The Unwanted Spark

The oppressive canopy of the dark woods had finally given way to a sun-dappled forest, but the change in scenery did little to lift Aki’s spirits.

His focus was a sharp, singular point: the distant silhouette of the Shattered Peak.

Every step was measured, his senses on high alert for the twisted beasts that hunted in these lands.

The world was an obstacle course of meaningless violence, and he was simply moving from one point to the next.

That’s when he heard it. A pathetic, high-pitched whimpering.

“Ignore it,” he told himself, his jaw tightening.

“It’s the law of this world. The weak are eaten. It has nothing to do with you.”

He walked on, the sound a faint needle against the canvas of the forest’s ambient noise. But it didn’t fade. It persisted, punctuated by desperate scratching sounds.

It was grating, an infuriating distraction from the mission that was all he had left.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath.

He stopped, closing his eyes for a moment.” Focus. The peak. Find them.”

But the whimpering bored into his concentration, a sound of helpless suffering that he had tried so hard to become numb to.

With a low growl of frustration, he spun on his heel and stalked back the way he came, following the sound.

“This is a waste of time,” he said to the empty forest, as if to justify his actions to a ghost.

A few yards off the path, he found the source. Caught in a simple snare trap, its leg twisted at an ugly angle, was a small, fluffy creature about the size of a ferret.

It had pristine white fur, a long bushy tail, and enormous black eyes that were currently filled with tears.

As it struggled, tiny, harmless sparks of golden light fizzled from its fur.

Aki stared.

His first instinct was to turn around and leave.

“It was just a beast.”

But it looked at him and let out another heartbreaking whimper, a sound of pure, unadulterated misery.

With a sigh that sounded more like a curse, he strode forward.

“Stop your noise,” he commanded, his voice cold.

He manifested a sliver of gray energy between his fingers and flicked it, severing the rope. The creature fell to the ground with a soft thump.

Aki turned his back on it immediately, already walking away. Problem solved. Now, for some peace.

He heard the soft putter-patter of tiny feet on the leafy ground behind him.

He stopped. The footsteps stopped.

He walked. The footsteps resumed.

Slowly, his shoulders slumping in irritation, Aki turned around.

The small, white creature was sitting a few feet away, tilting its head.

It blinked its huge, innocent eyes at him and let out a happy chitter, a few more golden sparks fizzing around its head.

Aki glared at it, his expression a mask of cold annoyance. “What do you want? I cut you loose. You’re free.”

The creature wagged its tail.

He took a threatening step forward, his eyes narrowed. “You’re a pest. Go away.”

It bounced on its paws, thinking this was a game. With a frustrated growl, Aki broke into a run, trying to lose it in the trees.

He was impossibly fast, a blur of motion, but when he finally stopped a mile later, leaning against a tree to catch his breath, he heard the same tell-tale putter-patter as the creature happily caught up, not even winded.

“How?” he breathed, genuinely bewildered.

He tried a different tactic. He would scare it.

Furthermore, he let his hand shimmer, the gray particles of light coalescing into the familiar, deadly form of his katana.

The blade hummed with a silent power that made the very air around it feel heavy.

The creature’s eyes went wide.

It didn’t run.

It got excited by the beautiful, shining object and made a bold, foolish leap, trying to snatch the sword with its tiny paws.

“Get off!” Aki hissed, dissolving the blade instantly before the creature could touch it.

He could have killed it.

One flick of his wrist, and it would have been over. The thought crossed his mind, a cold, practical solution. But he didn’t.

“It’s not worth the effort,” he told himself, but the excuse felt thin even to him.

“This is ridiculous. Why won’t it leave me alone? I don’t need this. I don’t need anyone.”

But externally, he did nothing.

He just stared at the impossibly cheerful fur ball that now refused to leave his side, feeling a strange and unwelcome sense of utter defeat.

They stopped to rest by a small stream. Aki sat on a rock, pointedly ignoring his new companion.

The fluffy creature, meanwhile, was attempting to hunt a large, iridescent beetle.

It stalked its prey with what it clearly thought was immense stealth, wiggling its hindquarters before pouncing.

It missed completely, tumbling head over tail into a patch of moss.

It shook its head, looking dazed, then noticed the beetle crawling up a tree trunk. With a squeak of determination, it got back up and prepared to pounce again, refusing to admit defeat.

The sight of that stubborn, foolish bravery was so familiar it hurt.

It punched through Aki’s grim focus and dragged a memory from the depths of his mind—a memory of mud, frustration, and a rare, painful moment of connection.

The memory was from a few months after they had first met Mia. They were in a clearing deep in the woods, the air thick with the smell of damp earth.

They were both around eighteen, young adults forged by hardship, trying to prepare for a world that hunted them.

Aki was relentless, his wooden training sword a blur. “You’re too slow,” he said, his voice as cold as steel.

He swept her legs out from under her, and she fell hard into the mud for the third time. “Your hesitation will get you and Rika killed.”

Mia coughed, pushing her mud-caked hair from her face. “I’m trying!” she snapped back, her eyes flashing with frustration.

“Not all of us were born a monster with a sword in our hand!”

The word hung between them, heavy and sharp. “Monster.” He ignored it, pointing his wooden sword at her throat.

“Get up.”

She scrambled to her feet and charged, but he disarmed her with a single, contemptuous twist of his wrist.

Her sword flew from her grasp. As she stumbled back, a surge of defiant energy erupted from her.

A small, sharp rock next to her foot lifted into the air and shot towards him, bouncing harmlessly off his forehead.

Her latent gravity magic, raw and uncontrolled.

He froze. She looked terrified, her hands flying to her mouth.

“Aki, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

But it wasn’t the magic that had stopped him. It was the word.

He slowly lowered his sword, his whole body trembling.

His cold, impenetrable mask cracked, and for the first time since she had met him, she saw the terrified, lonely boy beneath.

His eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“I’m not… a monster,” he whispered, the words choked with a pain so raw it stunned her into silence.

He cried, not with loud sobs, but with silent, shuddering breaths, as if the very act of showing this emotion was physically agonizing.

Seeing his pain, Mia’s own frustration and fear vanished, replaced by a wave of overwhelming empathy. She had crossed a line she didn’t know existed.

She closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tightly.

“I know,” she whispered into his shoulder, her own voice thick with regret. “You’re not. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Aki.”

The memory faded, leaving an ache of loss so profound it felt like a physical wound.

He was back on the cold rock in the lonely forest. The small white creature, having finally given up on the beetle, was approaching him cautiously, as if sensing his troubled state.

The creature stopped just before him.

It looked up, its large black eyes seeming to peer right through the walls Aki had built around his heart.

Then, it did something that made the air freeze in his lungs.

It reached out a tiny paw and tugged on the hem of his tunic. Not once, but three times. A soft, rhythmic, insistent pull.

Tug. Tug. Tug.

The world dissolved around him, replaced by another, warmer memory.

He was sitting at the table in their makeshift camp, trying to read one of Liston’s old, dusty books on ancient beasts.

A tiny hand tugged at his sleeve with that same, specific rhythm. Tug. Tug. Tug.

“Oni-chan,” little Rika’s voice chirped. “Stop reading. Look! I found a flower with six petals!”

The memory was so vivid, so painful, that a choked sound escaped Aki’s throat.

He stared at the small, white creature.

It looked back at him, tilting its head in confusion at his reaction, and then tugged his tunic again, a perfect echo of his sister’s gesture.

The cold facade he had maintained for so long didn’t just crack; it shattered.

All the anger, the frustration, the annoyance he felt towards the creature vanished, replaced by a wave of profound, heartbreaking sadness.

He slowly, shakily, knelt down, bringing himself to its level.

For the first time, he wasn’t looking at a pest or a distraction.

He was looking at a small, stubborn, affectionate creature that reminded him so much of the family he had lost.

He reached out a hand, no longer to shoo it away, but to gently, hesitantly, stroke the soft fur on its head.

The creature leaned into his touch, letting out a contented purr, its fur sparking with a warm, gentle light.

“You…” Aki’s voice was a hoarse whisper, rough with emotions he had refused to feel for so long.

“You’re just like her. Always so stubborn… and you never give up.”

His heart, which he thought had turned to ice and stone, melted.

A genuine, though sorrowful, tenderness filled his eyes. He looked at the creature’s fur, as white as a deer in the winter snows, and thought of his sister. Rika.

Shika. The name felt right.

“Shika,” he said, his voice now soft and tender. “Your name is Shika.”

The newly-named Shika nuzzled his hand, chattering happily as if it understood.

Aki stayed there for a long moment, kneeling on the forest floor, simply stroking the creature’s fur, a silent tear tracing a path down his cheek.

Later that evening, the dynamic had completely changed. As Aki made a small, smokeless fire, Shika sat attentively, watching his every move.

When Aki took out a piece of dried meat for his meager dinner, Shika tugged on his tunic. Aki, without a second thought, tore off a small piece and offered it.

It was a moment of peace, a fragile truce with his own grief.

He sat with his back against a tree, Shika curled up and sleeping in his lap, a small, warm weight against the crushing loneliness.

But peace, he had learned, was a fleeting illusion.

A twig snapped in the darkness.

Instantly, Aki was on his feet. The tender expression vanished, replaced by the cold, hard mask of a killer. His katana formed in his hand, humming silently.

Shika, awakened by his sudden movement, let out a frightened squeak and hid behind his legs.

“Who’s there?” Aki’s voice was low and dangerous.

There was no answer, only the rustle of leaves as multiple figures emerged from the shadows, surrounding his campsite.

They were heavily armed, wearing the pristine, dark uniforms of the royal capital’s elite guard. They moved with a chilling, synchronized precision that spoke of years of training.

These were not bandits. These were hunters.

One of them, clearly the leader, raised a hand. In his palm was a strange, glowing alchemical compass, its needle pointing directly at Aki.

“Here he is,” the leader said, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Target confirmed.”

Another soldier spoke into a communication device on his wrist. “We’ve found the ‘Esmos’ subject. He matches the Doctor’s profile precisely.”

The Doctor. The word sent a jolt of ice through Aki’s veins.

He knew who they were. He knew who had sent them.

“Secure him,” the leader commanded.

“The Doctor wants him alive. And be careful—he’s not normal.”

Aki glanced down at the small, trembling creature behind him. The peace he had felt only moments ago was a bitter memory.

This world would not allow it. It would take everything from him, again and again. But this time, he would not let it.

“Shi, move aside,” he said, his voice now a low, deadly whisper.

“I will handle this.”

He turned to face the dozen soldiers who had him encircled, a slow, grim, and utterly defiant smirk spreading across his face.

The exhaustion, the grief, the pain—it all vanished, burned away by a surge of pure, unadulterated battle rage.

“I am all for it,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt.

He shifted into a low fighting stance, his blade gleaming in the firelight.

“Come on, you fuckers.”