closed his eyes, feeling a mixture of relief and nervousness. It was suffocating and comforting at the same time.
But then, Nyxalith sighed deeply, as if deciding to change her tone.
"But for today... rest. You'll need it."
Renjiro opened his eyes, confused.
"Rest...?"
She nodded slowly, still stroking his hair.
"Yes. Tomorrow will demand more of you than you think. But today, Renjiro… today is for breathing. For looking around, for being with those two idiots you called friends."
Renjiro blinked, surprised by how directly she said it.
"Reika and Takumi…?"
Nyxalith chuckled softly, a warm laugh that vibrated against her skin.
"Exactly. They are essential in your life. Even if you don't quite understand why yet. You will laugh with them. You will get angry. You will feel betrayed, you will feel saved. But, above all… they will be the anchors that prevent you from sinking into the emptiness you carry."
Renjiro looked away, trying to disguise the wave of emotions rising in his chest.
"I… I don't know if I deserve this."
Nyxalith gently grasped his chin and forced him to look at her. Her gaze, deep and violet, seemed to pierce his soul.
"It's not about deserving. It's about needing. And you need them as much as they will need you."
Silence fell again for a few seconds, dense and heavy. Renjiro was speechless, without reaction, only feeling the weight of everything she said.
Nyxalith smiled again, but this time in a softer, almost maternal way.
"Now… close your eyes, Renjiro. Tomorrow the world will try to swallow you again. But tonight… belongs to you."
Renjiro hesitated, but ended up obeying. He closed his eyes slowly, still feeling the warmth of her hand on his chest, the touch of her fingers in his hair, the comfort of her lap.
And, for a moment, he forgot the fear, the doubts, the weight he carried. For a moment, all that existed was Nyxalith, shadow and warmth at the same time.
Nyxalith didn't let him sleep in her lap for long. Gently, she slipped her arms under him and helped him to his feet. The touch was careful, almost reverent, as if she were holding something too fragile for the world.
As soon as Renjiro stood, staggering slightly, Nyxalith pulled him close and enveloped him in a firm embrace. Her body was warm, comforting, but enveloped in that ethereal, almost suffocating aura of mystery. He felt her chest against his face, and the way she held him left no doubt: it was like a mother nursing, protecting, not letting her offspring escape the safety of her arms.
"Shhh…" she murmured, running her hand through his hair, as if trying to calm inner storms. "Don't rush, Renjiro. The world out there will try to force you to run, fall, fight before your time. But you…"
She pulled away just enough to look into his eyes. Her deep purple eyes shone like a contained flame.
"…you must take things slowly. Breathe. Let each step weigh you down. Don't attack prematurely. The emptiness you carry will want to push you forward, make you leap into the dark…"
She held him tighter, as if she wanted to bind him to herself, and her low voice enveloped him like a spell:
"…but remember this, even the sharpest shadow needs to wait for the right light to cut."
Renjiro swallowed hard, leaning against her chest. He felt like a child, but also like a warrior being forged, a piece of iron still malleable in the hands of someone who knew how to mold it.
He murmured, almost voicelessly:
"But… what if I fail?"
Nyxalith tilted her head, brushing her lips against his hair, in a gesture so intimate that it made him shudder.
"Then you fail. And you get up. And you fail again, until failure becomes strength. Your path is not one of perfection, Renjiro… it's one of survival. And I will always be here, in the silence between your falls and your triumphs."
She steps back just a little, placing her hand on his face, and smiles.
"Take it slow. Rushing is attacking too soon. And whoever attacks too soon... bleeds first."
Nyxalith gently released him, her arms sliding like mist until they hung at her sides. Her purple and black cloak rippled in a nonexistent breath, and she took a few steps back, rising with that haughty and imposing presence that so characterized her.
"I think it's time for you to wake up, Renjiro." she said with a firm, almost sweet calm. "There's a whole day waiting for you. Friends who need you. Silences to fill and discoveries to make."
The young man simply followed her with his eyes, still feeling the warmth of that embrace on his body. His heart beat fast, as if he didn't want to let go of that moment. Nyxalith approached again, slowly raising her hand, her delicate finger extending to his forehead, ready to free him from that dream.
But before the touch could happen, Renjiro raised his own hand and grasped her wrist with a firm, unexpected gesture.
"Wait." His voice sounded more serious than he himself expected. "Ayaka… Yumi… are they alright? Please tell me."
Nyxalith stood still for a moment. For the first time since he met her, her eyes, always half-open in mystery, opened slightly, revealing a deep gleam, as if they held entire constellations. She smiled, a smile full of tenderness and melancholy.
"You will find out the answers very soon." He said softly, his voice echoing like an ancient melody. "And when you do, it may not be as you imagine… but still, it will be yours."
Renjiro swallowed hard, feeling the words pierce him deeply. He lowered his hand, but his gaze remained fixed on her.
"Then… bring me here more often." He asked, with an almost childlike sincerity. "I… want to talk to you, to hear you. Even if it's just silence. Bring me closer."
Nyxalith let out a small, light, crystalline laugh, almost surreal for the atmosphere of that dark, medieval room. She approached again, leaning in and enveloping him in a sudden, tight, almost possessive hug.
"You're really sweet, you know?" she murmured close to his ear. "So fragile… and yet, so stubborn. The void doesn't make mistakes in who it chooses."
She slowly pulled away, touching his forehead with her fingertip.
"Rest. Your day begins now."
And in the next instant, everything around dissolved into a purple mist. The room, the walls, the warmth of the hug… even her face vanished. There was only the sensation of a gentle touch on his forehead and the echo of a low laugh.
Renjiro suddenly opened his eyes, breathless, already in the dormitory, with the morning light streaming through the window.
Renjiro sat up in bed, still half-dazed, rubbing his eyes. The first thing he did was stare at the mirror in the corner of the room, and the reflection gave him a laughable image. His dark brown hair was all disheveled, sticking out in random directions as if he'd been in a night battle.
"What the hell... I'm totally screwed..." he muttered, pulling a few strands down in vain.
He sighed, turned to the dark wood wardrobe, and pulled the door shut. The clothes were folded with an organization that definitely wasn't his own, probably something from the Tower's administration or even Reika, who had been useful in everyone's wardrobe. He chose a simple but practical outfit, a black linen shirt with wide sleeves and an open collar that slightly revealed his chest, gray trousers fitted at the ankles, and a navy blue sash tied at the waist, a traditional touch mixed with urban style. She wore light dark leather boots, flexible enough for running but sturdy enough to withstand a tough workout.
He adjusted himself in front of the mirror again, resigned. "Alright… better than nothing."
He picked up the mask, which rested on the table beside the bed. As soon as his fingers touched the cold, cracked surface, the voice echoed with a sweet mockery:
"Good morning, sunshine."
Renjiro almost tripped over his own foot, feeling the heat rise to his face. "G-Good morning, Nyxalith…" he replied quickly, trying to disguise his reaction.
The mask seemed to chuckle softly inside his mind, pleased with the reaction.
Renjiro opened the bedroom door and immediately noticed that Reika and Takumi's bedroom doors were wide open. "Hm… so they're already awake..." he thought, scratching the back of his neck.
He went to the living room, but when he pushed the door open, he found the space completely empty. The sofa was impeccably made, the coffee table clean, with no sign of impromptu breakfasts or even their typical morning discussions. The silence was almost unsettling.
He looked around, frowning.
"Uh… where the hell did they go so early in the morning?" he murmured, still confused.
Renjiro walked down the silent hallway, each step echoing off the cold stone walls. The morning light filtered through the tall windows, drawing streaks of sunlight on the polished floor. He glanced at Takumi and Reika's room, still empty, but something inside him was telling him to take a look.
He then entered Takumi's room anyways. The room was strange, too quiet, unlike the usual hustle and bustle of Yumehara when everyone was getting ready for the day. In the corner, a pair of black boots were lined up with almost military precision. On the table, scattered notebooks and sheets showed detailed notes, training scribbles, symbols that Renjiro didn't recognize, but which seemed to reflect the methodical mind of their owner. An aroma of herbs and coffee lingered in the air, indicating that someone had spent more time there than usual.
Renjiro approached the double bed, one with perfectly folded sheets, almost as if no one had slept there for days, and the other with a slightly crumpled bedspread. A gray leather jacket hung on the chair beside it, still warm to the touch, and an open notebook showed drawings of combat movements, pen marks upon pen, as if the owner had corrected himself several times.
He looked up and noticed a small framed photo on the desk: Takumi smiling in an open field, with someone who seemed familiar, but blurry. A human touch amidst the cold routine of the room.
Renjiro sighed softly, shuffling through a pile of books beside the bed: titles on combat tactics, and some sketchbooks, when did Takumi have time to tidy this up? And most importantly, where did he find these books? Anyways, every detail seemed to silently speak of Takumi, his discipline, his obsession with training, and that slight nostalgia hidden in simple gestures.
Silently, Renjiro sneaked into the other room. Reika's things were more feminine, but without exaggeration. A set of carefully folded clothes, a red sash resting on the chair, a half-open diary with notes about Velum and some phrases that spoke of protection and responsibility. The smell was different, softer, almost floral, mixed with the aroma of parchment and fresh ink.
Renjiro touched a pen still on the diary. He felt a pang of curiosity and respect, Reika was meticulous, focused, but there was something there that couldn't be measured by training or discipline alone. A discreet humanity, hidden in small habits and personal objects.
He took a deep breath, trying to process it all. The silence of the room, the absence of his friends, and the details of each one made his heart beat faster. It was as if, even without being present, Takumi and Reika left traces of their presence, reminding Renjiro that each one had their own story, their habits, and secrets.
"Hm… so that's how they are when nobody's looking…" he murmured, almost to himself, before deciding to look for more clues about where they might have gone.
Renjiro scratched his head, glancing sideways at the hallway.
"Maybe I shouldn't snoop around their room… it would seem kind of strange, invading their privacy first thing in the morning..." he muttered to himself, still with a suspicious air.
He sighed and went back into the living room. He sat on the sofa, half-slumped, with his mask lying beside him. The silence continued to bother him, but before he could think of getting up again, he heard the creak of the front door.
Clack... the lock turned, and the door opened suddenly... only to reveal a small disaster.