Akari spent most of her time buried in books, poring over every text she could find about Noor and its mysterious properties. Her sole focus was unraveling the enigma of her dual lives and the strange connection she shared with Kuro. Why was she always drawn to him, life after life? Why did their fates seem so intertwined? The answers eluded her, but she refused to give up. If Noor held the key, she would uncover it, no matter how long it took.
Akari's heart raced as the sense of something wrong with Kuro gnawed at her. At fifteen, she had been accompanying a delegation to a neighboring mountain tribe, when an overwhelming pang of fear and urgency struck her. Without a second thought, she teleported back to the kingdom, only to be met with chaos—fire engulfed the city, and shapeshifters wreaked havoc. The once bustling streets were eerily silent, with the echoes of screams filling the air.
The attack was brutal—almost the entire population had been either killed or taken hostage. Akari used her disappearing skill, blending into the shadows as she searched for Kuro and Arnold. Her heart skipped a beat when she found them, both battered and locked in a cage, barely conscious.
"Akari," Kuro whispered, his voice weak.
"Shh," Akari whispered urgently, scanning the area for any danger. Without hesitation, she gathered both boys into her arms, her Noor draining from the immense effort. With one swift movement, she teleported them to the mountains of the human kingdom, the strain of the large teleportation exhausting her more than usual.
She collapsed, breathing heavily, her vision blurry from the effort, but relief flooded her when she realized they were safe—for now.
Akari slowly opened her eyes, the coolness of a wet cloth gently pressing against her forehead. Her head felt heavy, the strain from teleporting taking its toll on her body. As her vision cleared, she saw Arnold kneeling beside her, concern etched on his face.
"Are you alright?" Arnold asked softly, his voice filled with genuine worry. He looked down at her, carefully adjusting the wet cloth on her head, his touch tender.
Akari blinked, trying to shake off the grogginess. "I... I'm fine," she said, her voice hoarse. "Just... overexerted myself with the teleportation." She sat up slowly, still feeling the exhaustion in her limbs. "Where's Kuro?"
"He's resting," Arnold replied, glancing toward where Kuro was lying a short distance away. "He's a bit worse off than you are, but he'll be fine. You got us out in time."
Akari sighed in relief, though her eyes lingered on Kuro, her mind racing with the events that had unfolded. "I should have gotten here sooner. I knew something was wrong."
"Don't blame yourself," Arnold said gently, taking her hand in his. "You did what you could. You got us out of there. That's what matters."
Akari gave a small nod, her expression softening. "I just... I wish I could have done more." She leaned back against a rock, her thoughts drifting. "So much happened so fast. I didn't even realize how bad it was until I saw the city in flames."
Arnold stayed quiet, but his grip on her hand tightened slightly, a silent understanding passing between them. He knew the weight of the situation wasn't lost on her. The attack had left them all shaken, but at least they had each other
Akari could feel the weight of Kuro's pain in his voice. He had been so quiet, so withdrawn since they escaped, and seeing him like this, broken and vulnerable, struck something deep inside her.
"Kuro, you must be surprised to see me teleport," Akari said, trying to break the tension, her voice soft yet carrying a hint of playfulness, as she attempted to lighten the mood. But Kuro didn't react as she had hoped. He simply sat there, his shoulders slumped, eyes distant, lost in the vast emptiness of his grief.
"Yeah, but it's okay. Life is like a surprise," Kuro muttered, his tone hollow, like he was trying to convince himself.
Akari's heart ached for him. She knew how much he had lost, how much he carried, and the isolation he felt. Despite everything, he kept it all locked inside, never letting anyone see the depth of his sorrow. Akari couldn't stand seeing him this way.
"You don't have to carry it alone," she said, her voice gentle but firm as she moved closer and wrapped her arms around him from behind. She held him tightly, as though offering him the stability and warmth he so desperately needed.
"You can take it out by crying," she continued, her voice softening even more, "You can even punch me if that makes you feel better. Just... be okay, Kuro."
For a long moment, Kuro didn't respond. His body trembled slightly in her embrace, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Akari felt him start to break. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders seemed to give way, his breath hitching in his chest. Then, without warning, Kuro turned around, wrapping his arms tightly around her, his face buried in her shoulder as he began to sob.
"I lost them, Akari," his voice cracked, the words breaking through the dam he had so desperately tried to keep intact. "I lost them all... my parents, my brother... my kingdom."
Akari could feel the hot tears staining her shoulder, the pain in his voice echoing in her own chest. She didn't say anything right away. She simply held him, letting him cry, letting him mourn the world he had lost.
"You didn't lose everything, Kuro," Akari whispered, her hands running through his hair as she tried to comfort him in the only way she knew how. "You still have me. You still have people who care about you. We'll rebuild, together."
But Kuro's sobs only grew louder, the weight of his loss too much for him to bear alone. Akari's heart broke for him, knowing there was nothing she could say to fix everything, but all she could offer was her presence, her warmth, and her quiet understanding.
After Kuro finally fell into a restless sleep, his sobs quieting down as exhaustion took over, Akari quietly slipped away. She knew the weight of grief, and even though Kuro's pain had overwhelmed her, she couldn't forget about Arnold. He, too, had lost everything—his home, his people, his life as he knew it.
She found him sitting near a corner of the small, dimly lit room, his face buried in his hands. The weight of his sorrow was apparent, and Akari's heart twisted as she approached him. He didn't need pity, but he needed someone—just as Kuro did.
"Arnold," she said softly, her voice a comforting presence in the silence. He looked up at her, his eyes red and swollen from crying, and she could see the vulnerability he tried so hard to hide. "I haven't told you before this, but I've lost many people too," she continued, her voice gentle yet filled with empathy. "I know how it feels, and I just want you to know that you don't have to carry it all alone."
Arnold didn't respond right away, but there was a brief flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, maybe gratitude, maybe a recognition that someone else understood. Akari took a seat beside him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"You have a shoulder to cry on," she said, her voice soft but steady. "And I'll be here for you, just like I am for Kuro. I know it's hard, but we don't have to face this darkness alone."
Arnold's gaze dropped, his emotions too raw to mask any longer. Slowly, almost tentatively, he leaned into her touch. The weight of his grief seemed to lift just a little as he allowed himself to feel the comfort she offered. There were no words needed between them. Akari understood—she knew the struggle of feeling alone in the world, and she wasn't going to let him shoulder it by himself.
She stayed by his side for as long as he needed, her presence a quiet, steady anchor in the storm of their lives.
As the days passed, the heavy silence between them slowly started to lift. The tension that had hung in the air since their escape began to ease, and they found themselves returning to something resembling normality—though it was a strained normal, at best.
One day, as Akari prepared a small meal by a campfire, Kuro's voice broke through the quiet, sharp and possessive as ever.
"Don't be too close to Arnold," he said, his eyes narrowing with a hint of irritation. It was a warning, and the way he said it made Akari feel the weight of his unspoken jealousy.
Akari raised an eyebrow, not intimidated. "And don't be too close to Kuro," Arnold chimed in, his tone almost teasing, but his eyes betraying a subtle defensiveness.
Kuro's glare could've cut through stone. "Don't feed him. He has hands," he shot back, gesturing toward Arnold, who was quietly preparing his own meal.
Arnold snorted in amusement, turning toward Kuro. "You, too, have two hands. Why don't you eat by yourself?"
Akari couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. She sat between them, her own meal set aside for a moment as the two boys bickered like children. They were still adjusting to the loss, to their new reality, but in these small moments, she could see the cracks in their hardened shells. Beneath all the pain, they were still the same Kuro and Arnold—stubborn, proud, and strangely entertaining.
"Both of you are impossible," she said with a grin, shaking her head. But deep down, she was grateful for these moments of lightness, the little reminders that they weren't lost to their grief entirely. They would heal, in their own time, and maybe—just maybe—they'd find a way to be whole again.