Chiaki sat slouched on the bench, one elbow resting on her knee, her head cradled in her palm. A yawn escaped her lips, fading into a weary sigh. "Now that I think about it… I haven't had a real rest in days," she muttered, voice flat with exhaustion. "It's just been one mess after another. When this is over, I'm going to actually sleep. For real this time." Her gaze drifted ahead, expression blank and drained, like the energy had long since seeped out of her.
Her eyes settled on the distant mountain—its peak faint in the daylight haze—the one leading to the shrine Morvain had spoken of. "Still so far," she murmured. "I really hope Yumiko and the others made it to the Armagh Lands okay."
With another sigh, Chiaki finally rose to her feet and began walking once more. The sun hung high above as she passed through a quiet village, her footsteps slow but steady on the path toward the mountain shrine.
"This Avenya girl… what's she really like? And why would someone like her fear their own power?" Chiaki mumbled to herself, her thoughts tangled in half-formed questions. She couldn't quite settle on an answer—nothing seemed to fit. "I get that severing a soul is dangerous… but if I can resonate with it, mend it somehow…"
Her words trailed off.
A sudden flurry of voices echoed from just beyond the house's outer wall. Urgent, sharp, and far from friendly. Whatever was happening around the corner didn't sound good—and instinct kicked in fast.
She couldn't ignore it. Not now. Not when someone might need help.
As Chiaki rounded the corner, the scene before her came into focus—tense and unrelenting.
A young woman stood defiantly at the front of a small group of soldiers, her arms spread wide in a protective stance. Behind her, slumped against the wall of a house, was a boy—unmoving. He wasn't dead, but he wasn't responsive either. His presence hung somewhere between life and absence.
"Please," the girl pleaded, her voice raw with desperation. "My brother's been hurt. If I don't find someone to help him, I'll lose him for good. I just need to get through—there has to be someone who can save him."
Chiaki didn't recognize the girl, but stayed quiet, watching the exchange unfold.
One of the soldiers stepped forward, his tone cold and resolute. "You said his soul's been severed. There's no saving someone like that. People like him… they're beyond help. No one in their right mind would waste time trying to stitch together a soul that's already been cut loose."
He motioned to the others. "Hand the boy over. If you resist, we'll have no choice but to detain you both."
"How can you even call yourselves soldiers?" the girl snapped, her voice trembling with emotion. "Following orders that tell you to discard someone just because they've been hurt? He's not dead—he's just unstable. There's still hope."
She tightened her stance, standing firmer in front of the boy.
"I've read about it—about people who've managed to resonate with severed souls and bring them back. One of those places was Lyvoria Crest… it mentioned a shrine at the top of the mountain. If you won't take me there, then get out of my way. I'll find it on my own."
One of the soldiers stepped forward, armor creaking as his hand rested on the hilt of his sword—not drawn, but ready. His voice was calm, but devoid of warmth.
"You speak out of compassion, girl. But compassion alone can't mend what's already lost."
Another soldier, older and wearing a rusted bronze pauldron over his left shoulder, spoke next. "When a soul is severed, it doesn't just break—it splinters. What's left behind… it isn't just an empty vessel. It's unstable. Dangerous. Most don't stay quiet like your brother. Some lash out—become volatile, hostile. Not out of malice, but because they don't know what they are anymore."
The first soldier continued, "We've seen it. People trying to save them. Trying to bring them back. Half of them end up broken themselves. And the ones who succeed—if you can call it that—never find the person they lost. Just fragments held together by will and grief."
He shifted slightly, glancing at the boy behind the girl. "We don't toss them away out of cruelty. We do it to protect others… and to keep them from suffering more than they already have."
Another soldier murmured, "Sometimes mercy is letting go."
They didn't raise their weapons, but the weight of their stance made one thing clear—they wouldn't help her, and they wouldn't let her continue unless forced.
The girl's arms trembled as she spread them wider, shielding her brother's motionless form with her entire body. Her voice cracked—not with fear, but desperation clinging to the edges of fury.
"He's not like that!" she shouted, eyes burning. "Cassian hasn't lashed out once. He hasn't hurt anyone. He's still in there. I can feel it—he's just… quiet. Faded. Not gone."
The soldiers didn't move. The older one sighed heavily, like he'd heard this before a dozen times.
"That's how it always starts," he said, tone weary. "Still. Silent. Then something breaks. And when it does, no one's left to warn you."
"You're wrong!" she snapped, fists clenched at her sides. "He's not a monster. He's my brother. He saved me more times than I can count—he never stopped protecting me. You think I'd stand here if I saw even a sliver of danger in him?!"
The younger soldier looked away, conflicted but silent.
The girl stepped forward, eyes wet but unflinching. "You call it mercy, but it's cowardice. You're afraid of what you don't understand. But if there's even one chance that he can be brought back—if I can find someone who can resonate with what's left of his soul—I'll take it."
She turned her head, staring past them, up toward the distant, mist-veiled mountain.
"I've come this far. I'm not turning back. Not when he needs me."
The soldiers didn't raise their blades—but their silence no longer felt like patience. It felt like the edge of refusal.
Chiaki stepped around the corner at a casual pace, her expression unreadable as she moved to stand beside the girl shielding her wounded brother. Her eyes settled on the soldiers, calm but unyielding.
"Move," she said, her voice steady and cold.
The commanding guard narrowed his gaze. "This isn't your concern. Step away, girl."
"It became my concern the moment you decided to speak nonsense in uniforms." Chiaki's tone didn't rise, but something in it made the soldiers shift uncomfortably. "You're lying. Severed souls don't become monsters. I've seen it with my own eyes."
Another soldier scoffed, "You think you know more than us? Once a soul's been severed, the mind follows. They rot inside, lose what makes them human. That boy's a danger."
Chiaki's jaw tensed. "You're wrong. I met someone who had his soul severed. He wasn't violent. He wasn't corrupted. He was just... broken. Still human. Still thinking. Still alive."
She looked each of them in the eye, unwavering.
"So whatever orders you're following—whatever justification you've been fed—it's not to protect people. It's to dispose of them. You're capturing them for something else. You just don't want anyone asking why."
The soldiers hesitated, uncertain.
Chiaki took a step forward.
"You don't get to pretend you're heroes for dragging off the wounded. That boy isn't a monster. He's a victim. And if you don't let them go, I'll stop you myself."
The silence that followed was heavy with doubt. The wind stirred, carrying the weight of her words.
The girl beside her blinked, stunned for a heartbeat before her eyes widened in recognition. "Wait… you're the one. You're the girl I've heard about. You resonated with someone before, didn't you?" Her voice rose with desperate hope. "You can feel severed souls, can't you? You can help my brother! Please—resonate with him, pull him back!"
Chiaki turned her gaze slowly toward the slumped boy—Cassian—his face pale, his chest unmoving save for the faintest rise and fall. Her eyes softened. But then, she shook her head.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I can't."
The girl's voice cracked. "What?"
Chiaki stepped closer and gently placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "You're right about resonance. It can bring someone back. But I'm not the one who can do it. Not yet. I'm still learning. If I tried, I might do more harm than good."
The girl's shoulders sank, and she looked as though her last thread of hope had frayed.
"But I know someone who can," Chiaki continued. "There's a woman named Avenya. She lives beyond the mountain, at the shrine above Lyvoria Crest. She understands Soul Resonance better than anyone alive. If there's any chance for your brother… it lies with her."
For a moment, the girl didn't speak. Then she slowly nodded, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "Then take me to her… please."
Chiaki turned back toward the soldiers, her expression fierce once again. "You've heard us. She's not staying. And he's not your burden to carry. They're coming with me."
The lead soldier's expression hardened. "We are under direct orders. All individuals afflicted by soul severance are to be confiscated and secured. Those who obstruct this duty are to be treated as threats."
His hand raised—an unspoken signal.
Steel whispered from sheaths. The other soldiers moved into formation, blades drawn, spears braced. The cobbled street suddenly rang with the tension of disciplined violence.
Chiaki stepped forward without flinching, standing just ahead of the girl and her brother. "You're going to attack a civilian and a barely breathing boy? That's your code now?"
"No exceptions," the commander answered grimly. "Even if your name is whispered among the Crest. You've interfered with classified containment. If you don't move—"
"I won't."
There was no bravado in her voice, no bluff—just calm resolve. She raised her arms slightly, preparing to move, not to provoke.
But the soldiers charged.
Chiaki's heel dug lightly into the stone beneath her, her body lowering into a poised crouch as her fingers brushed the edge of the air—feeling the rhythm before it began. Then, in an instant, she launched forward, her form streaking through the space between soldiers like a white flash tearing through canvas.
The first soldier didn't even see her move. She ducked under his guard, twisted behind him, and drove a precise palm strike into the back of his neck. He crumpled silently.
The second raised his spear too late—Chiaki's leg swung up, the ball of her foot striking beneath his jaw with just enough force to send his helmet flying. He dropped without a word.
The third, startled, slashed horizontally. She weaved beneath it, spun behind him, and struck his pressure point with the side of her hand—his body locked and folded into unconsciousness.
Fourth and fifth came together, shouting, but she was already in motion—her hands shot out like threads of momentum. She grabbed one by the collar, pivoted, and flung him into the other with a brutal crash of armor. Both hit the ground, groaning, before falling still.
Sixth soldier hesitated. Chiaki didn't. She shifted low, stepped in with a sudden burst of speed, and swept his legs out from under him before planting her elbow gently—yet with startling precision—into his chest. His breath left him in one short gasp before darkness claimed him.
She exhaled once.
A full formation reduced to groaning, unmoving bodies in less than ten seconds.
Chiaki stood tall again, her eyes fixed on the commander, who had yet to draw his blade.
"Still want to talk about orders?" she asked, voice unwavering.
The commander froze, sweat clinging to his temples beneath the rim of his bronze helmet. His knuckles whitened around the hilt of his gladius as he looked upon the fallen soldiers—each one outfitted in deep crimson tunics beneath worn lorica segmentata, their plated armor still clinking faintly in the dust-laced breeze. Helms rolled across the cobblestones, some dented, others split at the crest. None of them moved.
Chiaki stood at the center of the silent wreckage. Her stance relaxed, her breathing steady, but the sharp glint in her eyes warned that she could move again—swiftly, decisively—should the need arise. The air still held the weight of her momentum, a lingering tension like a drawn bowstring never loosed.
The commander swallowed, his throat dry. He'd seen displays of power before—but never so clean, so fast, so surgical. It hadn't been a skirmish. It had been a demonstration.
He took a slow step back, lowering his blade.
"Fall back," he ordered, voice strained but clear. "All of you—withdraw at once!"
Some of the remaining soldiers hesitated, staring wide-eyed between Chiaki and the collapsed forms of their comrades, but the commander's sharp glare gave them no room to question.
"Now!" he snapped.
Armor rustled, sandals scraped, and the soldiers turned to retreat, dragging their wounded or scrambling for their fallen helms. The road emptied beneath the sun's quiet gaze—leaving Chiaki standing there, unshaken, as the dust began to settle again.
Chiaki eased out of her stance, her breathing steady but tired. She placed a hand over her waist where the wrappings held tight, then turned slightly toward the girl beside the boy. Her tone was casual, if a bit strained.
"…What's your name?"
The girl hesitated, still crouched by the boy's side. "Vivia."
Chiaki gave a small nod. "Nice to meet you, Vivia. He's your brother, right?"
Vivia glanced down at the boy, brushing some of his hair from his face. "Yeah. Cassian. He hasn't moved much since… well, since it happened."
Chiaki looked at the boy briefly, then back at her. "You were standing your ground pretty hard back there."
"I had to." Vivia's voice was quiet, but steady. "They were ready to take him like he was nothing. Like he didn't matter anymore."
Chiaki let out a small sigh. "I've been seeing a lot of that lately. People acting like the second someone gets hurt, they're just… done."
Vivia shook her head. "He's not done. I know he's still there."
Chiaki scratched her head a little, her posture loosening. "Well, you've got guts, I'll give you that. Not many would stand between their brother and a bunch of soldiers."
"I didn't know what else to do," Vivia admitted.
"You did enough." Chiaki gave a small shrug. "Sometimes that's all you can do."
Vivia looked up, her eyes still a bit unsure, but filled with quiet hope. "You said something back there… about someone who could help him. This… Avenya person. Do you think you could help me get to her?"
Chiaki blinked, then gave a short exhale, glancing up at the distant mountain on the horizon. "Yeah. I've been heading that way myself."
Vivia's grip on her brother tightened slightly. "Then… would you let me come with you? Please. I just— I don't want to lose him before we get there."
Chiaki stepped closer and gave a small nod, her voice softer this time. "You're not going alone. We'll bring him there together."
Vivia's lips trembled as she nodded, barely able to form words. "Thank you."
Chiaki adjusted the wrappings at her waist again, her stance still sluggish but filled with resolve. She watched as Vivia knelt down and carefully hoisted her brother onto her shoulders with quiet strength, steadying his limp form.
To be continued...