The Garden of Silence

The silence in the Soul Garden was not peaceful—it was heavy. It pressed against Kaito’s chest like invisible hands, tightening with every breath. The altar ahead shimmered faintly, its surface etched with symbols that pulsed like heartbeats. Something ancient stirred beneath it, something waiting. But Kaito didn’t move toward it just yet. His footsteps were hesitant, slow, like his body remembered pain even if his mind tried to suppress it.

He stood at the threshold, staring at the altar that could free him. The curse. The years of torment. The blood on his hands. All of it could end here. And yet, for the first time, he hesitated—not because of doubt in the ritual, but because of the faces behind him.

Sora, Renji, Yita, Haru… and Sakio.

Each of them had followed him with unwavering trust. Each had fought beside him, laughed with him, believed in him. Even after the cracks began to show—even after he faltered—none of them turned away.

And that was what made this unbearable.

His eyes drifted to Sakio. Her eyes weren’t filled with suspicion or fear. Only concern. Only care. That ribbon still sat tied to her wrist, frayed from time and weather, but unbroken.

It was the ribbon Kaito had given her when they first set out—a childish gift, meant to symbolize unity. He never expected her to hold onto it. Never expected it to mean anything.

But now, seeing it there, his throat closed up.

“You’re shaking,” she said softly.

Kaito didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

“You’ve been distant ever since we entered the Soul Garden,” she continued. “We all noticed. Even if the others won’t say it, I will. What are you hiding?”

Her voice wasn’t accusing. It was filled with a strange, heartbreaking softness. Like she already knew the answer… and was begging him not to say it.

He turned away, unable to meet her eyes.

“I need to do this alone,” he said.

“No,” she replied immediately. “You don’t.”

“I do.”

“Kaito, please.”

Her hand reached for his.

His fingers twitched—but he didn’t take it.

Instead, he stepped forward.

The altar brightened, recognizing his presence. The light formed a circle around him, glowing brighter with each second. It was beginning.

Behind him, the others began to speak.

“Kaito?” Sora’s voice held worry. “What are you doing?”

Yita stepped closer, her eyes narrowed. “You said we’d end the curse together. Why are you stepping into the center alone?”

“Because,” Kaito said slowly, “it only takes one offering.”

Their silence was immediate.

Then: “Offering?” Haru’s voice was a whisper. “What do you mean… offering?”

Renji stepped forward. His hand moved to his sword hilt.

“You lied to us.”

“No,” Kaito said. “I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell the whole truth.”

Yita’s hands clenched. “That’s the same thing, Kaito.”

Sora looked at him like a stranger. “You brought us here to sacrifice us, didn’t you?”

Kaito closed his eyes. “The curse only breaks when deep trust is severed by betrayal. That’s the rule. That’s how Akura designed it.”

“Akura’s dead!” Renji shouted.

“But his curse isn’t,” Kaito growled. “I’ve carried this weight for years. I tried to find another way. I did. But every path leads back here. Back to this garden. Back to this choice.”

Sakio stepped closer. Her hand was still outstretched.

“You could’ve told us,” she said, voice trembling. “We would’ve tried to help you.”

“You wouldn’t have come,” he said. “You would’ve left. I couldn’t risk that.”

She took another step. “Then let me stay. Let us stay. Don’t do this alone. Don’t become like him.”

Her words cut deep. He staggered.

“I already have.”

The altar pulsed.

The petals began to fall.

Soft. White. Whispering.

The others looked around, alarmed. Sora reached for her blade. Haru began to chant. Renji drew his sword.

But nothing stopped the petals.

They drifted like snow. Silent. Gentle. And yet each one held the weight of Kaito’s betrayal.

Yita’s legs rooted first. She gasped, looking down. “What is this?”

Sora staggered. “I can’t move!”

Renji swung wildly. “You bastard!”

Kaito turned. Watched them struggle. Watched them hurt.

His heart screamed, but his face stayed still.

Only Sakio didn’t fight.

She walked through the falling petals, unaffected.

“Kaito,” she said.

He looked at her. And in her eyes, he saw everything—grief, betrayal, compassion. Even now, even after all this, she still reached for him.

Her hand touched his cheek.

“I forgive you,” she whispered.

“No,” he said, tears breaking free. “Don’t.”

She smiled sadly. “Too late.”

Light surrounded them.

The altar sang. A low, mournful note.

The curse was nearly complete.

Kaito took a step back.

Sakio remained.

The petals touched her last.

She didn’t scream. Didn’t cry.

She closed her eyes.

And disappeared.

In her place, a small white bud grew.

The others followed.

Renji fought until the end. His sword clanged to the stone. His flower bloomed red.

Sora’s last words were a curse and a plea. Her bloom spun like a galaxy.

Yita knelt in silence. Her bloom was gold and calm.

Haru sang until her voice cracked. Her bloom shimmered like frost.

And Sakio’s…

Pure white. Closed. Silent.

Kaito collapsed.

His chest no longer burned.

The curse was gone.

But the price…

The price was everything.

He knelt among the buds.

Wept.

And whispered their names, over and over, like a prayer that could never be answered.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

The wind moved through the garden.

The petals rustled.

But no one answered.

Only the blooms remained.

Silent.

Beautiful.

And dead.