Afterlight III : Where His Silence First Began

I always believed I was a good judge of people.

When I first met Kaito, he wasn’t smiling. Not really. He had that kind of face that looked calm even when his world was falling apart. A quiet calm. Dangerous, even. But I didn’t care.

I wanted to believe in something. In someone.

And Kaito… he looked like someone carrying something heavy. Like he needed someone to say, “I’ll carry it with you.”

So I did.

I followed him.

Even when I didn’t understand where we were going.

The first night after I joined him, it rained.

We had no shelter—just a tattered piece of cloth and a weak fire that kept dying every few minutes. Kaito didn’t talk much. Just stared at the flames like they were speaking secrets only he could hear.

I asked him why he was traveling.

He told me, “There’s a flower that only blooms when you're close to death. I want to find it.”

I laughed. Thought it was just a metaphor.

Now I know it wasn’t.

Now I know everything he said was true—just not in the way I thought.

There were signs. Tiny ones.

He never asked about our dreams. Never wondered what we wanted to do after the journey. Never made plans past the next shrine.

While the rest of us bonded over burnt meals, clumsy jokes, and awkward campfire songs, Kaito stayed quiet—smiling just enough to be trusted, but never enough to be questioned.

Still, I stayed by his side.

Maybe I didn’t want to see it.

Or maybe... I did.

There was a moment I still replay sometimes. A stupid one.

We were in a village, and some kids ran past us holding string kites. One crashed into Kaito’s head, and he just froze—dead serious, like he’d been attacked.

I laughed so hard I cried.

Kaito glared at me, then finally cracked the smallest, most reluctant smile.

It was real.

Just for a second.

And I told myself: See? He’s still human. He’s still here.

But maybe the real Kaito had already left long before that.

One night, I woke up before dawn. Everyone else was asleep.

I noticed Kaito standing alone by the lake.

He didn’t move for a long time. Just stared at the water like it held all the answers he couldn’t say out loud.

I got up and joined him, and we stood there in silence.

Finally, I asked, “What would you do if all of this ended tomorrow?”

He didn’t turn to me.

Just said, “Then maybe… I could finally rest.”

I didn’t understand then. But now I think I do.

Rest wasn’t peace.

Rest was escape.

The day before I died, something felt wrong.

Not with the weather. Not with the journey.

With him.

Kaito avoided eye contact more than usual. His hands trembled slightly when he passed me a water . He didn’t speak unless spoken to.

And when we all laughed around the fire that night, I saw him flinch.

Like our joy burned him.

Like our trust was a curse.

I remember the moment I was captured.

The ambush was fast. Too fast.

I was bleeding, cornered, watching the others from a distance as I was dragged away. I screamed for help—not because I was scared to die, but because I wanted him to save me.

Please, I thought. Just one more time, Kaito. Save me.

But he didn’t come.

I never saw his face.

Not until later, when I was dying.

They displayed my head like I was a trophy.

They called it a warning.

I remember the pain. The blood. The betrayal.

But more than anything… I remember the silence.

His silence.

He didn’t cry.

He didn’t rage.

He just stood there, staring at what was left of me, like something inside him had already turned to stone.

And now?

Now I don’t know where I am.

Maybe it’s a dream. Or maybe it’s just the last echo of a soul that refused to disappear.

Sometimes, I see them—Yita, Haru, Sora, Renji.

They don’t know what happened to me. Not really.

Their smiles feel like borrowed time.

And Kaito…

He still walks forward, doesn’t he?

Even now.

Even with all of us behind him.

I don’t hate him.

Strange, isn’t it?

He lied to us. Used us. Sacrificed everything we gave him willingly.

But I don’t hate him.

Because somewhere, deep down, I think he truly believed he had no other choice.

That his curse was the only thing that defined him.

That love wasn’t meant for people like him.

If I could speak to him now, just once more, I’d say this:

You were never alone, Kaito.

You just refused to see the hands reaching for you.

The wind feels different here.

Gentler.

Like forgiveness.

I wonder if the petals have bloomed yet.

I wonder if my flower stands tall in the Soul Garden—if it carries my memory, my voice, my silent plea.

I hope so.

Because even if he forgets us all…

Even if the world rewrites our story...

I’ll still wait.

Right here.

At the edge of the beginning.

Where our journey first bloomed.

And where his silence first began.