Echoes of the Lost, Part1

Dr. Ken stepped back, already reaching for the door.
"That's enough for today," he said quietly. "For now… goodbye."

He left the room without another word.

The silence he left behind felt heavier than before.

Akari exhaled slowly. "Let's go check on Haruto."

Renjiro nodded, already moving.

They stepped into the corridor.

It was empty.

Akari's eyes scanned the benches along the wall. "He was here."

Renjiro frowned. "And the girl?"

"Misaki," Akari said. "She was here too."

But there was no sign of either of them.

They moved faster now, heading toward the hospital entrance. Outside, sunlight spilled across the open space. Just beyond the building, a small playground stood quiet—swings creaking faintly in the breeze, a slide catching the light.

Akari and Renjiro searched it carefully.

No Haruto.
No Misaki.

Akari stopped.

Her expression changed—not to panic, but to understanding.

"…I know where he went."

Renjiro turned to her. "You're sure?"

She nodded. "When he feels like this… he always goes there."

Without another word, they turned away from the hospital and began walking, their steps quickening—not chasing, but heading somewhere they already knew he would be.

Somewhere quiet.
Somewhere Haruto went when the world felt too heavy to face.

Haruto lay on the grass.

The ground slanted gently downward, soft earth and wild grass bending beneath his small frame. At the bottom of the slope, the shore stretched out—still water brushing against stone, reflecting the pale sky without a ripple.

He stared upward, unmoving.

Tears slid silently from the corners of his eyes, soaking into the grass, one after another. He didn't wipe them away. He didn't sob. His chest only rose and fell in shallow breaths, as if even crying took too much strength.

Footsteps stopped at the top of the slope.

Akari and Renjiro stood there, looking down at him.

They didn't call out.
They didn't move closer.

They just watched.

Haruto's lips parted, his voice barely louder than the wind moving through the grass.

"…Where are you, big brother?"

His fingers curled weakly into the earth.

"You promised you'd come back," he whispered. "It's been four years… where are you?"

The words broke into the open air and dissolved, unanswered.

Akari's throat tightened.

She didn't take her eyes off Haruto as she spoke, her voice low enough that only Renjiro could hear.

"…He really does miss him, doesn't he?"

Renjiro said nothing.

But his fists slowly clenched at his sides, and that was answer enough.

They stayed where they were—at the top of the slope—watching the boy who lay below them, crying not because he remembered everything…

…but because the ache of someone missing never truly leaves, even when the memories fade.

Akari's eyes softened, and without a word, she stepped carefully down the slope. The grass bent beneath her feet, brushing against Haruto's trembling form.

She sat beside him for a moment, then gently lowered herself onto the ground, lying down beside him. Her presence alone seemed to anchor him, though she said nothing. She didn't try to force a smile, or words—just stayed there, letting the silence hold them both.

Haruto blinked slowly, then let his head rest lightly on the grass. But even in that stillness, a familiar tightness began in his left eye. The ache pulsed faintly at first, a subtle warning that his body was nearing its limit. His fingers twitched, clutching the earth instinctively, though he tried to steady himself.

Renjiro finally moved closer, kneeling at the top of the slope. His voice was quiet but firm, steadying the weight in the air.

"Haruto," he said, "I know who you're calling for. Your big brother… he's not here, I know. But I need you to hear this."

Haruto's head lifted slightly, tear-streaked, eyes wary and pained.

Renjiro continued, his tone softening. "I can't bring him back. None of us can. But we are here. Akari… and I. We'll stay with you. We won't leave, even if he never comes."

Haruto's sobs grew louder, shaking his small body. "You… you said I should trust you both! You said you're here because I couldn't handle the truth!" His fists dug into the grass, teeth gritted. "Just… just tell me already! He's gone, isn't he?!"

Tears poured down his face relentlessly, streaking his cheeks, soaking the slanted grass. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the skin around his left eye began to redden. A thin line of blood glimmered where tears met the eye's edge.

Akari's hand hovered over him, unsure what to do. "Haruto… no, listen—"

Renjiro opened his mouth, voice calm but strained. "Haruto, we—"

But he was already pushing himself up, shaking his head violently. "Stop… stop lying to me!" he shouted, tears blinding him. "I can't… I can't—"

Before they could reach him, he bolted. Grass flattened beneath his rapid steps as he ran down the slope, leaving a trail of damp soil and glistening tears behind him.

Akari fell to her knees, staring at the wet patch he had left. "…You didn't have to specify it, you know," she murmured, voice tight.

Renjiro's eyes were dark with guilt. "I… I'm sorry. I couldn't lie anymore. I didn't want to tell him, not like this…"

Akari's gaze dropped to the grass, fingers brushing over the wetness. She froze. "…Something's not right."

She lifted her hand. A smear of blood clung to her palm.

Renjiro's eyes widened. "His left eye…"

Akari nodded, voice low and urgent. "We need to go. Now."

Without another word, they rose and ran down the same path Haruto had taken, their hearts pounding—not just from the chase, but from fear of what might happen if his body's warning went unchecked.

The slanted grass, the quiet shore, and the fading sunlight seemed indifferent—but for Akari and Renjiro, every second counted.

Haruto's legs pounded against the ground as he reached home. His chest heaved, and every step felt heavier than the last. He pushed the door open and slammed it shut behind him.

"I… I'm home," he muttered to himself, voice hollow, as if expecting no reply.

A soft voice echoed from the hallway. "Hey… Haruto… where were you?"

Haruto froze for a heartbeat. Then, stepping into the hall, he saw Ayame standing there. Her hair was slightly messy, and her uniform was crumpled as if she had just woken or been busy with something. She looked tired, eyes heavy, but she had noticed him.

He didn't answer.

Before she could say more, he ran forward and hugged her tightly, tears streaming freely. His body shook against hers.

"Hey… hey, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" Ayame murmured, gently, trying to steady him without letting go.

Haruto sobbed into her shoulder. "Aka… Brother Renjiro… they lied! Big brother… he never went on a mission… he… he simply didn't survive! Think about it… four years… and the mission… it's not over yet!"

Ayame's lips pressed into a thin line. She exhaled slowly, brushing her fingers through his hair, though her own fatigue showed in the slump of her shoulders.

"Haruto…" she said softly, her voice gentle but firm. "Did… did you talk to them?"

"Yes!" he shouted, pulling slightly back, face red and streaked with tears. "I… I asked! And they… they still lied to me!"

Ayame swallowed, her tired eyes meeting his. "Haruto… listen to me." She paused, taking a slow breath. "Your big brother… he… he didn't survive in the war. He's… he's gone."

Haruto's sobs choked into strangled gasps. He pressed his forehead against her chest, shaking, trying to make sense of the truth he had been running from.

Ayame held him firmly, letting him cry. "I know you've waited… hoped… but it's okay to let it out now. You can't hold it in forever."

He didn't respond with words. Only tears and shudders. The hall felt still, heavy with the weight of grief. And for the first time in years, the truth sat between them—not hidden, not half-told.

Ayame whispered into his hair, voice soft and steady despite her tiredness:
"You're not alone, Haruto. Not ever. We're still here. And we'll face this… together."

Haruto's crying faded slowly, his breath stuttering until exhaustion finally claimed him.

Ayame was sitting on the sofa, her back straight despite the fatigue weighing on her shoulders. Haruto lay curled beside her, his small body turned inward, his head resting on her lap. One of his hands was loosely gripping the fabric of her sleeve, as if letting go would mean losing something again.

She didn't move him.

Her fingers brushed gently through his hair—not to soothe him, but to keep him anchored. His lashes were still wet, a faint redness lingering around his left eye even in sleep.

Ayame stared ahead, unfocused.

"…So it's begun," she said quietly.

The house was silent. Too silent.

She adjusted her posture slightly so his neck wouldn't strain, then rested one hand against the edge of the sofa, grounding herself. The tiredness in her eyes remained, but beneath it was something sharper—measured, alert.

"Fear isn't the root," she murmured. "It's just the trigger."

Her gaze lowered to Haruto.

"What you're carrying was planted long before you could understand it."

She fell quiet for a few seconds, as if listening for something only she could hear.

"Everyone thinks hiding the truth protects you," she continued. "But truths don't disappear. They wait."

Her fingers paused near his temple—near the eye—but she pulled back before touching it.

"Too much pressure in one place," she whispered. "That's how things break."

Ayame leaned back slightly, eyes closing for a brief moment.

Then she spoke again—soft, deliberate, and not meant for anyone else.

"Haruto… you might have a promise with Father."

Her hand tightened gently, protectively, around his.

"But I won't let you walk this path alone."

Her eyes opened, steady now.

"Because I made a promise too," she said.
"…To Mother."

She looked down at him, expression unreadable.

"And unlike the others," she added under her breath,
"I'm not pretending anymore."

Haruto slept on, unaware that while his world had just cracked open,
the person holding him was already preparing for what came next—
not as a sister…

…but as someone who knew the cost of what he was becoming.

Haruto stirred in his sleep.

It was subtle—barely noticeable—but Ayame felt it immediately. His left eyelid twitched beneath her fingers, rapid and uneven, as if something inside him was struggling to surface.

She placed her hand gently over his eye.

"…You can sense it even while sleeping," she murmured, more to herself than to him.

His brow tightened. His fingers curled into the fabric of her sleeve, gripping without waking.

Ayame's eyes lifted.

A sound echoed faintly from outside the house.

Not loud.
Not sudden.

Wrong.

Her jaw set. "You heard that too… didn't you?"

Haruto didn't answer—but his breathing changed, shallow and strained.

The next sound came closer.

Then—

The door burst open.

Wood cracked against the wall as a dark figure rushed in, fast and precise. The air shifted with killing intent, sharp enough to sting the skin.

The hunter didn't hesitate.

His gaze locked onto the sofa.

Onto Haruto.

A kunai flashed in his hand, angled straight for the sleeping boy's chest.

Ayame moved before thought.

She vaulted over the back of the sofa in a single motion, her body cutting between Haruto and the blade. Her foot struck the hunter's wrist hard—metal clattered across the floor as the kunai spun away.

The impact sent the hunter staggering back.

Ayame landed lightly, already turning, placing herself fully in front of Haruto—shoulders squared, eyes cold.

"Not him," she said quietly.

"Not him," she said quietly.

The kunai was already moving.

Ayame reached out and caught it midair, her grip precise, effortless—like she'd been waiting for it. In the same motion, she stepped forward and slashed across the hunter's throat.

A spray of blood hit the wall as the hunter collapsed at her feet.

Ayame didn't blink.

Her eyes lifted.

And her breath caught.

They were everywhere.

Figures on the roof outside. Shadows beyond the broken doorway. Movement behind the windows. Not rushing. Not attacking.

Watching.

Counting.

Behind her, Haruto stirred. His left eye twitched violently, a thin line of blood leaking free as his fingers clenched into the cushion.

"…You can feel them even asleep," Ayame muttered, pressing her hand over his eye.

A sound came from outside—soft, deliberate.

Ayame clicked her tongue.

"No chance."

She turned, threw Haruto onto her back, his arms instinctively locking around her shoulders. His breath hitched, but he didn't wake.

The pressure in the room spiked.

Ayame sprinted.

She burst through the doorway and into the open street, afternoon light blinding after the shadows inside. Her footsteps thundered against stone as she cut through alleys without slowing.

Behind her—

No pursuit.

That was worse.

Because it meant one thing.

They weren't chasing.

They were hunting.

And Haruto was already marked.

Ayame ran through the streets, Haruto secured on her back. His small hands clung to her shoulders, and his left eye twitched, a thin line of blood showing.

The streets were mostly empty—people were awake, moving about, and the hunters had vanished into the shadows.

For a moment, it seemed as if they had escaped.

Then—

A kunai spun through the air toward them.

Ayame's eyes narrowed. She glanced to her side and saw a hunter crouched, ready to strike.

Without hesitation, she grabbed the kunai midair and threw it back, which pierced. The hunter stumbled and collapsed.

Haruto whimpered softly against her back, clinging tighter.

The afternoon sun glinted off the blade in her hand, and for a heartbeat, the world was still again.

But Ayame knew: this fight wasn't over.

Meanwhile in the Academy… The classroom was quiet, sunlight streaming through the windows.

Kaito's pen slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. Instantly, every student turned to look at him.

Flushing slightly, he bent to pick it up, but the unease he felt wouldn't let him stay calm.

He walked over to Daigo, speaking in a low voice.

"Sensei… I feel something's wrong with Ayame and Haruto. I… I can sense it," he said, tension in his voice.

Daigo looked down at him, calm but slightly amused. "It's nothing, Kaito. Just go sit. You just woke up from sleeping in class—it's unusual for you, but it's fine."

Kaito's expression hardened. His heart raced, instincts screaming that something was wrong. Without waiting, he bolted toward the door, intending to check on his siblings.

But Daigo appeared in front of him, calm and unshakable. Kaito skidded to a stop.

"Explain to me what you really think," Daigo said firmly.

Kaito took a deep breath, lowering his head, and whispered everything he sensed, all the unease and worry about Ayame and Haruto, while they walked back toward the classroom.

Daigo listened quietly, then nodded. "I will inform the others. You can stay. I trust you, Kaito."

With that, Daigo turned and left the classroom, leaving Kaito to quietly return to his seat.

As Daigo walked down the corridor, he murmured to himself, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Inazuma clan… huh. They can sense danger very easily. No doubt. I can even assure that—I once worked under his father."

Ayame sprinted through the streets with Haruto secured on her back, adrenaline propelling her forward.

The open ground finally came into view—a sloped field, rough earth beneath their feet.

A misstep. Ayame stumbled, losing her balance.

Both of them tumbled down the slope.

Haruto hit the ground hard. His head struck the earth, a thin trail of blood forming across his forehead.

Ayame cried out softly as pain tore through her side and leg. She tried to stand.

Her body refused.

She shifted instead, forcing herself upright into a sitting position despite the pain, and pulled Haruto into her arms. He rested against her chest, limp and shaken, his breathing uneven.

Ayame wrapped both arms around him tightly.

"I understand now…" she whispered.

Her voice trembled, but she didn't stop.

"I understand the pain you felt… carrying Enruto on your back four years ago."

Her grip tightened.

"But this time is different," she said, pressing her forehead against Haruto's hair.
"Enruto didn't return…"

Her breath hitched.

"But we will."

The field around them was silent. Too silent.

Then—

Movement.

Figures stepped out from different directions. No hiding now. No hesitation.

The hunters advanced openly.

Ayame lifted her head slowly. Tears slid down her face, but her eyes were steady she felt it then—the certainty settling deep in her chest. Not fear. Not panic.

Resolve.

She looked down at Haruto's face, at the way his fingers still clung to her clothing even in pain.

A tear slipped free.

"I'm sorry, Haruto," she whispered.

Her arms tightened around him one last time.

"One of us has to survive."

Something inside her answered.

Pressure built—heavy, overwhelming—spreading outward from her core. The air itself seemed to strain.

Then it broke.

A powerful wave surged outward from Ayame's body, racing across the ground.

The nearest hunters were thrown back violently, collapsing where they landed, no longer moving, they died.

Those farther away were hurled aside, crashing hard—still alive, but severely injured, unable to rise.

Dust rolled through the field.

When it settled, Ayame sagged forward, her strength gone. She held Haruto close, refusing to let him slip from her arms.

"I'm still here," she whispered weakly. "So you stay too."

The afternoon sun shone above them, uncaring.

But Ayame didn't look up.

She only held on.

Ayame's chest heaved as she sat holding Haruto. Tears slid freely down her face.

She pressed her forehead lightly against his, listening.

"I… I'm sorry, Haruto," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I did what I had to… it was better… one of us had to survive."

Her hands tightened around him as she felt his faint heartbeat.

"Don't give up," she murmured. "I'm here. Just… stay with me, okay? I know… Big Sister or Brother will be back anytime soon."

Haruto remained quiet, but his hand weakly curled against her arm.

The two of them stayed there, battered, exhausted, but alive—for now.

At their home, Akari and Renjiro arrived.

The door hung ajar, splintered from the earlier chaos.

They exchanged a look and stepped inside.

Their eyes widened. Fallen hunters lay scattered across the floor, dark blood staining the room.

But they sensed movement.

From every direction, hunters surged forward, emerging from shadowed corners and open windows.

"Kill them both!" they shouted, voices harsh, cold.

Akari and Renjiro reacted instantly.

Weapons drawn, they moved with precision. Every hunter that came close was struck down or knocked back eventually all got killed.

The room shook with the sudden clash.

Akari ducked a swinging weapon, countering with one swift motion. Renjiro's stance was solid, each strike precise, scattering attackers.

Through it all, the scattered blood on the floor marked the remnants of the first wave, a stark reminder of what Ayame and Haruto had faced outside.

But now, Akari and Renjiro were here. They were the shield.

And the hunters who thought the two kids could be easily taken down were learning, very quickly, how wrong they were.

At the academy, Kaito's hand tightened around his pen as it fell to the floor.
He whispered to Daigo, "Sensei… did you sense that blow?"

Daigo glanced at him, calm but sharp.
"Kaito, I've sent someone to check. You don't have to worry now."

Kaito's eyes narrowed. Something still didn't feel right, but Daigo didn't elaborate.

Daigo raised his voice, drawing the attention of the whole class.
"Before dispersal, remind me of something. I have something special to tell you all."

The classroom buzzed with curiosity, but Kaito couldn't focus. His mind was elsewhere—on the feeling that something dangerous had just struck Ayame and Haruto.