The Weight of Memory

The island was too quiet.

No birdsong. No breeze. Just the sound of boots on damp dirt and the occasional creak of old trees bending under a weight that wasn’t wind.

Kaito led the way now not because he wanted to, but because the others expected it. Somehow, over the past few days, they'd started looking to him for answers. He didn’t offer many, but he never hesitated, and in this place, that was enough.

They were heading toward the heart of the island.

To the tree.

Everyone had heard about it. Locals called it the Mourning Tree, a massive, ancient thing that grew from a mountain crack and stretched into the sky like it wanted to escape. The Auroria flower was said to bloom near its roots—if it bloomed at all.

But no one who went there ever came back the same.

They arrived at the base just before sunset. The tree towered above them, wider than a house, its bark blackened and split with crimson veins that pulsed faintly in the low light. A strange hum filled the air soft, like a lullaby meant to calm a crying child, or sedate a dying one.

“Whoa…” Renji breathed. “This feels like a boss arena.”

Sora elbowed him. “Don’t say that. You’ll curse us.”

Yita stepped forward, brushing her fingers along the bark. “It’s warm.”

Kaito said nothing. He could feel it too—more than warmth. The tree knew them. Knew their memories. Their guilt. Their truths.

And it knew his secret.

He stepped forward. With each step, the whispers in his head got louder.

Almost there.

Not much time.

Just one more choice.

“Look,” Haru said suddenly, pointing to a hollow in the roots.

Nestled in the curve of the tree, surrounded by delicate white petals and trailing vines, was a single glowing bloom.

The Auroria flower.

It looked… alive. Not just swaying with the wind but breathing. Its petals shimmered with faint blue light, and when Haru reached for it, it recoiled ever so slightly.

Sora blinked. “It moved.”

“It’s reacting,” Yita said, voice hushed. “Like it senses us.”

Renji frowned. “So do we take it? Or do we… wait?”

No one answered.

Instead, they all turned to Kaito.

And that’s when he realized this was it. The moment the island had been building toward.

They trusted him.

All of them.

Even after everything the betrayals, the lies, the half-truths that weren’t quite harmless—they still followed him. Still waited for his word.

He could end it now. Take the flower. Use the ritual.

But the curse inside him pulsed angrily. It wasn’t ready.

Not yet.

He needed one more thing.

A sacrifice.

That night, they set up camp near the tree. No one dared sleep at its base. The ground was too alive, like it might open up and swallow them if they closed their eyes.

Haru kept the fire burning. Renji sharpened his blade with nervous hands. Yita sketched the flower with frightening precision. Sora told a story about a dream he had where they all lived happily on a beach, drinking juice from coconuts.

Everyone laughed. Even Kaito.

It felt real.

Too real.

Which made it easier for him to hide what came next.

He woke before dawn.

The others still slept, their breath rising in soft clouds in the chill. Kaito moved silently, stepping over scattered gear and empty mugs.

He walked back to the tree.

The flower still glowed, dimmer now. Its petals had curled in like a sleeping cat.

He knelt beside it.

“I’m ready,” he whispered.

The ground shifted.

Behind him, someone stepped forward.

“I knew it was you,” Haru said softly.

Kaito didn’t flinch.

She was holding something in her hands a thin chain, glittering in the early light.

“You’ve been leading us here this whole time,” she said. “Not for the flower. For you.”

Kaito stood. “You’re wrong.”

“No. I’m not.”

He turned to face her. “Even if I were, what would you do?”

Haru looked at him for a long time. Not angry. Not afraid.

Just… sad.

“You were our friend.”

Kaito smiled faintly. “I never was.”

She took a step closer. “But you pretended so well.”

“Because I had to.”

“Liar.”

He looked away. “Yeah.”

She held out the chain. It was the one Sakio used to wear twisted and rusted from age, but still whole.

“I found this near the southern cliffs,” she said. “Where she died.”

Kaito froze.

Haru’s voice trembled. “Did you love her?”

Silence.

Then, a whisper. “I think I did.”

Her voice cracked. “Then why?”

Kaito looked up, eyes empty. “Because love didn’t save her. And it won’t save you.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t run.

She just stood there and wept.

Kaito raised his hand.

The curse burned down his arm. Black veins lit up like wildfire.

But he didn’t strike her.

Not yet.

“Go,” he said instead.

Haru blinked through tears.

“Run back to the others. Don’t come near me again.”

She hesitated. “You’ll finish it without us?”

“I always planned to.”

And she ran.

Later, at sunrise, the others woke to find Haru sitting near the cold fire, holding the chain in her hand.

Her eyes were hollow.

“What happened?” Sora asked.

“Kaito’s gone,” she said. “He took the flower.”

Renji stood. “What?!”

Yita stared at her. “Why didn’t he wake us?”

“Because he was never really with us.”

The weight of that silence nearly crushed them.

But deep in the forest, beneath the Mourning Tree, Kaito stood alone.

The flower bloomed once more in his palm, warm and pulsing.

And the curse whispered in his ear.

It’s time.

He looked up at the sky.

“Sakio,” he said softly, “I’ll end it for both of us.”

And behind him, something moved in the roots.

Something old.

Something hungry.

The final stage had begun.