Koya lay on her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The room felt smaller than usual, the walls pressing in as the weight of the incident settled heavily on her chest. She had felt a flicker of hope earlier—something bright and promising—but now it twisted into something else entirely. Something she couldn't name, couldn't explain.
Immira's words kept circling in her mind like echoes she couldn't escape.
"What if this is your flow?"
"How is this a flow?" Koya whispered into the quiet air, her voice barely audible. "What exactly is it… Wind? Destruction? Raw chaos?"
She drowned in the unanswered questions, each one pulling her deeper into a sea of doubt. Hours slipped by in silence, the kind that felt endless.
Later that afternoon, Koya finally dragged herself up. Her legs felt heavy, reluctant, as she made her way down the corridor toward Immira's room. Each step echoed her exhaustion.
As she approached the doorway, voices drifted out—tense, sharp.
"Immira, stop defending her," a carer's voice snapped loudly from inside.
Koya froze just outside the entrance, breath held, listening.
"How is what I'm saying wrong?" Immira replied, steady but firm. "None of this is her fault…"
"Immira, stop! Please… kick her out of this place before that girl leads us all to our doom."
The anger in the carer's tone cut like a blade.
"Enough." Immira's voice rose, sharp and final. "Stop acting like Koya isn't a person. I'll say it again—none of this is her fault, and she's going nowhere."
Silence stretched for a few heavy seconds. Then footsteps stormed toward the door. The carer barged out, face twisted in frustration. Her eyes landed on Koya standing there. For a long moment, she glared with open disgust, lips pressed thin, before shoving past and walking away without a word.
Koya's body went cold. She stepped slowly into Immira's room, movements stiff, as if the air itself had turned to ice.
Immira looked up and forced a gentle, calming smile, though the strain showed in her eyes.
"Oh… hey, Koya."
Koya kept her head lowered, unable to meet her gaze right away. She walked forward and sank into the chair across from Immira.
"Come on, sit down," Immira said softly, pulling her own chair closer so they sat side by side.
Koya's voice came out shaky, fragile. "Immira… why do you care about me so much? Why are you always defending me… trying so hard not to let me feel guilty?"
Immira exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with years of quiet burden.
"It's because of your mother," she said gently.
Koya's head snapped up, stunned, eyes wide.
"Last thing your mother ever said to me… was to take care of you." Immira paused, breathing through the memory. "I only knew her for a few months, but in that short time, I learned she was a really good person. Kind. Gentle. And every single day… I see her in you."
Koya's body grew even colder, a chill spreading from her chest outward.
"Can you… tell me about my mother?" she asked, voice low and trembling.
"Happily, my child," Immira replied with a warm, sad smile.
The air in the room seemed to grow heavier, quieter.
"Koya, your mother was a really interesting person. She never wanted to be a burden, so she always helped around—cleaning, cooking, even teaching the kids sometimes. She had this unique sense of humor… always telling me the most terrible jokes."
Immira let out a soft giggle at the memory.
Koya managed a small, forced smile in return.
"I always laughed at her jokes because it made her so happy. And she was a really talented artist, too." Immira stood, crossed the room, and carefully took a painting down from the wall. She sat back down and held it out.
"She made this."
The painting showed a lush forest filled with tall, beautiful green trees reaching toward the sky. But the sky itself was pitch black, swallowing everything—except for one bright star shining fiercely in the center.
Koya stared at it, mesmerized. She reached out, her fingers gently tracing the textured surface. The touch brought an unexpected wave of calmness, like cool water on fevered skin.
"Is there… a meaning behind it?" Koya asked quietly.
Immira smiled, calm and knowing.
"She told me it represents our present world. The trees are the people living in it. The black sky… is Ekekiri's darkness. And the star…" Immira's voice softened. "She said it's everyone's hope. A hope that someone would come to save us."
Koya's body grew warmer, a quiet spark igniting in her chest. Her eyes lit up. The words felt personal—like a message carried across time, meant just for her.
Later that day, Koya walked into the large training hall, clutching IKUA's arm tightly against her chest. She stopped at the center of the open space, heart beating with quiet determination mixed with lingering confusion.
She raised the artifact with both hands, staring at it intently. Breathing in… breathing out… trying to center herself. Then, with a measured motion, she slammed it down onto the stone floor and let go.
It hit with a dull thud and lay there.
She opened her eyes slowly. Nothing. Just cold metal on cold stone.
She picked it up again, studied it for a long moment, then repeated the motion—harder this time. Again. And again. Over and over. The rhythmic slams echoed through the empty hall, but nothing changed. No spark. No power. No response.
Koya stared down at the artifact on the ground, confusion deepening into frustration.
"What're you doing?"
Meriosa's voice cut through the silence from behind her.
Koya turned, surprised. "Meriosa…? How long have you been standing there?"
Meriosa walked closer, arms crossed casually. "Been here for a while now. At first I wondered why you were trying to break IKUA's arm… but then I realized it was something more. So I'll ask again—what are you doing?"
Koya picked up the artifact, brushing dust from it. "Nothing much… Just an idea that kept playing in my head. Forget it." She paused. "What exactly brought you here?"
"I heard some people saying things about you. Just came to see if you were okay."
Koya stared at her, confused.
"Don't give me that look," Meriosa said with a small shrug. "Sometimes I care."
Koya looked back down at IKUA's arm. "I'm totally fine… I've passed the stage of letting people's words break me. And my previous discovery just made me even more fired up."
Meriosa studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Okay… Care to train together?"
Koya let out a genuine smile. "Why not."
They trained together for hours. Meriosa attacked with controlled precision; Koya dodged and countered as best she could. Meriosa won every spar, but she corrected Koya gently on footwork, balance, timing—places where she saw room to grow. In return, Koya taught Meriosa how to fight effectively with a weapon, showing her how to better balance her stance and swing with more power and control.
They moved from sparring to meditation, sitting side by side in silence, letting stress and negativity flow away with each slow breath.
The entire day passed in focused effort—sweat, laughter at small mistakes, shared corrections, and quiet determination. Time flew by until night had fallen, the hall lit only by soft lanterns.
Both women finally sat on the cool ground, breathing heavily, bodies tired but satisfied.
Koya drew her legs to her chest, gazing up at the high ceiling. "Meriosa… why are you acting so nice to me? Cal told me you're kind of a… lone wolf."
Meriosa smiled calmly, a rare softness in her expression. "You know about what happened to me, so no need to explain that part. And you're a really good person. I totally relate to you… I vibe with your strive, and well… I respect you."
Koya returned the smile, quiet and warm.
A relieved, calm presence settled over the hall. The two sat together in comfortable silence, the weight of the day easing just a little.
TO BE CONTINUED.