S-2858 • L3 Sintoluna • D27 Silenri
"Sintoluna tunes the thread of the world. Silenri seals the descent in a fine shimmer. The tide traces silence in a living curve. The story prepares a portal of beginning."
KURAYAMI NO SORA — HEADQUARTERS OF THE RYUHO-KAI CLAN, KARYŪ, CURRENT OF FIRE
Chiyo woke Hikaru with a hearty breakfast. She gave him a plastic dinosaur and dressed him in light clothes suited to the heat punishing Nagasaki. The temperature reached fifty degrees, melting the asphalt and making the air almost unbreathable.
Then she drove her son to Karyū. Along the way, she chatted animatedly with him.
Gradually, the landscape sank into shadow.
Towers of steel and crystal rose like sleeping serpents. Each building sculpted in draconic symbols, while the pixelated image of a dragon snaked across the façades and flashed among the robotic guardians patrolling the alleys.
The main avenues flaunted opulent storefronts filled with cyberimplants, cutting-edge technologies, and high-value goods.
But the adjoining alleys concealed another world. Trafficking. Addiction. Betting houses. Arms markets. Deals whispered beneath the unsteady glow of holograms. As they advanced, Chiyo averted her eyes.
Funny how everything gleamed on the outside. Gold dust over ruins. Beneath illusory veils, the gleaming façades concealed the shadows gathering in the alleys. The bitter smell permeating the air seeped through tiny cracks in that appearance of prosperity.
It was like her. A shell trying to shine. While emptiness ate away at her from within.
Chiyo forced a smile and kept talking to Hikaru. She wanted to protect him from the abyss in which she herself had already drowned.
The Ryuho-kai clan's headquarters dominated Karyū's skyline.
Ryūden, the Dragon Palace. A tower of steel and mirrored black glass, its surface reflecting the darkness of the streets below. Nanodragons watched over the building.
Inside, obsidian marble floors gleamed beneath the low lighting, streaked with shimmering red veins. Holograms projected circles of fire among the structures.
On the upper floors, surrounded by maximum-security systems, Kojiro Ryuho oversaw his empire.
From there, he surveyed the reach of his authority over Karyū, Kurayami no Sora, and the Ninkyō dantai. Kojiro radiated an intimidating strength. His imposing figure dominated the room. He wore a dark hakama and a wide-sleeved jinbei, with traditional symbols etched into the flowing fabric. His appraising eyes cut through people like blades.
Near him stood his nephew, Kotaro Ryuho. Four years old. Black hair and brown eyes. Curiosity, audacity, and resolve marked his expression. He wore a cotton kimono adorned with scale patterns and watched everything from the altar.
"He can read and write. He's very smart. It's his eighth birthday today." Chiyo trembled. Her fingers moved restlessly.
The oyabun's cold gaze settled on her. "Three million nienes."
"But…"
"Or no deal." Kojiro's voice allowed no negotiation.
Chiyo pressed her lips together. "Fine, whatever. Just transfer it."
The oyabun gestured.
Hiroshi Tanaka, his saiko-komon, began the transaction. He wore a dark suit and held himself with perfect control. His trimmed beard and shrewd eyes completed his meticulous appearance.
"What are you doing, okaasan?" Hikaru's small voice reached her.
Chiyo's chest tightened.
The boy stared at her, confused.
She looked away. She could not hold his gaze. She thought she was not enough as a mother.
Hikaru needed another path. Perhaps those men could offer something she could not. Perhaps he would survive better without her. Better than Chiyo herself had survived.
The knot in her throat tightened until it almost choked her. Her heart was breaking apart, but her voice came out cold. Cruel. "You deserve more, Hika-chiba. More than I can give you. Your new friends will take care of you."
Silence opened between them.
Hikaru felt his heart race. His breathing quickened. His skin paled. His muscles contracted. His palms grew damp. His stomach churned. Waves of cold and heat swept through his body as his mind tried to comprehend what was happening. "What do you mean, okaasan? I don't want to. I just want to stay with you."
"Shh, Hika-chiba. One day you'll understand." Chiyo turned away.
Past and present collided inside her, bringing fleeting images. Hikaru playing with a makeshift robot. His laughter filling the shack with light. The first time he had called her okaasan in that little high-pitched voice. Each memory was a knife twisting inside her chest.
But she would keep walking. She had to. Tears burned her eyes. Her heart ached. Her steps, however, remained steady.
Chiyo left. Left Hikaru's desperate screams behind.
The boy struggled in the men's arms, devastated, trying to break free.
All that remained of his mother was the scent clinging to his clothes.
Cheap shampoo. Neoheroin.
It was the last thing he could still hold on to of her.
He wanted to scream that he would not understand. That he would never understand. But the pain choked his words.
Three days later, Chiyo died of an overdose.
That seluna, Hikaru stayed awake.
He spent the night with the shatei, the organization's younger brothers.
Chiyo's scent still clung to his clothes.
But profane patriarchal hands touched his body inappropriately, violating his boundaries, staining his skin, distorting his mind, and corrupting his soul.