A Town Too Clean

By the time they reached Cross Town, something felt off.

The sky was still the same cloudy gray, the trees still whispered in the breeze, but the air itself something about it prickled. Not just cold, but eerie. The kind of chill that crawls up your neck like invisible fingers when you hear someone call your name, but no one’s there.

The town looked like it had been swallowed by silence. It sat wedged between cliffs and dense trees, quiet as a held breath. Fences crumbled at the edges, each post tied with red paper charms that fluttered gently. Whether they were meant to greet them… or warn them, no one could tell.

“It’s too quiet,” Sora muttered, hugging his coat closer.

Renji stepped over a cracked cobblestone, his brow tense. “Looks like a ghost town.”

“No,” Yita said, her voice low as she scanned the streets. “Ghost towns have dust. This place doesn’t.”

She was right. Not a speck. No broken dishes. No signs of decay. The windows were shut, doors perfectly closed, as if everyone had stepped out for a moment but never came back. The stillness didn’t feel abandoned it felt preserved.

Kaito lagged behind the group, his steps slower. Every corner, every mossy wall, it all stirred something inside him. Like a whisper of a memory he didn’t remember making. A strange, creeping familiarity curled around his chest. And it didn’t feel good.

They gathered in the town square, where a dry fountain stood under a lazy curtain of vines. An old phrase was carved along its edge:

“Truth begets ruin. Lies are its chains.”

Haru tilted her head, frowning. “Well, that’s not ominous at all.”

Sora circled the fountain slowly. “This place… it feels fake. Like it’s pretending to be empty, but it’s not.”

Kaito’s heart gave a small jolt. That phrase he’d heard it before. Somewhere far away. Somewhere dark. A voice maybe? Old and familiar.

Akura’s voice?

No. He shook it off.

They chose a building near the square to stay the night. It looked like an old inn, though the sign had fallen off and the wood was weathered. But the inside? Immaculate. Beds made, sheets clean, not a single cobweb in sight. No mold, no rot. Just stillness. Cold, unmoving stillness.

“This is way too clean,” Renji muttered as he peeked into rooms. “No one’s here. But… it doesn’t feel empty either.”

Haru found a half-melted candle on a windowsill. “Someone used this. Recently.”

Kaito sat on a bed, pulling a small glass vial from his pocket. The shimmering liquid inside had started to dim. His curse was growing stronger he could feel it. Like a cold hand slowly wrapping around his soul, squeezing tighter every day.

He flipped open his old notebook. A half-sketched drawing of Akura stared back at him, surrounded by scribbled thoughts, arrows, and one word circled again and again:

Sakio.

He stared at it for a long time, jaw tight.

“You okay?” a voice asked gently.

Kaito turned. Haru stood at the door, arms crossed casually but her eyes filled with quiet concern.

“Yeah. Just thinking,” he lied, forcing a small smile.

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” she said, walking over.

He closed the notebook. “Do you think people can change?”

Haru looked surprised, then shrugged. “I think they try. But even when they do… the past doesn’t forget.”

Kaito let out a soft chuckle. “You sound like someone who’s been through a lot.”

“Maybe I have.” She sat beside him. No more words. Just silence and shared breath.

That night, no one slept well. Even under clean sheets, the beds felt wrong. The wind against the shutters carried a voice that didn’t quite speak but was definitely saying something.

To Kaito, it said: Time’s running out.

By morning, everything was worse.

The air was thicker, like breathing through fog. The colors around them dulled, like someone had turned down the world’s brightness. Even the birds had gone silent.

Renji swore he saw someone moving behind a curtain, but when he checked, there was no one. Yita found strange symbols etched into the stones of the town square some old and faded, others freshly carved. They hadn’t been there the night before.

And then, the carving on the fountain had changed.

“One lie remains. And it is you.”

Yita backed away, eyes wide. “No. Nope. That was not there yesterday.”

She sprinted to find the others. Her pulse thundered. They weren’t alone. Someone -something was watching.

Later that day, Sora made a discovery.

A library.

Except… it hadn’t been there before. Not yesterday. Not even that morning. Just a blank wall where now stood a tall, mossy building with double doors. No sign. No explanation.

“Guys!” he called out. “You need to see this.”

Inside, dust swirled through shafts of dim light. Tall shelves pressed against the walls, packed with ancient books. The air was thick with age and secrets.

Sora flipped through one of the books, his fingers trembling slightly. The pages were filled with symbols, rituals, and myths. Then he stopped. A hand-drawn image. A glowing flower.

The Auroria.

Beneath it, a phrase:

“To undo a curse, one must pass it to someone they trust.”

He stared at the words.

“That’s not a cure,” he whispered. “That’s… betrayal.”

He slammed the book shut, heart pounding.

By evening, the group stood at the edge of a forest behind the town. The trees looked older than anything they’d seen before twisted, tall, like they’d been growing for centuries without sunlight.

“We have to go in,” Kaito said, his voice low but firm.

“Why?” Haru asked, frowning.

Kaito looked at her. “Because something’s waiting. And if we don’t face it, it’ll come for us anyway.”

One by one, they stepped into the forest.

The moment they did, the world changed.

The trees leaned too close. The air was heavier, darker. No birds. No breeze. Only their footsteps and the sound of their own hearts.

Then it started.

Yita vanished into the mist.

Renji followed. Then Sora.

Kaito grabbed Haru’s hand but she was pulled away too.

And suddenly, he was alone.

Or so he thought.

A figure stood at the edge of a small clearing. Shadowed, still. Not fully real but not a dream either.

“Akura?”

The name fell from Kaito’s lips like a secret.

The figure nodded, but his eyes weren’t kind. They held sorrow. Judgment. Memory.

“You brought them here,” the echo said. “You always knew this would happen.”

Kaito took a step back. “You’re not real.”

The figure smiled, sadly. “Neither are the lies you tell yourself.”

Memories crashed into Kaito like waves blood, screaming, the smell of fire. Akura’s final words.

“You cursed me,” Kaito whispered, trembling.

“No,” the memory replied. “You cursed yourself.”

The Auroria inside Kaito burned ice cold.

“You wanted power. You wanted to be free. And now look what it’s cost.”

The figure faded.

Kaito dropped to his knees, gasping.

And then voices.

Footsteps.

The others emerged from the mist, dazed but unharmed.

Haru knelt beside him. “Kaito? Are you alright?”

He didn’t answer. He looked at the Auroria flower in his hand.

It had changed.

Its petals were no longer glowing.

They were black.

Not from death but from truth.

The forest had shown him something. Something he’d buried so deep, even he had forgotten.

Now, it was rising.

They walked back to the town without speaking. The silence between them felt different now. Thicker. Heavy with things unsaid.

Kaito trailed behind.

And for the first time… he felt the weight of his own plan. Not just the steps, but the consequences. Not just the goal—but the faces of those who trusted him.

The curse still burned inside him. The flower still wilted in his hand.

And he knew:

There was no turning back now.

Not for any of them.

Not even for him.