The silent gurgling of water stilled the noise in my head. Steam rose in lazy spirals, carrying the crisp, chilling air that had refused to leave my skin ever since last night.
I blinked, taking in the familiar sight of my own bathroom—the pale tile walls, the damp blue towel hanging on the rack, and the bucket of muddy clothes by the door. My hair was wet, smelling faintly of the rose shampoo I always used.
I turned off the faucet, wrapping the towel tightly around my chest.
Knock, knock.
I froze. A sudden jolt of adrenaline shot through my spine.
'Who could possibly be knocking? I live alone!'
The doorknob turned. To my horror, the lock hadn't caught. Instinctively, I threw my weight against the heavy wood, holding it shut with all my strength.
"Wait! Just a moment! I'm not dressed!" I yelled, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Click, click…
The knob was jiggled from the outside again, despite my shout. A sudden, immovable pressure pushed from the other side, forcing the door open just a crack.
Before I could scream, a long, black-gloved hand emerged through the gap, holding out a dark tote bag.
"Your clothes are dirty, aren't they? Take these."
That deep, velvety baritone...
My breath hitched. Reluctantly, I snatched the bag. The door clicked shut, though I could feel his heavy, suffocating presence lingering right outside the threshold.
I hurriedly put on what I had been given: a pink knit sweater—which felt strangely familiar—paired with a white pleated skirt and a pair of white sandals adorned with carnations.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled open the bathroom door.
Click.
The hallway of my house was gone.
Standing right outside was a tall figure draped in a long black robe, his back turned to me.
As I stepped out, he turned around slowly. His hood shadowed his face, but that deceptively sweet, dangerous smile greeted me like a haunting ghost.
It was Black Robe.
He looked at me with a smile, its meaning unreadable save for a flicker of quiet satisfaction in his eyes. It was enough to make me drop my gaze, staring down at my sandals.
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"You're beautiful."
Blood immediately rushed to my cheeks. Damn it. My eyes quickly shifted to a crack in the wall, praying to be brought back to reality before my sanity completely collapsed.
Before I could retreat, a stone-cold touch brushed against my skin.
Black Robe was leaning down, carefully wrapping a soft white scarf around my neck. His long fingers deliberately grazed my burning cheek. The icy contact sent a shiver straight down my spine, making my face burn even hotter.
I swatted his hand away with a scowl, prompting a low, amused chuckle from beneath his hood.
"My stiff little lady is finally blushing," he teased softly, his fingers lingering near my chin. "Though I wouldn't advise falling in love with me just yet."
Finally. The insufferable, mocking Black Robe I knew was back.
Without another word, he took my hand. As our fingers intertwined, the dull walls dissolved, instantly swallowed by an open blue sky. The tiled floor melted into a sea of lush green grass.
Ahead lay a vast pasture, though not a single sheep roamed its expanse. The horizon stretched out clear and unobstructed.
"Where are we going?" I muttered, even though my feet were compelled to follow him.
My attention was drawn to a massive tree standing dead center in the clearing. So tall, so majestic. Its sprawling roots intertwined to form a grand archway.
The inner walls were woven entirely from thick, tangled roots, while soft light filtered down through a high, dome-like canopy of leaves.
Within stood a row of robed figures arranged in neat formation. As we stepped inside, they bowed in synchronized reverence.
One of them advanced, presenting an aged golden tray holding two strikingly contrasting daggers.
"Choose. One is for you, and one for your destiny," Black Robe said. He stood beside me in silence as usual, never bothering to explain the weight of his words.
Hesitantly, I inspected the pair.
On the right, a dagger in a white sheath with a sacred-looking golden gleam. On the left, a dagger in a black sheath with amethyst sparkle that felt dark, yet somehow more familiar.
I glanced sideways at Black Robe. His smile remained, though this time it felt profound. My thoughts instead returned to what he said:
'One for you, and one for your destiny.'
I didn't know why, but my instincts made the choice for me. My hand reached out, closing around the hilt of the black dagger.
SHHH-T!
The moment my fingers gripped it, a rush of dark warmth surged through my veins. The weapon felt utterly natural in my palm, as if a long-lost fragment of my own soul had just clicked back into place.
Black Robe stayed quiet, his smile widening completely—profound and satisfied.
Without warning, he grabbed my hand and pulled me to the center of the room, where the intricate symbols of a sun and a moon were intertwined across the floor. As our feet touched them, the markings began to glow with a faint, golden radiance.
Before I could process it, he stepped directly in front of me, leaning in close until the tips of our noses nearly touched.
"The sun represents life, and the moon represents death," he whispered, his voice low and heavy with meaning. "We exist in the space between them. And you, Ishihara... you are the bridge—"
KABOOM!
The entire chamber shook violently, cutting off the rest of his words. Before the ceiling collapsed, Black Robe’s arms locked around me, pulling me into a hard, protective embrace against his chest.
The robed figures smiled stiffly like mannequins before everything collapsed in a blur...
⊹
⁛
⊹
GASPP!
My eyes snapped open. I was in my own bedroom, lying flat on my soft mattress.
I scrambled up, frantically tossing aside my pillows, blanket, and even Brahma—who squawked in protest—searching every inch of the bed.
"N-no… where is it… where is the black dagger?!"
There was nothing.
I stared down at my trembling palms. A bone-chilling cold seeped through my skin, exactly like the frozen hilt of the blade I had held moments ago. Frantically, I rubbed my hands together, desperately trying to summon warmth back into my numb fingers.
Yet, it changed nothing. The physical dagger was gone, but every time its memory crossed my mind, that icy phantom weight returned to my right hand—etched into my skin forever.