The Archivists

The road ahead was cracked, overgrown, and littered with the bones of a world long lost. But for the first time in a while, the four walked together. They were silent at first, then bust out into rhythm like musicians learning a song.

The wind swept dry leaves across the asphalt. Clouds moved lazily above, casting long shadows. And yet, beneath the decay, there was something alive in their steps.

Yume kept close to Asahi.

Not out of fear, but comfort.

She didn’t say much. Sometimes she didn’t need to. Her glances, the way her hand brushed his sleeve, the moments she leaned slightly into him as they walked – those spoke more than words could ever do.

At night, when they camped beneath the stars, Asahi would light the fire, sit back, and tell ridiculous stories – ones that bent truth until it snapped.

“Did I ever tell you about how I once outran a collapsing skyscraper?” he grinned.

Ren giggled and clapped, always the first to believe.

Haruto sat apart, arms cross. But when Ren tugged at his sleeve, trying to pull him into their little circle, Haruto didn’t resist as much. Once, he even cracked a dry smile at Asahi’s story. Yume noticed it but didn’t say anything.

Forgiveness wasn’t there.

But something was.

Maybe time. Maybe tolerance.

Asahi caught Haruto alone once, just after dinner.

“You’re still angry,” he said quietly.

Haruto didn’t look up. “I’m not pretending otherwise.”

“She’s changed.”

“She broke everything. Everything he had.”

“I know,” Asahi said. “But if you don’t let go of the fire, it’ll burn you too.”

Haruto finally met his eyes. “I’m still… not ready.”

And that was enough for now.

They reached the foot of a mountain three days after.

It loomed over them like a monument to forgotten gods. Yume slowed as they approached a narrow ravine and pressed her hand to the cliff wall.

“There,” she whispered.

At first, it looked like stone, but when she traced her finger along the cracks, a section of the rock shimmered faintly before sliding aside, revealing a narrow, downward-sloping tunnel carved directly into the mountain.

Thy stepped into the dark.

What waited inside wasn’t a bunker, but a dungeon of sorts. It was full of stone arches, flickering lamps and walls covered in strange, forgotten writing. Long hallways split into countless corridors. And yet… silence reigned.

Then came a sound. It was distant, raw. A struggle.

Screams echoed through the stone, followed by a loud crash.

Then a voice.

“Get up, you useless cowards.”

Haruto and Asahi froze.

That voice…

Another voice cackled, followed by something far more sickening.

“If I could just taste the woman –“

The words stopped there as Haruto bolted forward. Asahi followed while the others stayed close behind.

They emerged into a wide chamber where flickering light revealed a horrifying sight.

A gang of rogues, clad in mismatched armor and patches of old military gear, stood over a group of beaten scholars.

One of the rogues, taller than the rest, wore a familiar tattoo: snakes intertwined around a metal rod.

“Oya! What do we have here?” he grinned. “Didn’t think I’d be meeting you bastards in such a place, especially after you ran away from us in the alley. And what’s this –“

His eyes fell on Yume and Ren.

“Looks like brought a family this time.”

Asahi didn’t wait. He surged forward with his blade. The room exploded into chaos.

Haruto engaged another brute. Their weapons clashed with force.

Behind them, Yume shielded Ren, her eyes wide and her heart pounding against her chest.

“Did you miss us?” one of the rogues jeered, slashing toward Asahi.

But mid-fight, Asahi caught a glimpse of something, half-torn, sticking out of the man’s pocket. A photograph.

He faltered.

It was a face he recognized.

That one hesitation cost him. He was struck hard across the head and fell. The rogue raised his weapon for the final blow – until Haruto lunged in, cleanly slicing through the man’s side.

“I’ve got you,” Haruto muttered as he dragged him to cover.

Together, they regrouped and turned the tide. One by one, the rogues fell.

But just as the last one collapsed, another rogue emerged from the side, grabbing both Ren and Yume from behind, a knife pressed to Ren’s neck.

“Move and the kid dies!”

Everyone froze.

Ren trembled; eyes wide in fear. His fingers twitched. Black ink bled from his palms and coiled into shape. Tendrils of darkness slithered forward like living shadows.

The rogue blinked.

“What the hell – “

The ink surged.

It wrapped around the man’s throat and yanked him backward, slamming him against the stone wall with sickening force. His head struck the pillar, and he didn’t move again.

The ink hissed… and vanished.

Ren stood there, breathing hard, completely oblivious of what had happened.

Haruto ran over and knelt, pulling and Yume close. “You okay?”

His eyes scanned her face with genuine worry. “Did you get hurt?”

His voice was rough with concern, his hand briefly touching her arm to offer reassurance before returning to shield both her and Ren.

Yume nodded shakily, holding the boy tight.

Meanwhile, Asahi staggered back towards the fallen rogue.

He reached down and picked up the photo.

His hands trembled as a soft gasp escaped his lips.

It was a face from his past. Someone he hadn’t seen since that day.

“…Aiko,” he whispered.

“Hey,” Haruto called. “What happened?”

Asahi didn’t answer at first.

He slipped the photo into his pocket and turned around.

When he rejoined them, one of the beaten scholars sat up, bloodied but conscious. His eyes locked onto Ren.

“You…”

Ren tilted his head.

The man’s voice trembled. “You’re the painter…”