The list had seven items.
Dreams so small they could fit in the palm of my hand, so humble no one should laugh at them.
But they were crumpled at the bottom of my backpack, stained with coffee I spilled that morning, and I didn't have the courage to take them out.
Friday, 6:47 AM.
The alarm had been beeping for seven minutes, I knew because I counted the beeps, one, two, three, always three beeps before hitting snooze, I never got up on the first one, getting up on the first would mean having energy, having desire, having a reason.
Just another day, I thought, looking at the cracked ceiling of my six tatami apartment, just that, another one.
My body felt heavy, not physically, I was too light, actually, fifty two kilograms at one meter sixty three, but it was as if every movement cost something I didn't have, like paying with a currency that no longer existed in my wallet.
I dragged myself out of the futon.
The apartment was the size of a generous closet, an open kitchen I never really used for cooking, a tiny bathroom, one window facing the wall of the neighboring building, natural light was an abstract concept here.
On the walls, only one thing, an old Tokyo Tower postcard I found in a hundred yen store, I don't even know why I bought it, maybe because it cost almost nothing, like me.
College was twenty three minutes away by train, I knew because I timed it, twenty three minutes where I could pretend I didn't exist, headphones, low music, just enough to muffle the world, never enough to draw attention.
Playlist, "Songs to Gently Disappear To."
I had created it at three in the morning on a Tuesday, six months ago, I didn't remember why, I only remembered crying silently, lying in the dark, adding song after song.
The train was packed, body against body, suffocating heat, smell of sweat and cheap perfume and collective fatigue.
I squeezed into a corner, as small as possible, if I could become small enough, maybe no one would see me, maybe I could get through the day without anyone noticing I was there.
"Yuki chan."
Damn.
I turned my head, short brown hair, eyes too bright for seven in the morning, a smile that could light up the entire train car.
Nakamura Aiko.
My, friend, best friend, I didn't know how to classify it anymore, friends were people who chose to be with you, Aiko just, appeared, one day she sat next to me in Literature class and decided we were friends, I never had the courage to question it.
"Yuki chan, good morning." She squeezed next to me, pushing aside a middle aged salaryman without ceremony. "You're wearing the same coat as yesterday, did you sleep in it."
I looked down, beige coat, shapeless, coffee stains on the sleeve.
"Does it matter."
"Yes, it does." Aiko pouted. "You have to take better care of yourself, by the way, when was the last time you ate something that didn't come from a convenience store."
I tried to remember, Tuesday, Wednesday.
"Yesterday."
"Liar." Aiko crossed her arms. "I know that look, it's the 'I ate cup noodles at eleven PM and called it dinner' look."
She knew me too well, it was uncomfortable.
"I'm fine, Aiko chan."
"No, you're not." Her voice became lower, gentler, more painful. "You haven't been fine for a long time."
I looked away, to the window, to the darkness of the passing tunnel.
"Yuki chan." She sighed. "You used to smile so much, remember. In the first year, you smiled all the time, laughed at Professor Tanaka's stupid jokes, got excited when we talked about books, you had that spark."
"People change."
"Not like this." Aiko touched my arm, lightly, as if I were made of glass. "Not like this, it's as if, as if you're disappearing little by little, and I don't know how to bring you back."
Something tightened in my chest.
I wanted to say, I don't know either, I wanted to say, Maybe I've already disappeared, I wanted to say, Thank you for still trying.
But all that came out was.
"Sorry."
Aiko squeezed my arm.
"Don't be sorry, just, just let me stay here, okay. Even if you don't talk, even if you just stay quiet in your corner, I'll stay here."
The train stopped at our station.
I got off, Aiko by my side.
And for the first time in weeks, something inside me trembled, it wasn't happiness, it wasn't hope, it was just, less empty.
Literature class was at 9 AM.
Professor Yamamoto was a man in his sixties, unruly gray hair, always wearing the same faded green tie, he spoke about Mishima with the kind of passion that made students fall asleep in three minutes.
But today, he was different.
"Alright." He hit the desk, making the people in the back jump. "Today we're going to discuss something important, the concept of ikigai, your reason for being, your reason to wake up in the morning."
I almost laughed, reason to wake up, as if it were that simple.
"In modern Japanese culture," Yamamoto continued, walking between the desks, "we've lost this, we work ourselves to death, karoshi, death from overwork, we forget to ask, What for."
He stopped in front of me, looked directly at me.
"Shimizu san, what is your ikigai."
The silence was immediate, thirty pairs of eyes turned to me.
My throat closed.
"I, I don't."
"It doesn't have to be grand," he said, voice surprisingly gentle. "It can be small, it can be simple, but it has to be yours."
I opened my mouth, closed it, opened it again.
What is my reason.
Do I have one.
"I don't know, sensei."
He held my gaze for another moment, then nodded, sadly.
"Many of you don't know," he said, returning to the front of the class. "And that, that is the real problem of our generation."
The class continued, I didn't hear anything else.
Because the question echoed.
What is my reason.
Do I have one.
Did I ever have one.
During the break, Aiko dragged me to the cafeteria.
"You're going to eat," she declared, pushing a plate of curry in front of me. "Even if I have to shove every spoonful into your mouth."
"Aiko chan, I."
"Ah ah." She pointed the spoon like a weapon. "No excuses, eat."
I picked up the spoon, the curry was lukewarm, kind of watery, the rice sticky.
But when I put it in my mouth, something strange happened.
It was, good.
Not the best curry, not by a long shot, but it was warm, and it had taste, real taste, not the plastic flavor of cup noodles, not the emptiness of skipping meals.
I put another spoonful in my mouth.
Aiko smiled, she didn't say anything, just smiled.
"Thank you," I murmured.
"You're welcome." She poked my arm. "By the way, look at this."
She pulled out her phone and showed me a photo, a colorful flyer.
UNIVERSITY AUTUMN FESTIVAL
Saturday, 3:00 PM
Food, Games, Live Music.
Everyone is Welcome.
"Shall we go." Her eyes shone. "It'll be fun. We can eat takoyaki, play those stupid games, take pictures."
"I don't know."
"Please." Aiko put her hands together. "Seriously, Yuki chan. When was the last time you did something fun. Something that wasn't class home sleep repeat."
I tried to remember.
I couldn't.
"There will be a lot of people."
"There will." Aiko nodded. "But I'll be there. And you don't have to talk to anyone if you don't want to. Just, just be there, feel the sun, listen to music, eat things that make you fat."
She paused.
"Live a little."
Live a little.
When was the last time I lived, and not just existed.
"Alright," I murmured. "I'll go."
Aiko's smile could light up all of Tokyo.
"Really. Yuki chan, you will."
I nodded, small, almost imperceptible.
But I nodded.
And something inside me, something tiny and fragile, trembled.
Maybe.
Maybe I can.
That night, in the silent apartment, I sat at the low table.
A crumpled notebook sheet, a pen that was running dry.
And I wrote.
LIST OF SMALL DREAMS
I stared at the title for five minutes.
Dreams, what a strange word, heavy, dangerous.
But I continued.
Go to the festival with Aiko chan
Eat takoyaki without feeling guilty
Smile and feel that it's real
Wake up and not feel like going back to sleep
Make an omelet without burning it
Have a reason for tomorrow to exist
Be a good person
I looked at the list.
Seven items, seven tiny dreams, so small they could fit in the palm of my hand.
But they were mine.
For the first time in months, maybe years, something inside me felt, hope.
No, not that big.
It was just a spark, tiny, trembling.
But it was there.
I folded the list carefully, put it in my backpack.
And I slept.
Without crying.
Saturday arrived too fast and too slow at the same time.
I woke up at ten, without an alarm, my body just, woke up.
Because I had something to do.
I changed clothes three times, jeans, no, too sloppy, a skirt, no, too much effort, jeans again, beige blouse, no, too plain, white blouse, better.
I looked in the mirror.
Shimizu Yuki, nineteen years old, medium black hair, no style, brown eyes without shine, body too thin, hunched posture, as if wanting to occupy less space.
Who is this girl.
I didn't know anymore.
I picked up my backpack, the list was inside.
Item 1, Go to the festival with Aiko chan.
I took a deep breath.
I can do this.
The campus was transformed.
Colorful stalls everywhere, smell of yakisoba and takoyaki and cotton candy, live music from the main stage, students laughing, running, living.
So much, life.
It was overwhelming.
"Yuki chan."
Aiko appeared like a rocket, dragging a tall, thin guy behind her.
"You came. You really came." She hugged me tight, too tight, I forgot what it was like to be hugged.
"A Aiko chan, I can't breathe."
"Ah, sorry." She let go, laughing. "It's just that I was worried you'd cancel, by the way, this is Kenji, my, well, we've been dating for a few weeks."
The guy, Kenji, waved timidly. "Nice to meet you, I've heard a lot about you."
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
"Good things, I hope."
"Only the best," Aiko assured. "Like, how you read three books a week and remember every detail, and how you always lend perfectly organized notes, and."
"Aiko chan."
"Ok, ok." She laughed. "Let's go. I need to eat takoyaki before I die."
We walked through the festival, Aiko talked nonstop, Kenji laughed at her jokes, I, just existed beside them.
But it was, okay.
It wasn't terrible.
It was even, pleasant.
We bought takoyaki, eight golden balls, steaming, covered in sauce and mayonnaise and dancing bonito flakes.
I took one, put it in my mouth.
It was hot, I almost burned my tongue, but the flavor exploded, soft octopus, crispy batter, sauce sweet and salty at the same time.
"Good." Aiko asked, mouth full.
I nodded.
And without realizing.
I smiled.
Small, genuine.
Real.
Aiko saw me, her eyes shone.
"Yuki chan, you're smiling."
I touched my face, my lips were curved upwards.
When was the last time.
"I, guess I am."
"Keep it like that." Aiko touched my hand, gentle. "That smile is beautiful."
Something tightened in my chest, it wasn't bad, it was strange, uncomfortable, but not bad.
Maybe.
Maybe I can do this.
Maybe I can live.
We stayed until sunset.
We played stupid games, Aiko won a plastic goldfish, Kenji lost all his money at the ring toss, I, just laughed, for real.
When the live music started, an indie band playing something cheerful and mellow, Aiko pulled me to dance.
"I don't know how to dance," I protested.
"No one does." She spun, dragging Kenji too. "Just move."
And I.
I danced.
Clumsy, without rhythm, probably ridiculous.
But no one was looking, no one was judging.
And for the first time in so long.
I was present, there, alive.
Item 3, Smile and feel that it's real.
Achieved.
When the festival started to close, we said goodbye.
"Same time on Monday." Aiko asked.
"Same time."
"And Yuki chan." She hugged me again. "Thank you for coming, seriously, you don't know how much this means."
"I, I should thank you."
She let go, took Kenji's hand, and they left.
I stood there, alone, but not empty.
For the first time, not empty.
I checked my phone, 7:47 PM.
Still early, I could catch the train now.
But I didn't want to, not yet.
I wanted to hold onto this feeling, this warmth in my chest, this lightness I hadn't felt in so long.
Today was a good day.
A really good day.
I started walking, no hurry, no direction, just, existing, enjoying the cool night, the campus lights, the taste of takoyaki still in my mouth.
I passed the library, the gym, the small park behind the Science building.
And that's when I heard it.
Crying.
Low, stifled, desperate.
I should ignore it, it wasn't my problem, I wasn't good with people, especially people crying.
But today had been different, today I had been, happy.
Maybe I can help.
Just this once.
I followed the sound.
Behind a tree, a girl, fifteen, maybe sixteen, navy high school uniform, face hidden in her knees, shoulders shaking.
"Are you okay."
She jumped, looked at me, red, swollen eyes, face stained with tears and smeared mascara.
"W who are you."
"Sorry, I, heard you crying."
She wiped her face quickly. "It's nothing. I'm fine."
An obvious lie, I recognized it because I used the same one.
I sat next to her, not too close, just, present.
"Want to talk about it."
Silence, long, heavy.
Then she spoke, quietly, broken.
"My dad, he burned my drawings."
I stopped.
"What."
"I want to be a mangaka." Her voice trembled. "I drew every day, for three years, I had a box full of sketches, stories, characters I created."
She sobbed.
"He said it was a waste of time, that I need to focus on my studies, on getting into Todai, on having a 'real' future."
More tears.
"And then he, he took everything, took it to the backyard, and burned it, three years of work, everything, gone."
My chest tightened, not with sadness.
With anger.
How could someone do that.
How could someone destroy another person's dreams like that.
"I just wanted." She clenched her knees. "I just wanted him to see, to see me, not as an extension of him, not as a trophy for him to show off, but as, as me."
I know that feeling.
I know it too well.
"And now I don't know," she continued, voice breaking. "I don't know if I can continue, I don't know if it's worth it, maybe he's right, maybe I'm just, nothing."
Something inside me moved.
Not reasoning, instinct.
I took her hand.
"You are not nothing."
She looked at me, surprised.
"You created something, for three years, because you wanted to, because you loved it, that means everything."
Tears fell, mine too.
"Your father is wrong, and cruel, and you, you deserve to be seen, deserve to be heard, deserve to try."
I squeezed her hand.
"Don't give up, please, the world needs your stories, even if your father doesn't see them, I see them, and other people will see them too."
She cried, harder, but different.
Not despair.
Relief.
We stayed like that, in silence, just two strangers holding hands under a tree.
Until she wiped her face, smiled, small but real.
"Thank you, seriously, I, I needed to hear that."
"Will you be okay."
"I think so." She stood up. "I need to go, but, thank you, really."
She waved, and left.
I stayed there, alone.
Looking at the stars starting to appear.
Item 7, Be a good person.
Maybe I already am.
Maybe I always was.
I just forgot.
I smiled, for the second time today.
And it was real.
I checked my phone, 8:13 PM.
Okay, time to go home.
Tomorrow will be another good day.
I believe that.
I stood up, picked up my backpack, started walking towards the gate.
And that's when I heard it.
A scream.
Loud, desperate, terrified.
I turned my head.
The girl, the same one from before.
In the middle of the street, looking at her phone, headphones in her ears.
And a car.
Coming fast, too fast, headlight malfunctioning, blinding.
She didn't see it.
No.
Time slowed down.
No thought, just action.
My body moved.
Legs burning, lungs exploding.
Faster.
FASTER.
Five meters, three, one.
I stretched out my arms.
Pushed.
With everything I had.
She flew, landed on the sidewalk, safe.
And I.
IMPACT.
It didn't hurt at first.
Just pressure, enormous, crushing.
I flew.
Three meters, five, more.
Landed.
Wrong.
Everything broke.
The world spun, sky, asphalt, sky, asphalt.
Stopped.
Lying on the ground, cold, wet.
Blood, my blood.
People screaming, running, phones.
"SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE."
"DON'T TOUCH HER."
"THAT BASTARD WAS DRUNK."
I tried to move.
Couldn't.
Only fingers, trembling.
The girl, in my field of vision, unharmed, looking at me.
Eyes wide, horrified.
"WHY, WHY DID YOU DO THAT."
Why.
Good question.
Because today was a good day.
Because she deserves to have good days too.
Because someone helped me, so I helped someone else.
Isn't that enough.
Sirens, far, near, I don't know.
My vision blurred, darkened at the edges.
Cold, so cold.
Someone held my hand.
"HANG ON. PLEASE, HANG ON."
But I knew.
It wasn't going to work.
I tried to speak, blood filled my mouth.
I swallowed, tried again.
"It's, okay."
The girl sobbed, louder.
"NO. IT'S NOT. PLEASE DON'T DIE."
But I was.
I could feel it, life draining, like water, like sand.
Funny.
I should be scared.
But I'm not.
My backpack, beside me, open.
The list, fallen, bloodstained.
LIST OF SMALL DREAMS
Go to the festival with Aiko chan
Eat takoyaki without feeling guilty
Smile and feel that it's real
Wake up and not feel like going back to sleep
Make an omelet without burning it
Have a reason for tomorrow to exist
Be a good person
Four.
Four out of seven.
Not bad.
Not.
My vision darkened more.
Distant sounds, muffled.
Aiko chan.
Thank you.
For today.
For everything.
Cold.
Dark.
Empty.
And then.
Peace.
And Shimizu Yuki, nineteen years old, died.
On an empty street.
Holding small dreams.
But dying.
complete.
Today was a good day.
I was falling.
No, wait, falling implies having a body, having weight, having direction.
I had none of that.
It was just, movement, a sensation of displacement without reference, as if the entire universe was being pulled backwards while something invisible dragged me forward.
Or downwards.
Upwards.
Did it matter.
The darkness was absolute, not the kind when you turn off the lights in your room, not the kind when you close your eyes.
It was the total absence of light, of the concept of light, of the possibility of light.
And in the center of this absence.
I existed.
But what was "I".
I tried to remember.
My name.
That I knew, somehow that remained stuck like the last life raft in a shipwreck.
Shimizu Yuki.
Nineteen years old.
I died saving someone.
The rest.
Fragments, broken glass, but some pieces still reflected images.
Aiko, smiling, hugging me.
Takoyaki, hot, good.
A girl crying, burned drawings.
Today was a good day.
I died on a good day.
That, that's not so bad.
And then.
Pain.
Sudden, sharp, in the center of whatever "I" was now.
As if someone had driven a white hot needle directly into the essence of my existence and twisted.
I screamed, without a mouth, without sound, but I screamed.
The pain pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
And began to spread.
Threads of something, neither fire nor ice, but both and neither, intertwined, tearing through the void, through me, building form from nothing.
Left arm that I didn't have exploded into existence.
Right arm followed.
Legs, torso, neck, head.
Each new thread was a new layer of agony, but also, formation.
I have form.
I have a body.
Kind of.
I looked down, and I could look, that was already something.
Transparent hands, semi formed fingers, legs that existed only as a suggestion of an outline.
I was a sketch, a draft of a person, an idea of a human form floating in void.
What happened to me.
Before I could process, the void changed.
Two presences appeared.
Not lights yet, just, weight, concentrated attention, the overwhelming feeling of being observed by something, not bigger, but different, something that existed on a frequency I could barely perceive.
And then, light.
Gray speckled with white on the left, like constellations moving in impossible patterns.
Red on the right, pulsating, vibrant, warm.
I tried to focus on them.
Failed.
Even with something like eyes, all I saw were shapes, outlines, essences, like trying to see through frosted glass covered in fog.
The gray presence moved, its attention focused on me.
And then, voice.
Not through sound, directly into consciousness, calm, deep, feminine.
"Shimizu Yuki."
I tried to respond, my voice came out strange, hollow, like an echo in an empty well.
"Who's there."
"My name is Akaester, and before you panic, yes, you are dead, no, this is not hell, no, I am not Death with a capital D."
A pause.
"I'm just someone who ended up responsible for you, lucky me."
There was something in the tone, not exactly irritation, more like, amused resignation.
"Responsible, for me."
"I'll explain soon, first."
The red presence stirred, an explosion of heat.
"AAAAH, FINALLY. Akaester, you take SO LONG with these formal introductions."
The voice was feminine, young, full of chaotic energy that made the void vibrate.
"Hi hi hi, dead human. I'm Lilitra. And wow, you're pretty transparent there, huh."
Laughter, high, contagious, not cruel, just, irreverent.
"Like, I've seen many newly formed souls, but you're LITERALLY empty. Look, I can see right through you. That's new."
I looked at my transparent hands, it was true, I was practically invisible.
Something warm and uncomfortable rose in me, shame.
"Lilitra," Akaester said, tone calm but firm. "Control your enthusiasm."
"But she IS transparent. It's funny. Like those little cartoon ghosts."
More laughter.
"Also, also." Lilitra continued, animated voice. "You died in a VERY dramatic way, you know. Throwing yourself in front of a car. SPLAT. It was like, wow. Points for courage, but ZERO points for self preservation."
She's, making fun of my death.
I should feel offended, but there was something in how she spoke, without real malice, just that chaotic, sincere energy, that was almost, refreshing.
At least she wasn't feigning pity.
"And you know what's EVEN funnier." Lilitra spun, I could feel the movement even without seeing clearly. "You died right after having a GOOD DAY. Like, what bad luck. Finally getting better and BAM. Drunk driver."
"It wasn't the car that was drunk," I murmured. "It was the driver."
"SAME THING. Big vehicle, heavy metal, fragile human, SPLAT."
Silence.
And then, I laughed.
Hollow, strange, but I laughed.
She's right, what horrible timing.
"See, Akaester." Lilitra sounded triumphant. "She DOES have a sense of humor. I like this one."
Akaester sighed, I could feel the sigh.
"Yes, wonderful, now, if we can return to the important matter."
"Wait wait wait," I interrupted, my voice was stronger now, more present. "You, what exactly are you. Ancient souls. Spirits. What are you."
"Manifestations," Akaester answered, careful tone. "Expressions of something greater. Lilitra and I, are not what we appear to be. Not everything that shines with divine form carries divine essence."
"Basically," Lilitra added, still animated but with something strange in her tone, "we are what you NEED to see right now. What you CAN see. The form that makes sense to your fragmented consciousness."
Something about that sounded, wrong, as if there were layers I couldn't reach.
"I don't understand."
"You don't need to understand," Akaester said, gentle but firm. "Just accept that we are here to guide you. To give you what you need in this moment of transition."
I tried to question more.
But the pain returned, sharp, in the center of my form.
"Your time here is limited," Akaester continued. "So listen well, Shimizu Yuki."
The gray presence approached, stars so close I could almost touch them.
"You died. But your journey is not over. Something, don't ask what, because I can't answer, decided that you deserve another chance."
"Another, chance."
"A second life," Akaester confirmed. "In another place. Different from the world you knew. With possibilities your previous reality did not have."
My mental processing, if I could still call it that, stalled.
"Another, world."
"Yes. A world where energy flows in ways you never imagined. Where races other than humans walk. Where the impossible is just, improbable."
"WHERE THERE'S MAGIC." Lilitra exploded, unable to contain herself. "And monsters. And adventure. And AMAZING powers that will make your previous little life seem super boring."
"Lilitra."
"Alright, alright, but it IS true. She'll be able to do AWESOME stuff."
I tried to process.
Another life, another world.
A total restart.
But.
"And my memories." My voice came out small, scared. "Will I remember. Or will I forget everything and basically become another person."
Silence.
Heavy.
Akaester answered, carefully.
"I cannot guarantee. It depends on the strength of your essence. Some souls retain everything. Others forget completely. Most end up somewhere in the middle, fragments, impressions, echoes."
"BUT HEY." Lilitra added. "You died doing something heroic. Saving a child. That leaves a DEEP mark on the soul. So your chances are good."
Chances.
Not certainty.
I might forget.
Forget Aiko. Forget today. Forget who I was.
Icy terror.
But then, there was also something else.
A fresh start.
A chance to be, myself.
Finally.
"You are scared," Akaester observed, it wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"It's natural. But listen to me, Shimizu Yuki."
The presence came even closer.
"In your past life, you existed in the shadows. Lived to please. Carried weight that wasn't yours. Let others define your value."
Each word was true. Painful. But true.
"In this new life, don't do that."
"Live on your own terms. Discover who you ARE, not who they tell you to be. Be selfish when you need to. Be kind when you want to. But be YOU. Finally, genuinely, completely YOU."
Something trembled inside me.
"And more importantly," Akaester continued, voice lower, more serious. "Do not trust blindly. Not all love is real. Not all family is home. Some people will use you, hurt you, control you, even those who should protect you."
What does that mean.
"Protect yourself, Yuki. Learn to see through the masks. Question. Doubt. Trust your instincts."
"And if you need to." Her voice became even firmer. "Be cruel. Be ruthless. Survival matters more than kindness when kindness kills you."
That, that wasn't what I expected to hear.
But it made sense.
I died being kind.
I saved someone, but lost everything.
I can't do that again.
I can't.
"WOW, Akaester." Lilitra sounded impressed. "What a speech. Feeling inspired today."
"Just being realistic," Akaester replied. "This world where she is going, is not kind. Especially not for girls."
Something cold crawled into my consciousness.
"What do you mean."
Before Akaester could answer, I felt it.
A pull.
Sudden, violent, undeniable.
Downwards, no, forwards, no, away.
"Wait, what, what's happening."
"You are being pulled," Akaester said, voice growing distant. "The process has already begun. There's no way to stop it."
"ALREADY." Lilitra sounded surprised. "But I didn't even finish teasing her."
"There's no time," Akaester insisted. Then, louder. "Yuki. Last thing."
"WHAT."
The darkness began to spin, a vortex forming.
I fell, flew, was sucked.
"Your new family." Akaester's voice echoed. "Jullen and Grenrick Dawnveil. Mother and father. They will love you, but watch HOW they love. Watch what they expect in return."
What does that mean.
"And your name." The voice was almost lost now. "Sekire. Sekire Dawnveil. Remember. REMEMBER."
But I couldn't hear anymore.
Because light appeared.
Small, distant, but growing.
White gold, warm, pulsating, alive.
Like a star, like the sun, like birth.
I flew towards it.
Or it came towards me.
Closer.
Faster.
Bigger.
BLINDING.
"GOOD LUCK." Lilitra's voice echoed, distant. "FINALLY BE YOURSELF."
And then.
Heat.
Not a concept, PHYSICAL, real.
And with heat.
Weight.
Gravity, mass, material existence.
And with weight.
PAIN.
Sharp, oppressive, everywhere at once.
Empty lungs, burning, screaming for air.
Sensitive skin, exposed, touched by something rough.
Light, dazzling, painful.
I HAVE A BODY.
I HAVE EYES.
I HAVE.
"It's a girl."
A voice, feminine, tired, relieved.
I don't know this voice.
But it's close.
Hands hold me, large, wet, trembling.
"A healthy girl."
I tried to open my eyes.
Managed, a little.
Blur, everything is a blur.
But there is form, a face, dark hair tied up, round face, stained with sweat.
She smiles.
But the smile doesn't reach her eyes.
The eyes are, tired, empty, like looking into a bottomless lake.
"Sekire," she murmurs, testing the name. Then more firmly. "Yes. Sekire Dawnveil. That is your name."
Sekire.
Not Yuki.
Sekire.
Another voice, masculine, more distant.
"Is she healthy, Jullen."
"Yes." Jullen, my mother, answers, flat voice, mechanical. "Healthy. Ten fingers. Normal breathing. Red hair."
A strange pause.
"Red." The masculine voice, Grenrick, approaches. "That is, neither of us has red hair."
Heavy, uncomfortable silence.
"Recessive," Jullen says finally. "Must be a recessive gene. My grandmother had reddish hair."
"Ah." Grenrick doesn't sound convinced. "And her eyes."
"Still too early to tell."
More silence.
Then Grenrick speaks, lower voice.
"She'll be good, won't she. Won't cause trouble. Not like."
He doesn't finish.
He doesn't need to.
Jullen tightens my arms. Lightly. But there is tension.
"She will be perfect. We'll make sure of that."
We'll make sure.
Not "she is".
We'll make her be.
Something cold crawls into my newborn consciousness.
Memory.
Instinct.
Akaester's warning.
Jullen's arms hold me. But it's not warm.
It's functional. Obligation. Duty.
Like holding a fragile object. Not a loved baby.
"You will be a good girl," she whispers. Not to me. To herself. "Quiet. Well behaved. You'll compensate."
She stops. Takes a deep breath.
"You'll make us proud. Won't you, Sekire."
Expectation. Not love.
Condition. Not acceptance.
'You'll make us proud.'
Not 'we love you'.
Not 'welcome'.
But 'you'll make us proud'.
I tried to cry.
And I cried.
Loud. Desperate.
Not just because I was a baby.
But because somewhere deep.
Somewhere that was still Shimizu Yuki.
I recognized that tone.
That conditional love.
That distance disguised as affection.
And I felt.
Fear.
Jullen rocked me. Mechanical movements. Efficient but soulless.
"Shh, shh. Don't cry. Good babies don't cry so much."
Good babies.
It's already started.
There's already expectation.
There's already condition.
Grenrick approached. I felt his presence. Large. Heavy.
"She has strong lungs, at least," he commented. Neutral tone. Evaluative. "That's good. Means she's healthy."
"Yes," Jullen agreed. "Healthy. Strong. Will grow well."
A pause.
"She'll have to grow. We have a lot planned for her."
Planned.
They already have plans.
Before I can even breathe properly.
Akaester's words echoed.
"Observe HOW they love. Observe what they expect in return."
And I understood.
This love was not unconditional.
It was a transaction.
They would give me upbringing, food, shelter.
And I should give, what.
Pride. Obedience. Perfection.
Not again.
Please.
Not again.
But I was a baby. Powerless. Dependent.
I had no choice.
Not yet.
Jullen placed me on something soft. A crib.
"Sleep now," she said. Voice lower. Softer. But still empty. "When you wake up, we begin."
Begin what.
But I couldn't maintain consciousness.
New body. Weak. Exhausted.
Darkness pulled me.
Different from the previous void.
This was darkness of sleep.
And as I fell into it, the last thing I felt was.
Relief.
No.
Resignation.
Here we go again.
END OF CHAPTER 1
