The Silent Cry Of Two Souls

The days after Aiko’s death dragged on like a night without end. The kingdom sank into silence and sorrow, every corner of Akarihoshi breathing loss. People tried to continue with their lives, yet emptiness hung over them like a shadow that not even the brightest sun could chase away.

Naoru carried worry in his eyes, Mika forced her smile only to lift others’ spirits, though her warmth was fading. No one was truly whole.

But every gaze always returned to him—the prince who had lost half of his soul.

Akihiko was a shadow of himself. He walked the palace halls without seeing them, his words rare and hollow. His heart was shattered, yet his will remained… stubborn, defiant. Every breath hurt, but he refused to let grief completely break him.

He spent countless hours in her room, where the air still held the faint scent of her presence. Often he sat on the edge of her bed, clutching the necklace with the star pendant in his hands. He had repaired it, just as he had once before, and he would lose himself in thought—imagining what it would be like if he could return it to her once more, see it shining on her neck again. Deep down, though, he knew that moment would never come.

Memories of her—the curve of her smile, the tiny gestures she made—unfolded before his eyes like a film he could never pause. Every detail was pain, yet also the only comfort he had left.

One day, Akihiko stood in the training glade, sword in hand. His thoughts, however, drifted toward Aiko—every memory, every movement of hers, now seemingly lost. His white-blue aura pulsed with despair but also with determination: though his heart was wounded, he would not remain powerless.

“This time… I’ll conquer the pain with my own hands,” he whispered under his breath, moving the sword in swift, resolute arcs. Each strike reflected his inner struggle—harsh blows, sharp turns, tension etched into every motion.

Naoru stood nearby, sword in his hand but eyes heavy with concern. “Akihiko…” he murmured. “I know you’re hurting… but I don’t know how to ease that pain.”

Akihiko didn’t stop his movements, but his voice broke the silence: “I have to… overcome this on my own. I can’t afford to be weak before them… before…” His words faltered, and he shut his eyes tightly, as though trying to force the ache back inside, to keep it from spilling out.

Naoru could do nothing except remain there, but his presence was enough. “I’m here,” he said simply. “Even if I don’t know how… I’ll stay by your side.”

Akihiko felt that quiet presence anchor him, not curing his pain but reminding him he was not entirely alone. His aura still trembled with despair, but it began to shift—closer to strength, closer to resolve, instead of consuming weakness.

Every strike of his blade was a step toward clarity, every glance at Naoru a reminder that someone still stood with him.

That night, exhausted from training and from the weight of his own battle, Akihiko drifted into sleep in his chambers. His white-blue aura pulsed faintly in rhythm with his breathing, his heart still heavy with loss.

But far away, on the moonlit world of Tsukinara, someone was preparing to exploit that vulnerability.

Princess Tsukina stood on her balcony, bathed in the glow of her silver-blue moon. The wind carried her long argent hair over her shoulders, her eyes shimmering with a delicate balance of warmth and cold calculation.

Before her floated a sphere of light—an image of Akihiko.

“So vulnerable…” she whispered, her voice soft, almost tender, though laced with quiet satisfaction. “Just as I foresaw. His power is pure, but his heart… broken. And broken hearts are the easiest to shape.”

A faint smile touched her lips as her fingertips brushed across the vision, as though caressing Akihiko’s face. Gentle ripples shimmered across the sphere’s surface at her touch.

“First I will become what he needs—a shadow of comfort, a whisper to lead him away from her… away from Aiko,” she continued softly. “And then… the power he carries will belong to me.”

In the realm of dreams, a whisper slipped into his world—an unseen presence hidden within a veil of mist. It was not forceful; rather, it came like a soft haze of light, quiet and nearly imperceptible, yet strong enough to stir Akihiko’s subconscious.

“Akihiko…” the voice breathed, distant as a forgotten melody. “I know your heart aches… I know it is filled with loss…”

Akihiko tried to look away, but the dream was too vivid. “Why… who are you?” he murmured, thoughts tangled with memories of Aiko.

“Only someone who understands your pain,” came the whisper, words like a gentle breeze softening the fire that burned within him. “And perhaps I can show you… that you don’t have to be entirely alone.”

Each word, each brush of thought, wrapped subtly around his mind, shifting his energy bit by bit. She didn’t force him, but his attention slowly began to drift toward her—confusion mingled with faint relief, a presence not Aiko, but something tender, soothing.

“Yes…” the whisper purred, faintly laced with a delicate malice. “Slowly now… every breath, every thought… your strength will fall beneath my touch.”

Akihiko shivered, torn between yearning for Aiko, the anguish of her death, and the strange warmth of this shadowed figure in his dream. His energy wavered, his consciousness fractured—the perfect moment for the princess’s subtle influence to take hold.

And as Akihiko drifted deeper into that dream-bound whisper, elsewhere a very different battle raged.

Aiko was still fighting Tsukio. But her energy had begun to scatter, her heart racing with thoughts of Akihiko. Every memory of him sparked a surge of power from her core—yet Tsukio could sense how those very thoughts threatened to wound her further.

“Ah, you still think of him…” Tsukio murmured, his voice melodic, laced with subtle force. “You love one who cannot be at your side… and yet you struggle to stay strong. How beautifully fragile you are.”

Aiko tried to raise her energy, to form a shield, but each attempt was effortlessly deflected by Tsukio’s grace. “No… I won’t…” she whispered, her voice trembling. Every word he spoke slipped deeper, weaving doubt. “Maybe it would be safer… if I helped you…”

Her defenses weakened, each shield faltering by degrees until she felt something gently coiling around her thoughts. Her love for Akihiko still burned, but Tsukio carefully entwined that warmth with a false sense of safety in his presence. Every word, every glance from him, was like a delicate net tightening around her heart and will.

“I am here, to show you… you are safe. Let me guide you,” he whispered, each note a soft force pressing against her strength. “Why suffer, when you can simply… trust me?”

Aiko’s heart wavered—a part of her wanted to believe him, another screamed for Akihiko. Her aura weakened, her shields faltered, yet she was not fully subdued. Love for Akihiko still burned like a small, rebellious flame, granting her just enough power to resist.

Back on Akarihoshi, Akihiko sat alone in the royal chamber, restless thoughts consuming him. His gaze was fixed on the engagement ring still resting on his finger—Aiko’s gift, the symbol of their unfinished love and alliance. His heart still pounded with every memory of her, but grief pressed down, threatening to unmake his inner strength.