The Ribbon Never Let Go

 The rain didn’t fall.

It just… hung in the air.

Gray mist rolled over the ruined village like an old memory that refused to leave. Everything was wet, but no drops ever landed. The world felt paused. Off-kilter. Like something was waiting for someone to say the wrong thing.

And Kaito?

He was already saying it—inside his head.

He sat alone by the shattered window of the inn, staring out at the fog. His hands trembled slightly in his lap, though his face stayed still. Unmoving. Calm, like a mask carved from stone.

No one saw the flicker behind his eyes.

No one saw the ghosts dancing behind his silence.

Not even when Yita called out, “Breakfast, everyone!” in that chipper voice that didn’t quite reach her eyes anymore.

They gathered around the rickety old table—Sora, Renji, Haru, Yita. Kaito joined them last, slow and careful, as if his presence might break something fragile.

Because it might.

“Rations are almost gone,” Renji said, biting into a dried strip of meat with zero enthusiasm. “We’ll have to hunt today.”

“Again,” Sora muttered, chewing on something that looked vaguely like bread and tasted like wood.

Yita nodded. “We can head toward the ravine. I saw deer tracks there yesterday.”

“I’ll go,” Haru said quietly. “Need some air.”

“I’ll join,” Renji offered. “We’ll move fast.”

They started planning. Talking routes. Strategies. Landmarks to avoid.

But Kaito?

He wasn’t listening.

His mind had slipped—backward, to a different morning.

One without fog. Without panic.

One with Sakio.

He remembered the way Sakio used to whistle when she cooked—badly. Off-key, tuneless. He didn’t care. Said it kept the shadows away.

He remembered how Sakio laughed, even when she was scared. Said fear didn’t deserve silence.

And he remembered clearer than anything the night he told Sakio the truth.

Only part of it.

Not the full curse. Not the betrayal. Not the ending he was planning.

Just enough to make Sakio stop smiling.

They had sat near the waterfall shrine, moonlight on their faces, and Kaito had said, “There’s something wrong with me.”

Sakio didn’t flinch. Didn’t run.

Instead, she had said, “Then let me help you fix it.”

Kaito almost cried that night.

He almost gave up everything.

Almost.

But then…

They came.

The group. The cursed ones hiding behind suits and rituals and bloodstained money. They came in the night, dragged Sakio into the open like a warning to the others.

Kaito had run to her too late.

There was no time to fight, no time to save her. Only enough time to see.

To watch.

To burn the image into his soul.

Sakio’s head, hung from a shrine gate, mouth still curved in a half-smile like she was trying to comfort Kaito one last time.

And Kaito…?

He snapped.

That was the night he stopped pretending to be the hero.

That was the night he chose the curse.

“Kaito?”

Yita’s voice pulled him back to now.

He blinked. The fog hadn’t lifted.

“Hm?”

“You okay?” she asked softly, tilting her head. “You look pale.”

He forced a smile. “Didn’t sleep well.”

Haru’s eyes flicked toward him, sharp and unreadable. Sora paused mid-bite, watching him too.

They were noticing more.

Too much.

Later that day, while the others were out scouting, Kaito wandered alone through the ruins of Cross. The wind was stronger now, tugging at his coat, whispering through cracked windows and broken doors like a voice he didn’t want to remember.

He ended up in the old schoolhouse. Dusty, silent, filled with rusted desks and scribbled notes on the wall in a language long dead.

He stood there, surrounded by forgotten lessons, and pulled out the thing he always carried.

Sakio’s ribbon.

Just a plain strip of blue cloth, frayed at the edges.

The last thing he had touched.

The last thing Kaito had saved.

He held it tight, squeezing until his knuckles turned white.

“If I had turned back,” he whispered, “would you still be alive?”

Silence.

The island didn’t answer. It never did.

But the curse… the curse pulsed inside him like a heartbeat that didn’t belong. And in the silence, he could almost hear Sakio’s voice again.

“Don’t forget who you are.”

Too late for that.

He’d buried himself with Sakio.

All that was left now was the plan.

Night came fast—too fast.

The scouting teams returned with little to report. Some old bones near the ravine. Strange scratches on a tree. Tracks that ended suddenly like something had lifted straight off the ground.

“Kaito,” Haru said later that night as they all sat by the fire, “do you ever… hear things?”

He didn’t look up. “What kind of things?”

“Voices,” she said. “Memories that aren’t yours. Dreams that bleed into real life.”

Yita shifted. “I’ve been dreaming of places I’ve never been.”

“Same,” said Sora. “I saw a version of this town… but it was alive. Lit up. Full of people.”

Renji rubbed his face. “This island messes with us. It wants something.”

Kaito’s voice was steady. “Maybe it wants us to remember.”

Everyone looked at him.

He didn’t explain.

Didn’t need to.

Because somewhere deep down, they all knew this journey wasn’t about finding a flower anymore.

It was about facing the truth.

Even if it killed them.

That night, Kaito wandered again.

Back to the old shrine, where wind scratched the wood like claws.

This time, the man wasn’t waiting.

Only the stone altar stood, cracked and dusted with ash.

Kaito approached it slowly, placing the blue ribbon down like an offering.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

The wind roared. The candles blew out.

And the shrine doors creaked open on their own.

Behind them… darkness.

A voice echoed from within—not the silver-eyed man.

This time, it was Sakio.

“You chose this.”

Kaito stepped back, heart pounding.

“No,” he whispered. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always did.”

He dropped to his knees, breath catching in his throat.

He wanted to scream.

Instead, he wept.

For Sakio.

For himself.

For the boy he used to be, before curses, before lies, before blood painted the sea.

But even as he cried, the curse inside him pulsed again.

Slow.

Steady.

Almost ready.

Back at the inn, Haru stood at the window, watching the trees.

She felt something tonight.

A shift.

Like the island had finally opened its eyes.

And in her dreams, she saw it again—

The silver-eyed man.

The white flowers.

The circle of stones where someone would kneel, and someone else would bleed.

And Kaito.

Always Kaito.

Standing in the center.

Alone.

Waiting.