The portal

"This is so similar," he whispered into the darkness. "Too similar. Just like Dad…"

His voice trailed off, the words hanging in the air like a curse. Shino's heart raced as the realization sank in. He was scared—not just for Aki, but for himself. Scared that history was repeating itself, that he was destined to fail just as he had failed to find his father.

Scared that, no matter how hard he tried, he would never find the missing kid.

AKI

The evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the quiet suburban street. The house stood at the end of a cul-de-sac, its exterior unassuming, blending seamlessly with the other homes in the neighborhood. But Aki knew better. The house was a fortress, a sanctuary, and a hideout all rolled into one. He had spent enough time here to recognize the subtle signs, the reinforced windows, the high-tech security system disguised as ordinary outdoor lights, and the faint hum of generators buried deep underground. It was a place designed to disappear, to protect, and to withstand.

Aki leaned against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed, as he watched Kenji rummage through a drawer in the living room. The boy's movements were deliberate, his focus sharp, as though he were searching for something crucial. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from a single lamp on the side table. The air smelled faintly of dust and old wood, a testament to how rarely the house was used. Aki's gaze drifted to the bookshelf against the wall, its shelves lined with unmarked binders and outdated encyclopedias. He knew better than to assume they were innocuous. Everything in this house had a purpose.

"So," Aki began, his voice cutting through the silence, "why do you even have a place like this? I mean, it's not exactly a vacation home."

Kenji paused, his hand hovering over the drawer. He glanced at Aki, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Aki thought he wouldn't answer. But then Kenji straightened, a small, weathered notebook in his hand, and sighed.

"You know why," Kenji said, his voice low and steady. "This line of work… it's unpredictable. You never know when you'll need a place to lay low, to regroup, or to disappear entirely. Having safe houses like this one isn't a luxury—it's a necessity."

Aki frowned, his eyes narrowing as he studied Kenji. "But this isn't just any safe house. This place is… different. It's like you've prepared for something big. Something worse than the usual."

Kenji's lips twitched, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face. "You're sharper than you look. Yeah, this place is special. It's not just a hideout—it's a contingency plan. If things go south, and I mean really south, this is where we come. It's stocked, fortified, and completely off the grid. No one knows about it except a handful of people I trust."

Aki's mind raced as he processed Kenji's words. He had always known Kenji was meticulous, but this level of preparation was something else entirely. It spoke of paranoia, yes, but also of experience. Kenji had seen things, survived things, that Aki could only imagine.

"You think it's going to get that bad?" Aki asked, his voice quieter now.

Kenji's expression darkened, and he looked away, his gaze fixed on the notebook in his hand. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I've learned not to take chances. Not with what's at stake."

Before Aki could press further, the sound of clattering pots and pans echoed from the kitchen, followed by the rich, savory aroma of food cooking. Emi stood at the stove, her back to them, her movements fluid and practiced as she stirred a pot of simmering broth. The kitchen was small but well-equipped, its stainless-steel appliances gleaming under the warm glow of the overhead light. A pot of rice steamed on the counter, and a cutting board piled high with fresh vegetables sat beside it. Emi hummed softly to herself, a tune that Aki didn't recognize but found oddly comforting.

Aki pushed off the counter and made his way to the dining table, pulling out a chair and sitting down. The table was simple, made of dark wood, its surface scarred with years of use. He traced a finger along one of the grooves, his thoughts drifting as he watched Emi work.

"Why did you bring me here?" he asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the kitchen.

Emi paused, her hand stilling on the ladle. She didn't turn around immediately, and for a moment, Aki wondered if she had heard him. But then she set the ladle down and turned to face him, her expression thoughtful.

"You know why," she said softly, echoing Kenji's earlier words. "You're the key to all of this, Aki. The portal, the walkers, everything. I didn't bring you here just to keep you safe. I brought you here because you're the only one who can help us."

Aki's brow furrowed, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "But why me? I'm not… I'm not him. I'm not the Aki from your world. I didn't fight those things. I didn't burn myself to stop them. That was someone else."

Emi's eyes softened, and she walked over to the table, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from him. She reached out, placing her hand over his, her touch warm and reassuring.

"You're right," she said. "You're not him. But you're connected to him in ways you don't even understand. The portal… it's always been there, hidden in that tree. But something changed the day he sacrificed himself. Something was triggered. And now, the walkers are coming through more frequently, more aggressively. They're drawn to you, Aki. To your energy, your presence. You're the last link to that portal, the last thread holding it together."

Aki's chest tightened, and he looked down at their hands, his mind racing. He had always felt out of place, like he didn't belong. But this… this was something else entirely. He was a stranger in his own life, a pawn in a game he didn't even know he was playing.

"So, what does that mean?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "What am I supposed to do?"

Emi squeezed his hand, her grip firm but gentle. "We'll figure it out," she said. "Together. But for now, you need to trust us. Trust me. We're on your side, Aki. We always have been."

The sound of footsteps interrupted them, and Kenji appeared in the doorway, his expression grim. He held the notebook in one hand, his other resting on the hilt of the knife at his belt.

"We need to talk," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Both of you. Now."

Aki exchanged a glance with Emi, then nodded, pushing back his chair and standing up. Whatever was coming, he knew he couldn't face it alone. And for the first time in a long time, he felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as lost as he thought.

The three of them gathered in the living room, the atmosphere tense as Kenji spread the notebook open on the coffee table. The pages were filled with notes, sketches, and observations, all written in a tight, precise hand. Aki leaned forward, his eyes scanning the pages, but the contents were cryptic, filled with references to events.

"This," Kenji said, tapping a page with his finger, "is everything we know so far. The portal… it's not like anything we've encountered before. It's not just a gateway—it's something alive, something that reacts, that changes. But we don't know what it is, not really. All we know is that it's tied to the walkers, and it's tied to you."

Aki's stomach churned, and he looked away, his gaze falling on the window. The curtains were drawn, but he could still see the faint outline of the tree outside, its branches swaying gently in the breeze. It looked so ordinary, so harmless. But he knew better.

"So how do we stop it?" Emi asked, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.

Kenji's jaw tightened, and he looked at Aki, his gaze piercing. "We don't know yet," he admitted. "But we're going to figure it out. And that's where you come in, kid. You're the key. Whether you like it or not, you're a part of this now. And if we're going to survive, you need to embrace it."

Aki's heart pounded in his chest, and he clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He didn't want this. He didn't ask for this. But deep down, he knew Kenji was right. This wasn't just about him anymore. It was about everyone. And if he had the power to stop it, then he had to try.

"Alright," he said, his voice firm despite the fear coursing through him. "Tell me what I need to do."

Kenji nodded, a flicker of respect in his eyes. "Good. But first, we eat. We're going to need our strength."

As they returned to the kitchen, the smell of food filling the air, Aki couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.