Petals in the Dark

 The forest path narrowed as the sky began to darken. Shadows stretched across the ground, long and crooked, like they were trying to trip the group with every step.

Branches drooped low, swaying in a wind no one could feel.

Sora ducked under one and muttered, “Is it just me, or are these trees getting creepier?”

“It’s not just you,” Renji said, brushing a leaf off his shoulder. “Feels like they’re listening.”

“Listening trees,” Yita scoffed, though her voice was quieter than usual. “Great. Add that to the list.”

Kaito walked a few paces ahead, silent. He hadn’t said much all day. His steps were steady, but there was a heaviness to them. Like he was walking somewhere he didn’t want to go but had no choice.

Eventually, they stumbled into a clearing that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

A crooked wooden sign stood at the entrance, half-swallowed by vines and time. Yita moved closer, pulling the vines aside to read.

“‘Shrine of Lost Light,’” she read aloud, blinking. “That sounds... cheerful.”

“I don’t like it,” Haru said, eyeing the shrine beyond the sign. “It looks abandoned.”

“I think that’s the point,” Kaito said simply. “We’ll rest here tonight.”

He didn’t ask. He just started walking toward the shrine.

No one argued.

The shrine was barely standing. Its roof sagged like it was tired, and the walls were cracked, stained with moss and age. Still, it was dry, and they were too tired to be picky.

They laid out their bedrolls in what used to be the main prayer hall. Dust floated in the air like lazy fireflies, catching the light from the small fire Sora managed to build.

Kaito sat near the edge of the room, staring into the flames. The orange glow flickered across his face, casting strange shadows under his eyes.

Yita was the first to break the silence.

“So, what kind of shrine is this, anyway?”

“Old,” Renji said, inspecting the carvings on the walls. “Maybe forgotten?”

“It’s weird,” Haru added, pulling her coat tighter. “I’ve been to a lot of shrines. They usually feel… peaceful. This one feels like it’s hiding something.”

Kaito said nothing.

Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small glass vial. The liquid inside was no longer glowing the way it used to. It shimmered faintly more silver than starlight now. The curse was getting worse. He could feel it.

Not just in his body, but in his memories. Some days, it felt like pieces of his past were turning to mist, slipping through his fingers no matter how tightly he held on.

He opened a small notebook old, leather-bound, worn soft at the corners. Inside, the pages were filled with drawings, notes, and sketches of strange plants. One page had a flower circled over and over again, nearly cutting through the paper.

Auroria.

Below the sketch: “To lift the curse, the flower must bloom in the heart of trust.”

Kaito’s eyes lingered on that word: trust.

It sounded so simple.

But it was the hardest thing to fake.

He flipped to another page one filled with smaller sketches. Not of flowers, but of faces.

Sora. Yita. Renji. Haru.

Next to each name, short notes. Observations.

Sora – “Wants to believe in something. Anything.”

Yita – “Looks for logic. Struggles with the unexplainable.”

Renji – “Quiet. Distrustful. Still watching me.”

Haru – “Kind. Dangerous. She sees too much.”

He didn’t write those notes to be cruel. He wasn’t mocking them. He just… needed to understand them. All of them.

Because one of them would have to be the one.

The one he’d pass the curse to.

The one who trusted him enough to make the flower bloom.

And the one who would never see it coming.

Back at the fire, the others had started eating a cold meal of dried fruit and leftover rice. No one talked much. The silence was starting to stretch again.

Haru watched Kaito from across the room, her brow furrowed. He hadn’t touched his food.

“Kaito,” she said softly. “You alright?”

He looked up, blinking like she’d pulled him out of a deep thought. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot lately.”

He gave her a small smile. “Guess I’ve been tired a lot lately.”

Haru didn’t smile back. “You’ve changed.”

Kaito tilted his head. “Changed how?”

“You don’t look people in the eyes anymore. You’re always... somewhere else. Like your body’s here, but your thoughts are miles away.”

He looked down at his notebook, closed it gently, and tucked it away. “Maybe I’m just thinking too much.”

Haru didn’t push. But she didn’t look away, either.

That night, while the others slept, Kaito walked out into the mist.

He didn’t go far just to the edge of the shrine grounds. The moon above looked hazy, like it was hiding behind thin curtains. The trees loomed tall and twisted.

He sat down on a stone and let the silence settle.

In that silence, a thought rose. A memory, faint and sour.

Akura.

His voice, like smoke: “You can’t outrun what you’ve become.”

Kaito shut his eyes.

He didn’t want to remember the fight. The blood. The curse. But it always came back.

And now the flower inside him the Auroria was blooming. Slowly. Painfully.

But not in the way he’d hoped.

Every lie he told was supposed to push him closer to the cure.

But lately, it felt like the island was starting to listen. Like it was beginning to whisper his truths back at him.

And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending.

When he returned to the shrine, Haru was awake.

She sat near the fire, rubbing her hands for warmth. She didn’t look surprised to see him.

“You disappeared again,” she said.

“Just needed some air.”

She studied his face. “You always go off alone now.”

Kaito sat beside her, staring into the fire. “It’s easier that way.”

“Easier to hide?”

He glanced at her. Her eyes weren’t accusing. Just… tired. Like she already knew part of the truth, but didn’t want to say it out loud.

“Do you think people can change?” he asked.

She thought for a long time.

“Yeah. But not all at once. And not without a reason.”

He nodded slowly. “Good night, Haru.”

“Night, Kaito.”

In the morning, the fog was thicker than ever. The shrine looked even older in the pale light, like it had aged a hundred years overnight.

Renji found a carving on one of the stones near the entrance new, fresh.

He called the others over, pointing.

The words had been etched deep into the rock.

“One lie remains. And it walks with you.”

No one said anything at first.

Then Sora chuckled nervously. “Well, that’s comforting.”

Yita backed away. “That wasn’t there yesterday.”

Renji looked at Kaito. “Do you think… the shrine is watching us?”

Kaito didn’t answer.

Instead, he looked down at his palm. Just beneath the skin, hidden by the warmth of his flesh, he felt the Auroria pulsing like a second heartbeat.

And in the corner of his vision, something bloomed.

A tiny black petal peeked out from the soil beside his sleeping mat.

No one else saw it.

Not yet.

But the island did.

And the truth?

It was catching up.