Afterlight II : We Drew Flowers in Ashes

 The sky that day had no clouds—just an endless stretch of pale blue, like a canvas yet to be stained by regret.

Kaito sat near the edge of a hill, a lone figure wrapped in a black coat, staring out at the empty world before the journey began. The grass below him bent slightly in the wind, whispering secrets only the cursed could hear. He didn’t listen.

He was holding something in his hands.

A map, wrinkled and hand-drawn, ink bleeding at the corners. Not of the island. Not of any place real. It was the journey he’d sketched out weeks ago—complete with names, locations, shrines, and the final spot marked with a small symbol: a flower with a black center.

This was the plan.

This was where it would all start.

And end.

His eyes flicked down to a name scrawled at the bottom—Renji.

The second recruit.

It wasn’t long after Sakio joined him that Kaito found Renji.

A town split by fog and lit by oil lanterns. The streets were muddy, the people quiet. Cursed ones weren’t welcome there, but Renji had never cared about being welcomed.

Kaito found him standing atop a crumbled wall, sword resting on his shoulder, watching two thugs threaten a child over a spilled basket of fruit.

He didn't wait.

Renji dropped down like a shadow and drew his blade with a flourish so exaggerated it looked like a dance. In a blur, he disarmed one, disarmed the other, and returned the fruit to the crying child like it was just another performance.

That was Renji.

A hero for hire.

A blade looking for a story to belong to.

Kaito had approached him after the scene, carefully cloaking his smile in gratitude.

“You fight well,” Kaito had said.

Renji grinned. “I charge per compliment.”

“I’m forming a group. There’s something I need to find. Something… ancient.”

Renji didn’t ask for details. He just smirked, twirled his sword, and said, “Do I get to look cool doing it?”

And just like that, he was in.

Kaito hadn’t expected it to be so easy.

But then again, most people who wore loud confidence did so to hide their quiet desperation.

Back in the present, Kaito folded the map and slipped it into his coat. The hill overlooked a quiet glade—a place they once rested, long before the Soul Garden, long before the betrayals.

He remembered how Renji and Sora had argued over the best way to cook dried fish. How Haru had accidentally used cursed firewood that screamed when it burned. How Yita drew them all without asking, and how Sakio had stolen Kaito’s shoes and tied them to a tree just to make him laugh.

He remembered… and hated that he remembered.

Because it was never meant to be real.

The bonds, the laughter, the memories—they were all tools. Temporary illusions.

He told himself that again and again.

But sometimes, illusions grow roots.

Kaito reached into his bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper—worn and frayed. It was a note, written in crooked letters with too much ink.

“Hey dumb leader, you better not cry when we all die for you. You’re alright. Maybe. - Renji”

He’d written it on the back of a food wrapper during their third campfire together. Thrown it at Kaito as a joke. The others had laughed. Even Kaito had forced a chuckle.

Now, his hands trembled slightly as he held it.

He read it once.

Twice.

Then let the wind take it.

The paper drifted up, caught in the warm air, and vanished like it had never existed.

Just like them.

Just like they would.

He remembered something else too—something he’d buried deep.

A night before the journey began. When only Sakio was by his side.

They sat near a pond, fireflies circling them lazily, and Sakio had said:

“You know, Kaito… I don’t care what this curse does to me. As long as we’re together, I’ll take that risk.”

Kaito had looked away, guilt biting the inside of his cheek.

“Don’t say that,” he’d whispered.

“Why not?”

“Because… I might take you up on it.”

Sakio had smiled. “Then I’ll smile too, even when you do.”

The present felt heavier than it should have.

Kaito stood now, brushing the grass off his clothes, and looked down at the empty glade once more.

He thought of the others.

Sora, always hiding sweets in his pockets and pretending he wasn’t crying when he clearly was.

Yita, who sketched people when they weren’t looking, then claimed she only drew mountains.

Haru, who always pretended she hated mornings, yet somehow woke up before everyone else just to make breakfast.

Renji, who said he wanted to be remembered as a “cool warrior,” but always acted like a fool just to make others laugh.

Sakio, who never gave up on him.

Even when he should have.

A rustle behind him made Kaito turn.

Nothing.

Just the wind again.

And yet… it felt like someone was there.

He turned back to the glade, eyes narrowing. For a brief second, he imagined them all sitting by the fire again—laughing, bickering, pretending everything wasn’t falling apart.

A ghost of a memory.

Or a hallucination.

Either way, it was gone the next moment.

He placed a hand on his chest.

The curse was gone, but something else remained.

Something heavier.

A weight not bound by magic or blood—but by choice.

He had chosen this.

He had written the first line of the story and sealed the last page in petals.

The wind grew stronger.

Leaves swirled. The sky began to darken slightly—storm clouds forming in the distance.

It was time to move on.

But before he did, Kaito knelt in the glade and pressed his hand to the earth.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For pretending I was someone worth following.”

He stood up, wiped his eyes without looking surprised, and walked into the trees, his figure

 slowly swallowed by the shadows.

The map stayed folded in his coat.

The journey had ended long ago.

But his memories still wandered, lost in the spaces before the beginning.