The kitchen was a symphony of soft hues, reminiscent of light filtering through clouds, with creams and greys that soothed the senses. The blue of dishes and the rich, well-cared-for brown of the wooden furnishings stood out like welcoming musical notes on a score. Gleaming ceramic tiles on the floor highlighted the pine cabinets and the sturdy table, creating a warm, inviting atmosphere. Massive countertops framed the space, adorned with fresh herbs, tomatoes, and a myriad of pots and pans, showcasing the heart of Kaname's domain. The aroma of freshly baked bread lingered, mingling with the scent of aged wood and drying herbs.
This was her heaven on earth, especially when her grandchildren were introduced to the sweet allure of pastries and luscious fillings. Though she tried to pass on her skills, none could match her expert touch. She often teased that they inherited their mother's genes in this area. Through windows that embraced the midday sun, the kitchen came alive with vibrant hues, a testament to the lively and welcoming space Kaname had crafted.
She poured boiling water from the kettle into a mug, the steam curling like ghostly fingers as she began brewing her morning tea. The aroma of fresh tea leaves mingled with the scent of aged wood and herbs hanging to dry in the cozy kitchen.
"What am I doing here again?" Kiel signed, his hands moving fluidly as he sat at the table across from her. His eyes flickered with curiosity and guarded skepticism.
"I invited you because you seem like you've been through a lot. I just wanted to talk and see if I could help," the old woman replied, her voice warm and soothing.
"You mean like therapy?" Kiel signed back, pausing before continuing. "Thanks, but no thanks." He stood up to leave but halted a few steps away as her words reached him.
"Before I moved here, I was a behavioral psychologist, specializing in Claives. You all act like you're invincible, you're not. No one is."
Kiel turned to her, signing, "No offense, ma'am. I'm sure you're great at your job. It just doesn't work on me."
Kaname nodded subtly, a gentle smile playing on her lips. "I'd like to tell you some hard truths. Can you handle that?"
"Sure, invincible, right?" Kiel signed, a flicker of defiance in his eyes.
Kaname's eyes softened as she took a sip of her tea, savoring the delicate flavor that offered a fleeting moment of peace. "It's difficult for you to open up and let go because, when you lose control, tragedy strikes. But it wasn't your fault," she said gently, her voice soothing. "Surviving is all we know how to do."
Kiel's gaze hardened, but her words pulled at something deep inside. The alleyway. The memory surged unbidden—red eyes flickering in the shadows, his own reflection twisted with rage. The moment he'd lost it. The screams, the terror, the devastation he couldn't undo. His fists tightened at the memory of how he had spiraled, wild and uncontrollable, leaving only destruction in its wake.
He stared at Kaname with a stoic expression, trying to push it all down. "Ice cold," he signed sharply. "I'm not here to get in touch with my feelings about the past." His hands moved quickly, each sign more frantic than the last. "I'm fine, okay?"
His jaw clenched as he continued, sarcasm lacing his movements. "I mean, aside from my monstrous appearance, my reputation as the bringer of doom, and the constant, overwhelming fear that something terrible is about to happen..." He sighed heavily, forcing a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm doing just great."
"Hypervigilance," Kaname interjected.
"What?"
"It's called hypervigilance. The persistent and constant feeling of being under threat," she explained.
"That's one way to put it," he ventured. "And it's not just a feeling though. It's an overwhelming, crushing fear you can't push through, even when you try. It's like a panic attack. You know, like I can't even breathe. The kind of worriedness that makes you feel as though you can see danger coming your way, yet you cannot assure yourself that you will be safe whenever the danger does come. It's like I have these barbed wires surrounding me, and with every movement I make, it digs deeper into my skin, cutting into my flesh until I can't move. And I hate that feeling."
"So, in other words, like you're drowning?" Kaname asked, her voice softening even more.
"Yeah, like I'm drowning," Kiel responded. "Then I caught a glimpse of myself one day. For the first time, I saw my true self. I saw what other people see. I saw an empty, hollow shell of a person worth pitying. And I was disgusted. Repelled. Full of loathing. Don't mourn for me; I don't need the pity. I look back at my life, and all that's happened to me, and I think, 'Why did this all have to happen to me? Why not somebody else?' I'm sorry... but it's just so frustrating, you know. I just want to live a life a normal boy can. I miss the old me. Back before I had this... burden, it was easier then. I kind of just want to be normal. Is that so wrong, to wish for that?"
Kaname moved her chair closer, her expression intent. "So, tell me this—if you're drowning and you're trying to keep your mouth closed until that last moment, that very last second," she said, "what if you choose not to open your mouth, to not let the water in?"
"You do anyway. It's a reflex."
"But," she continued, "if you choose to hold off until that reflex kicks in, you have more time, right?"
"Not much time," he answered.
"But more time to fight your way to the surface."
"I guess."
"More time to be rescued..."
"More time to be in more agonizing pain again."
"If it's about survival, isn't a little agony worth it? You either run from it or you learn from it. The lotus, for example," she said, gesturing to a flower in her kitchen window, "is the most beautiful of flowers, whose petals open one by one. But it only grows in the mud. In order to gain wisdom, you must first have the mud—the obstacles of life and its sufferings." The beauty of her statement shimmered around him with sudden truth. "Now, you might be wondering, 'Where possibly is this old, life-dealt-with woman going with this?' And here's what I would say to you; Your past does not equal your future. You are not alone in this battle. No matter the circumstance, no one is ever truly alone, no matter how lonely it seems. How can you grow and move forward if you are stuck in your past and keep believing negative things? There will be times, over and over in your life, when you will be tested. You will face challenges and uncertainties. But they don't have to define you. The strength it takes to overcome those challenges makes us strong, and it is how we perceive the future that shapes who we are."
As Kiel absorbed her words, a flicker of understanding softened his hardened gaze. Kaname's voice, steady and kind, seemed to pierce through the armor he had built around himself. The room, bathed in the gentle morning light, held a quiet promise of hope and resilience.
It was a small spark, but it was enough to believe that he might endure, and perhaps even thrive, despite the internal and external battles he faced. The broken mirror lay scattered, but it no longer felt like a barrier; instead, it became a testament to the struggle he had to overcome and the strength he would continue to draw upon.
In the dimly lit bathroom, he stood now, amidst the scattered shards and soft whispers of reassurance, Kiel found a moment of peace. It was a tentative peace, yet one that promised a way forward.
He began to pick up the broken pieces, his fingers carefully maneuvering around the sharp edges. Each fragment he collected felt like reclaiming a part of himself he had thought lost forever. The clinking of glass filled the room, each sound a small victory over the chaos that had once consumed him.
"Every piece is a part of your story," he recalled her words softly spoken, her eyes reflecting the compassion and wisdom of years lived fully. "It's okay to feel broken sometimes, but remember, those pieces can be put back together in new, beautiful ways."
Kiel continued, feeling the weight of her words. The act of gathering the mirror shards became symbolic, a ritual of healing. With each piece, he felt the weight of his past lifting, replaced by a growing sense of resilience. The soft light of dawn began to filter through the small bathroom window, casting a gentle glow on his work. He could see the first rays of sunlight dance across the fragments, turning the room into a mosaic of light and shadow.
As he placed the last shard into a small pile, Kiel sat back on his heels and took a deep breath. The air felt different now, lighter, as if the room itself had exhaled a sigh of relief. He glanced at the pile of broken glass and then at his reflection in the remaining piece of the mirror still on the wall. It was cracked and distorted, but it was still him.
Kaname's words echoed in his mind: "Your past does not equal your future."
He stood up and walked back into the kitchen, where Kaname was waiting with a steaming cup of tea and a warm smile. She gestured for him to sit, and he did, feeling an unexpected sense of comfort in her presence.
"I see you've made some progress," she said, her eyes twinkling with approval.
Kiel nodded, signing, "It's a start."
"That's all you need," she replied, placing the tea in front of him. "One step at a time."
As they sat together, the silence was no longer heavy with unspoken fears and regrets. It was a peaceful silence, filled with the promise of new beginnings. The kitchen, bathed in the golden light of morning, felt like a sanctuary, a place where healing could begin.
For the first time in a long while, Kiel allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to piece himself back together. The road ahead was uncertain, but with Kaname's guidance, Astra's help and his newfound resolve, he felt a flicker of hope. Together, they would face whatever came next, their bond a beacon in the swirling uncertainty.
And so, with a tentative but growing determination, Kiel sipped his tea, savoring the warmth that spread through him. It was a small comfort, but one that hinted at the possibility of more. He wasn't alone. And that made all the difference.