Redemption

The city woke slowly beneath a wash of pale gold, rooftops and distant towers catching the first light like embers under ash.

My house (too large, too modern, all glass and sharp angles) sat among the clustered blocks like something that had forgotten how to be humble.Its broad windows drank in the sunrise and flung it back in bright, polished blades across my bedroom.

A breeze drifted through the window beside my bed, cool and crisp with the scent of morning. It brushed against my face, nudging me awake as I lay half-dreaming, left arm thrown above my head.

“Master?… Are you awake?”

Mira’s voice slipped through tge room from the door, hesitant, carrying a note of concern. A soft knock followed behind her.

I stirred, my limbs sluggish with sleep. Slowly, I hauled myself upright, perched on the edge of the bed for a moment, letting the morning light wash over me, then at last stood and walked toward the door.

My hand hovered over the handle, suspended between action and hesitation.

I twisted it slightly, felt the click then stopped, leaving the door ajar.

Miras stood firm outside my room. The uniform she wore was impeccable, its crispness lending her an understated elegance that made her presence feel less like duty and more like a quiet source of comfort. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her, posture calm but unmistakably alert.Her glossy black hair was perfectly kept, and in her dark, eyes, I felt seen—truly seen—in a way words could never capture.

“Good morning, Mira,” I greeted her, my voice delicate than I meant it to be carrying only the thinnest traces of warmth.

“Good morning,” she answered. “Your Breakfast is ready.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. The silence stretched between us, weighted by everything we’d never said.

 “I… really appreciate it. Give me a minute to get ready.” I managed at last.

She nodded once, the smallest motion.

“It’s… good to see you doing better today. Is there anything you need my help with before I leave?”

Her words sank deeper than she realized.

Two years of my indifference ignoring her, barely noticing anyone, becoming someone cold and half-absent should have been enough to drive her away. And yet, here she stood, offering breakfast and quiet kindness, as if I hadn’t spent months pushing her away.

Why isn’t she angry? Why doesn’t she judge me?

I opened the door the rest of the way and said, “Just one small request: could you stop calling me ‘Master’?”

Uncertainty lingered in her posture. She lowered her gaze, weighing her words before speaking, her hands betraying the hesitation she tried to hide.

“It’s the only way I know to honor the place you hold in my life… as your servant,” she murmured.

“But I’ve never seen you as a servant,” I said. My voice came out rougher than I meant, scraped raw by something that felt dangerously close to hurt. “To me you’ve always been family. Mira… I’d really like it if you called me by my name. Just once. And if you let yourself believe we’re that to each other.”

She lifted her head. For one unguarded second her eyes met mine (wide, startled, shimmering with something fragile and bright). A flush rose swift and helpless across her cheeks, surprise and embarrassment and a tenderness she had never allowed her self to name.

Her gaze dropped again, lashes trembling against her skin as though the weight of being seen was suddenly too much.

“It’s… just a habit,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “Maybe it was born from caring too much. But if that’s what you want… I’ll do it. I… hope it brings you some peace.”

She moved toward the narrow hallway, then paused, biting her lip as if measuring every heartbeat. Her fingers brushed a strand of hair from her face on the other side. “You should… hurry before your breakfast gets cold, Neriah,” she said, turning away.

I stood in the doorway long after her footsteps faded, feeling something inside me finally loosen its grip.

I didn’t expect her to blush like that but seeing her smile again feels… good. Better than I thought it would. I’m just glad I finally get to tell her we’re family; otherwise, Who knows she might never even consider it. She’s carried so much on her own, and… this, this was the best I could do for her and for me.

-------

I entered into the bathroom and settled on the edge of the sink, legs firmly. My palms flattened against the cold porcelain; the chill crawled straight into my wrists.

The room was so quiet I could hear the faint buzz of the lightbulb overhead, a thin, insect note that made the silence feel heavier, as if it were waiting for permission to speak.

Inside me, the thing woke.

It began as a slow ripple beneath the ribs, then sharpened into a living current (molten sapphire laced with black frost) winding along my bones. Cold fire. It coiled, tightened, tasted the air through my pores. This was no passive force; it had intention. It watched me the way I watched the mirror, curious whether today I would finally break and let it steer.

What I still couldn’t understand (what turned my stomach every time) was that the mirror and the world refused to see it.

The glass showed only the boy the world had agreed on: seventeen, dark-blue eyes, grey-black hair neatly kept strands long reaching the eyes, light brown skin still beaded with water from the sink.

The face it offered back was calm, almost fragile, the kind of face that made strangers want to protect you. Youth softened the cheekbones, but something older had begun to surface in the set of the jaw, a faint, permanent question no one else seemed to read.

I closed my eyes and breathed in slowly, deliberately. The energy answered at once, surging up my spine like a dark tide. For one heartbeat it pressed against the inside of my skin, hungry, pleading, furious. I held the line. It hissed, retreated, folded itself small again and sank into whatever depth it pretended was sleep.

The hollowness that followed always felt worse than the pressure (a strange mixture of relief and emptiness).

Cold water stung my palms. When I opened my eyes, the irises had settled back into their harmless lie: deep blue fading to clear azure, bright and guileless, catching the light like winter sun on glass.

The mirror forgave me again.

After a shower.

I dressed in (black hoodie, black trousers), sleeves tugged low, fabric thick enough to muffle any tremor that might betray me.

I walked downstairs, footsteps soft, heartbeat steady, carrying the thing inside me like a secret too heavy to name and too alive to set down.

I entered from the corridor’s pale tiles into the dining room. The walls, lacquered to a quiet sheen, caught the low morning light and threw it back like still water, making the whole room feel suspended in a held breath.

I sat at the table, the chair to my left perfectly aligned. Mira was there, magazines spread before her, scanning the news for the day.

The breakfast before me looked tempting: steaming bowls of miso soup, a plate of fluffy, perfectly cooked rice, grilled salmon, neatly rolled tamagoyaki, and small dishes of pickled vegetables, all arranged with meticulous care.

Chopsticks in hand, I sampled each dish, letting the flavors linger. 

At the center of the table, bowls of fruit sat alongside low vases of lilies and pale roses, their cool, sweet fragrance drifting through the air.

Ten minutes. The bowls emptied. I set the chopsticks down parallel, the way she had always instructed.

“I’m heading out,” I said, pushing my chair back with the softest scrape.

Mira’s gaze lifted. “Be careful,” she said, her voice almost swallowed by the emptiness of the house. “And....Make sure you come home early.”

“I will,” I replied at the edge of the dining room, letting a small smile reach her.

I slipped on my sneakers at the genkan, laced them tight. 

The front door closed behind me with a click that sounded for one heartbeat,Final.

And just like that, the world began again.