Where Warmth Cannot Follow

Akari drifted, though she had no sense of where or into what. The world around her was neither night nor day, neither fortress nor snow, yet it carried the weight of grief and memory like a tangible force pressing against her chest. She felt herself in a human body that, while familiar, now seemed strange. Fair skin, black hair, a beating heart; the sensations were overwhelming because they were so distant from her current flame-spirit existence. She breathed, small and uneven, and the sensation brought a fleeting comfort she hadn’t felt since leaving her world.

Ever since she was little, Akari Takamine remembered everything she witnessed. Memories clung to her with vivid clarity, refusing to fade even as years passed. That trait had carried over into this new existence, shaping her dreams as she began not just to recall but to relive her old life.

She was back in the cramped apartment, no taller than the kitchen counter, watching her mother rush in after work. Her mother’s cheeks were flushed from the cold. She dropped her bag and forced a smile that didn’t quite reach her weary eyes. Akari, small and angry at the world, had scrawled something rude on the wall that day. Her mother’s sigh echoed in the memory.

“Akari... please. Don’t make things harder than they already are.”

Back then, she had wanted to scream that it wasn’t fair - how everyone at school mocked her for not having a father, how even the teachers looked at her with pity or annoyance. So she lashed out. Picked fights and scribbled curses in notebooks. But the moment that lived sharpest in her chest was the sight of her mother, shoulders slumped, called into school to listen to the complaints. Tired. Defeated. Humiliated.

Young Akari had sat in the hallway, watching her mother bow her head. That was the day something inside her shifted. If she kept being bad, her mother would shoulder more burdens than necessary.

The memory blurred and reformed. She was older now, scrubbing dishes in their tiny sink, folding laundry, tiptoeing around the apartment so her mother could rest. She forced herself to smile, to be the “good kid,” because it was the only way to shield her mother from scorn. People around her began to say how wonderful she "grew up" and independent she was. She cooked rice, packed lunches, and did her homework without complaint. She carried the weight alone so her mother wouldn’t have to.

The dream shifted again. She stood in the schoolyard, two children beside her. Her only true friends. They laughed at something dumb she said, refusing to care what the others deservedly whispered even at her worst. Even when bullies sneered at her, they didn’t leave. Their stubborn loyalty had been a lifeline in a childhood that otherwise felt like drifting alone.

And then - the library. She was back among the aisles, surrounded by shelves that towered above her. The scent of paper and ink filled her lungs. One of the librarians, gentle and firm, guided her hands as she shelved books. Another handed her a stack of picture books to read aloud to children, who gathered around her in wide-eyed fascination. Here, she wasn’t the girl who didn't have a normal background. She was Akari, someone who helped, someone who mattered.

Pages turned, and she found herself outside the apartment again. The heater sputtered. The landlord always swore to repair the building, but Akari had yet to see that man promise anything on time. The light glowed warmly from the windows. A steady hum filled the room. Voices and laughs drifted on the air. For the first time in years, it felt safe. It felt like home again.

She reached for the door.

Her hand touched the knob, but it would not turn. She pressed her shoulder against it, pushed with all her might, clawed and slammed, but it refused to budge. Panic welled in her chest as the glow began to fade. Then she saw it - a tall silhouette lingering in the corner of her vision. Cloaked in shadow, impossibly still. Unseen keys jingled faintly from their direction. They did not move closer, but she knew. The door was not hers to open, but she would try anyway.

“Mom!” Akari cried, pounding her fists against the wood. Tears stung her cheeks. “It’s me! Please let me in!”

The voices inside grew muffled, slipping away like sand between her fingers. She pressed her forehead against the cold surface. “Just once. Let me say goodbye... let me thank you... please...” But the light winked out. The warmth vanished. Only the silhouette remained, unmoving, watching her break apart.

Her knees buckled, and she sank to the void floor, sobbing until no sound came out.

“Akari... wake up...”

The voice cut through like fire. The shadows peeled away. Her flame-spirit body flickered back into being. She gasped as she opened her eyes to the soft glow of the temple. Her fox form reformed, ember by ember, warmth trickling back into her core.

Noel was kneeling beside her next to the altar she was resting on.

His eye was wide with worry and tinged with red, hands hovering, trembling as though he feared a single touch might shatter her. “Akari,” he whispered, voice rough with fear and relief. “You’re awake. Don’t... Don't scare me like that. Please... are you all right?”

She blinked up at him, dazed, and the sorrow of the dream tangled with the sight of his exhaustion. Dark circles shadowed his eye, his jaw tight, his shoulders hunched as if he hadn’t slept in days. He had waited for her. Protected her. Refused to leave.

Her weak movement made him lean closer at once, steadying her with care he didn’t dare put into words. His voice cracked as he tried again. “I thought... I thought I’d lost you.”

The rawness in his words pierced through her lingering grief. She had already lost one world. One family. One life. But here - here, she wasn’t alone. She let herself breathe, soothed by the warmth of the person who refused to let her slip away.