NEW NAMES NEW BONDS

Ida’s gentle voice floated through the forest like a delicate thread of melody. “Sleep, my little Yae… hush now, mama’s here…”

The cradle swayed softly in her arms, the rhythm of her steps carrying the lullaby deeper into the shadows of the trees. Then—

A cry.

High-pitched, sharp, unmistakably human. Not from her cradle. From somewhere deeper in the woods.

Ida froze. Her heart raced, and for a fleeting moment, she thought it was Yae—but no. The cradle remained silent, just as it always did. Her brows furrowed. Another child?

Compelled by an instinct she couldn’t quite grasp, she crouched low and moved forward, hiding behind a thick bush. With trembling fingers, she parted the leaves and peered through.

There, not far from her, was a boy. Maybe eight years old, or even younger, his cheeks streaked with tears, his small body trembling in the dirt.

His cries were jagged, torn from his throat in desperate, hiccupping sobs.

Ida tilted her head, confusion giving way to curiosity. She whispered, “...Why is he crying?”

Then her gaze followed his shaking hand—downward.

And she saw.

A woman lay sprawled on the ground, face-down in a pool of blood so dark it almost appeared black. The back of her head was split open—sliced clean, the skull shattered like porcelain. Bits of pale brain matter oozed out, glistening wetly on the soil.

The sight hit Ida like a punch to the gut.

Her knees buckled. Her stomach twisted violently. She clamped a hand over her mouth, gagging, then doubled over in the bush, retching until bile and acid burned her throat.

The boy’s wailing grew louder, piercing, primal. Ida pressed her forehead to the dirt, trembling, her mind screaming—

Why? Why show me this?

She forced her shaking gaze back to the child, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes.

For the first time in weeks, she wasn’t consumed by thoughts of Yae, or the cradle, or her obsessions. She was staring at reality, raw and unforgiving.

Ida staggered away from the horrifying scene, bile still churning in her throat, until she finally reached the base of a tree.

Her hands trembled as she lowered the cradle against the roots, tucking it in gently as if it held the most delicate treasure in the world.

“Stay here, Yae,” she whispered, lightly brushing the air above the blanket. “Mama won’t be long.”

Wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve, she took a shaky breath and steeled herself to approach the sobbing boy.

At first, he flinched at her presence, backing away with wide, terrified eyes, his small hands stained with his mother’s blood.

“No, no,” Ida said softly, crouching down to meet his gaze. Her voice was sweet and soothing, trembling like a lullaby. “Shh… it’s alright. You’re not alone anymore. Mama’s here now…”

The boy whimpered, his breaths uneven, but when she gently reached out and touched his shoulder, he didn’t pull away.

Step by step, word by word, Ida guided him down from his panic. She ran her fingers through his hair, wiped the tears from his cheeks with tender care, and finally, the boy melted into her embrace, sobbing against her chest.

“There, there,” Ida whispered, holding him close, rocking him as if he were a tiny infant. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. Mama won’t let the bad things hurt you.”

A warm, reassuring smile spread across her face.

But inside, her thoughts twisted like snakes.

Another boy. Why do they always survive? Why does the world keep giving me boys when all I wanted was my sweet Yae?

Her nails dug into the fabric of his shirt as she held him tighter. For one horrifying moment, she imagined snapping his neck, feeling his small body go limp in her arms. The thought both thrilled and disgusted her, tempting her.

No… not yet. Not here. I can’t. Not while Yae is watching…

She pulled back just enough to look into the boy’s tear-streaked face, forcing her smile to widen.

“What’s your name, little one?” she asked gently, brushing his cheek with her thumb.

Her voice was soft, kind. But her eyes… if he had noticed, he might have seen the glint of something dark lurking beneath.

The boy sniffled against her chest, his voice barely breaking through his sobs.

“I… I don’t… remember…”

Ida paused for a moment, her smile twitching at the corners.

What do you mean you don’t remember? The thought slithered through her mind like a snake. You useless little thing. You can’t even hold on to a name?

Her jaw clenched, but she forced herself to relax, smoothing her expression into something gentle, almost angelic. She brushed his hair back from his damp forehead with delicate fingers.

“That’s alright,” she cooed, even though her anger simmered beneath the surface. “It happens. You’ve been through so much… poor child.”

Her gaze lingered on him for a long, heavy moment before she tilted her head, her smile stretching wider—too wide.

“How about this,” she whispered sweetly. “If you don’t have a name, Mama can give you one. Would you like that?”

The boy’s lips quivered, his tear-streaked face lifting just enough to meet her eyes. Slowly, cautiously, he nodded ever so slightly.

Ida’s heart fluttered at his submission.

Good. Even boys can learn their place… if I shape them right.

She tightened her embrace just a bit, enough for him to feel both comforted and ensnared, her voice dropping to a soft murmur.

“Then from now on… you’ll be what I say you are.”

Her eyes sparkled as she prepared to bestow upon him a name of her choosing—one that would tie him to her twisted vision of family.

Ida’s lips curled into a gentle, almost proud smile as she crouched down to meet the boy’s gaze.

“From now on… you will be Shen Yi Yanagi,” she said softly, letting the name flow from her lips like a precious gift.

The boy blinked up at her, wiping his tears with the back of his sleeve. “Shen… Yi Yanagi? What’s… Yanagi?”

Ida’s smile deepened, a warm glow lighting up her eyes. “That’s my last name, little one. It’s a part of me, and now it’s a part of you too.”

The boy’s small arms wrapped tightly around her waist. “Thank you… Mommy,” he whispered, his voice muffled against her clothes.

Ida froze, a wave of surprise washing over her. Yae had never called her “Mommy.” Not once. And now—this small boy, this stranger…

Her heart raced in a way she had never felt before. A genuine, wide smile broke across her face.

“You… called me Mommy,” she breathed, gently stroking the back of his head. Her hands trembled slightly as she held his tiny hand.

“Yes,” she said softly, trying to keep her voice steady. “That’s right… but the name is a bit long. If you’re okay with it, you can just call me Yi. Short, simple… easy to remember.”

The boy nodded eagerly, his eyes sparkling despite the remnants of tears. “Yi,” he repeated, trying the name out.

“Good,” Ida said, her smile now steady, the cradle safely resting behind her. “Yi… that’s who you are. From now on, you’re mine. And I… I’ll take care of you.”

For a brief moment, the chaos of the forest, the horrors they had faced, the shadows of her past—all of it faded away. It was just her and Yi, wrapped in the fragile, fleeting peace that came from sharing a name.

Ida led Yi back to the cradle nestled beneath the twisted branches of the tree, the soft forest light filtering through the leaves above.

“This is… Yae,” she said gently, placing her hand on the cradle with care. “She’s… very special. You mustn’t touch her.”

Yi’s eyes widened with curiosity as he stepped closer, his little heart racing. Hesitantly, he reached out toward the cradle.

“Yi, no!” Ida’s voice cut through the air, sharp and firm. Her hand shot out, stopping his small palm before it could make contact with the cloth bundle.

“Ah! I’m sorry!” Yi gasped, quickly pulling his hand back.

Ida’s expression softened almost instantly, though her gaze remained intense. “It’s okay… but you have to remember one thing. Never touch Yae. Never touch the cradle. Not ever.”

Yi nodded earnestly, his eyes serious now, grasping the importance of her words.

“Do you understand?” she asked, crouching down to meet his gaze.

“Yes, Ida… I mean… Mommy,” he replied softly, still careful to keep his distance.

Ida’s lips curled into a faint, approving smile. “Good. Keep that in mind, Yi. Always.”

She lifted the cradle and slung it over her shoulder, protective and steady. Yi trailed closely behind, their small feet crunching on the forest floor.

As they ventured deeper into the woods, Ida’s hand brushed against his back—not quite a touch, more like a guiding presence—and she whispered, almost to herself, “You’re part of this now. You’ll learn… how to survive.”

Yi glanced at the cradle, then back at Ida, understanding more in that moment than words could ever express.

And so, they walked together—one learning the rules, the other shaping the world in her obsessive, haunted vision.