Afterlight I : The Night We Almost Stayed

The sky had begun to dim by the time Kaito and Sakio arrived at the island’s edge. The boat rocked gently against the wooden pier, waves brushing the shore with a lazy rhythm. Above them, the clouds glowed faint orange—sunset smeared across the horizon like a memory that refused to fade.

“This place is…” Sakio paused, tilting her head. “Kinda creepy, actually.”

Kaito let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah. But peaceful too.”

There was something otherworldly about the island. Not just its stillness—but the way sound seemed to fade the moment they stepped onto land, like the trees themselves were holding their breath. They were here. At last.

The two stepped off the boat, their boots crunching against the gravel path that led into the forest. They’d been traveling for days, searching for this place. It wasn’t marked on any map. Locals only whispered about it. And yet here they were—drawn by fate, or maybe something darker.

Kaito carried the old map in his coat pocket, its edges worn and stained. He didn’t need to look at it anymore. He’d memorized every detail. Every line. Every warning.

“Are you sure we should camp here?” Sakio asked, scanning the trees. “What if it’s cursed?”

Kaito smirked. “It is cursed. That’s why we’re here.”

“Right,” Sakio muttered, giving the forest another wary glance. “Almost forgot we’re out of our minds.”

They walked in silence after that, the forest swallowing their footsteps. Shadows stretched long between the trunks. The deeper they went, the colder the air felt, as though the island exhaled something ancient and watching. The trees stood like silent sentinels, twisted in unnatural shapes, some with bark that peeled like old skin. A low mist hung near the roots, as if trying to crawl its way into their boots.

Eventually, they reached a clearing.

The ground was soft with moss, and the moon had begun to rise above the treetops, casting a pale silver light across the ruined shrine that sat at the center. A cluster of stones surrounded a half-buried structure, its shape vaguely serpentine, curling in a protective loop. Broken pillars lay like fallen soldiers, vines curling around their necks.

“This spot’s good,” Kaito said, dropping his bag.

Sakio followed, though she kept glancing at the trees. “If something eats us in our sleep, I’m blaming you.”

Kaito knelt and began unpacking. “Just make sure you scream first so I can run.”

They set up a simple camp—a small fire, a pair of mats, and their bags stacked beside the shrine stones. As the fire crackled to life, it pushed back the mist, casting long flickering shadows across the shrine’s stone face.

Dinner was quiet. Dried jerky, stale bread, a few apples. The firelight danced on their faces, warm and orange, fighting back the cold creeping in with the night.

“You know,” Sakio said after a while, chewing slowly, “this might be the quietest place I’ve ever been.”

Kaito poked the fire with a stick, watching the embers swirl. “It’s the kind of quiet that makes you wonder if something’s listening.”

Sakio let out a short laugh but didn’t argue.

Eventually, she lay back, arms folded behind her head. “You really think this island can cure your curse?”

Kaito stared into the flames. “I don’t just think. I know.”

Sakio rolled onto his side, propping up on one elbow. “And this ritual thing? You never really explained it.”

Kaito’s hand twitched slightly. He kept his voice even. “There’s a flower. Deep in the island. It only blooms when certain conditions are met.”

“Like?”

“Trust,” Kaito said. “Sacrifice. Truth. Lies.”

Sakio blinked. “That’s vague.”

“It’s ancient magic,” Kaito replied. “It doesn’t follow our logic.”

Sakio fell silent again, her face thoughtful in the firelight.

Then, softly, she said, “I trust you, you know.”

Kaito didn’t respond right away.

He looked at Sakio—really looked at her. His closest friend. The one who joined him without asking why. The one who made him laugh during storms, who shared his rations without hesitation, who looked at the world like it still had something good to offer.

The one who once made Kaito question if he could really go through with his plan.

For a heartbeat, he wanted to say I trust you too.

But that would be a lie.

And this island didn’t take kindly to those.

Instead, he said, “I know.”

They lay in silence after that, the fire slowly dying down to glowing embers. Crickets began their nightly chorus, and the wind whispered through the trees like an old ghost.

As Kaito stared up at the stars, he thought of the shrine hidden deep within the forest. Of the ritual he would one day perform. Of the lives he would take. The bonds he would break. The guilt he buried deeper each day.

And of Sakio, lying just a few feet away.

He wondered, briefly, if things could’ve been different.

If he’d met Sakio under other circumstances.

If they’d just been travelers, chasing stories and sunsets, instead of walking toward an inevitable end.

But the curse pulsed faintly beneath his skin, like a second heartbeat.

There was no turning back.

Not now.

Not ever.

In the middle of the night, Kaito woke to the sound of rustling leaves.

He sat up, breath catching in his throat.

Sakio was gone.

The fire was cold now, nothing but gray ash and a faint trail of smoke. Panic crept up his spine—not because he feared for Sakio’s safety, but because this island was alive. And it noticed things.

He grabbed his lantern and stood, heart pounding louder than it should have. The forest around him looked different under moonlight, sharper somehow. More real.

“Sakio?” he called softly.

No answer.

He moved quickly, boots barely making sound on the moss-covered ground. Trees pressed in on either side like walls. The lantern cast long shadows that moved in strange ways, like they didn’t belong to anything.

Then he saw him.

Sakio stood near the edge of another clearing, staring at something that shimmered beneath the moonlight.

Kaito slowed, his chest tight.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked.

Sakio didn’t look back. “I found something.”

Kaito stepped closer—and froze.

A massive stone gate rose before them, overgrown and cracked, half-swallowed by earth and vines. Symbols glowed faintly along its surface, pulsing gently like veins beneath skin.

The entrance to the Soul Garden.

Even now, it radiated power. Ancient. Sacred. Terrible.

Sakio’s voice was soft. “I felt like something was calling me.”

Kaito’s grip on the lantern tightened. “This is it,” he whispered. “This is where everything begins.”

Sakio turned, confused. “What?”

Kaito smiled—but the warmth never reached his eyes.

“Nothing,” he said. “Come on. We should get back before the fire completely dies.”

Sakio hesitated but nodded. “Yeah… okay.”

As they walked back through the trees, Kaito looked back—one last glance at the gate.

He felt it watching him.

Welcoming him.

The island knew what he had come to do.

And it approved.