Chapter 4 - Why Now?

Sky walked with her head tilted toward the sky, following the tall red-haired man who never explained where they were going.
She didn’t ask.
It wasn’t like she had anywhere else to go.

Clouds drifted lazily above — soft, dreamy, perfect.
Sky smiled faintly at them.

Then Keir’s eyes widened.

Not tired.
Not dull.
Not half-dead like usual.

Sharp. Awake.
As if lightning had just jolted through him.

Sky blinked at him.
He wasn’t breathing.

He’d stopped walking.
He’d stopped everything.

“Mister Kei—”

Before she could finish—

Her vision warped.

One moment she was beside him.
The next she was miles ahead, wind howling past her body as if forced away from him.

Sky staggered.

Huh?

She blinked again—

And behind them, the mountain split.

Perfectly.
Silently.
A clean, impossible cross-section that turned into cubes of stone, each one gliding apart with the elegance of a blade that didn’t follow physics.

Sky’s mouth fell open.

A voice came from the drifting cloud of dust:

“It’s been a while…
hasn’t it.”

Keir didn’t turn immediately.

He stared at the dust.
At the cubes.
At the destruction carved with insulting precision.

His grip tightened.

Under his breath — quiet, breaking — he whispered:

“…Why.
Why now.”

Thoughts hammered through his skull:

Not him.
Not here.
Not when I’ve finally—

You were gone all this time.
Years.
When Mum died.
When Dad died.
When they tortured me.
You turned your back.
You vanished.

Yet now…
now you return.

Keir’s shoulders shook.

Sky opened her mouth to say something—
but stopped.

Because the dust began to move.

Footsteps.
Slow.
Heavy.
Unhurried.

Then—

SLICE.

The entire cloud cut cleanly in two, parting like water.

A figure stepped through.

A man.

Wearing a dark red suit — regal, immaculate, almost aristocratic.
A katana at his hip, sheathed in pristine white.
Long white hair brushing his shoulders.
Cold green eyes that held not a flicker of warmth.
A face mature, carved, controlled — like a king walking through ruins.

Sky’s heart thumped once.

Hard.

…What is this feeling?
I wonder…

Keir didn’t breathe.

His eyes lowered.

And then—

“…I feel sick.”
A whisper.

Another.

“I feel sick.”
His voice trembled.

“I… feel sick…”

He stared at the floor — at nothing — as if the world itself were tilting beneath his feet.

Sky’s voice broke the silence — barely audible, fragile as a breath:

“…Mister Keir… who is he?”

Keir did not — could not — answer.

The man stepped forward, dust shifting around him like obedient air.

His gaze swept over Keir once — and he exhaled softly, almost bored.

Then:

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, huh?”

A pause.

His eyes narrowed — not with anger, but with pure, cutting contempt.

“Pathetic.”

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