Chapter 32 : Legend of ' The Silent Shadow'

The sky was still grey with early light when Mikuya opened her eyes.

She sat up slowly, the air inside the old hideout colder than usual. A faint layer of mist clung to the window edges like the breath of ghosts. The floor creaked softly beneath her as she stepped out of bed, careful not to make a sound.

She glanced toward the opposite room. Through the slightly open door, she could see Sora curled under a thin blanket, breathing quietly. His brow was furrowed even in sleep — the mark of someone carrying too much on his shoulders. A tiny smile touched Mikuya’s lips, though it vanished as quickly as it came.

“He must be tired,” she whispered to herself. She didn’t wake him.

Pulling on a light coat from the corner, Mikuya stepped outside.

It was foggy, but not the suffocating kind. The kind that draped gently over the earth, letting the sun slip through in golden strands. The streets were quiet, still half-asleep. A soft breeze brushed her cheek, cool but not bitter. Winter had begun to spread its reach.

Still, none of it touched her. Mikuya walked the narrow alleyways like a shadow gliding across the wall. Her body was present, but her mind was miles away—buried in memories, pain, and names long buried in her silence.

Only a few months had passed since her world collapsed — since the betrayal, the fire, the screaming night that turned her into something else. It hadn’t taken years. Just months. That was all it took for the light in someone to dim into something cold.

As the minutes passed, the city slowly stirred awake. Doors creaked open. Shopkeepers began sweeping their steps. Vendors wheeled out carts filled with steaming food. Children darted into the streets, their laughter breaking through the quiet.

But Mikuya remained untouched by the warmth of life.

Because darkness, once it finds a home inside you, doesn’t leave so easily.

In the shadows of the city, whispers traveled faster than the wind.

They called her a fugitive. A criminal. A ghost.

But to those who had truly seen her in action, those who had felt the chill in the air when she passed them, she was more than that.

She was The Silent Shadow.

A figure who emerged from nowhere, executed silent justice, then vanished before anyone could say her name. The agency hunted her like an animal. But to the city’s streets — to the unseen, unheard people — she had become something else entirely.

A myth. A warning. A guardian.

And still, no one really knew her.

That morning, as golden light broke through the fog-draped city, Mikuya stood beside a small food stall in a quiet alley near the marketplace. She wasn’t hiding. She never had to. No one ever looked her in the eye for long. They either feared her… or respected her from afar.

She picked out two rice cakes, a steamed bun, and a small container of soup. Just enough for her and Sora to share later. She handed over a few notes and turned to leave when a soft voice stopped her.

“Are you really The Silent Shadow?”

Mikuya turned slightly.

A boy—no older than nine—stood there staring up at her with wide, curious eyes. His dark hair stuck out messily under his wool cap, and his coat was a little too big for him. He had that look — that innocent awe in his gaze — like someone staring at a legend come to life.

She tilted her head and gave a small, cold smile. “That’s what they call me.”

The boy’s eyes lit up with excitement. “I knew it! You saved people in District 7, didn’t you? When the agents came?”

Mikuya said nothing.

He clenched his fists with determination. “One day, I’ll be just like you!”

Her smile faded.

She crouched slightly and ruffled his hair gently. Her touch was surprisingly soft — motherly, almost — but her voice was solid stone.

“No,” she said simply. “You won’t.”

The boy blinked, confused. “Why not?”

“Because this path isn’t for you,” she said. “It looks cool, maybe even noble from the outside. But it’s nothing but shadows and loss. You won’t survive it with dreams. Stay with your family. Go to school. Be a kid. This life… it takes everything.”

She didn’t wait for him to respond. She turned and walked away, disappearing into the morning mist like a wisp of smoke.

Later that day…

In the corner of a quiet park, under the shade of an old, leafless tree, Mikuya sat alone with her katana in hand.

The sound of hesitant footsteps pulled her from her thoughts.

She looked up to see two adults — the boy’s parents — standing a few feet away. His mother held a nervous smile; his father remained still, protective. Mikuya didn’t need them to speak to know why they were there.

The mother stepped forward, wringing her hands. “Please… our son. He… he looks up to you. He talks about you every day now. He says he wants to be like you.”

Mikuya stayed seated. “You should be proud,” she said quietly. “He’s brave.”

“That’s just it,” the father said, voice tight with worry. “We’re not sure if that bravery will get him killed someday.”

The woman added, “He’s just a child. He doesn’t understand what you go through. We’re asking you—please tell him this life isn’t for him. Before he does something reckless.”

Mikuya stared at them for a long moment, then let out a low, quiet chuckle — not mocking, but bitter. “I don’t take kids in,” she said. “I work alone.”

Relief washed over the parents' faces. But just as they turned to leave, she added:

“But if a kid ever chooses this path… it’s because someone failed to protect what mattered most to him. People like me… we don’t walk this road because we want to. We walk it because there’s nowhere else to go.”

She stood, brushing off her coat.

“Make sure,” she said without looking back, “he never loses anything.”

And just like that, she vanished once again, swallowed by the fog and rising light of a city that never truly saw her.