Chapter 23 : Return to the Surface

The sky was softer here.

No cracks. No sigils. No ancient forces pressing against the walls of reality.

Just the dying glow of a summer sun, and the rhythmic hum of cicadas in the hedges.

I stepped out of the alleyway where the dimensional fold opened behind me, sealing itself silently as I emerged into the normal world—my mask in place once more. The heavy weight of my empire slipped behind my expression like a well-worn coat. Shoulders low. Eyes calm. A tired boy returning from school.

But I felt the strain.

Even with my power, the reweaving of protections had cost me time, focus… and perhaps something deeper.

I didn't notice her at first.

"Ren!"

Her voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

Airi stood just outside her gate—directly across the narrow garden strip that separated our houses. Her hair was tied up in a loose ribbon, fluttering in the breeze. She wore her usual school uniform, slightly crumpled from the long day, her bag slung over one shoulder. Her eyes—wide and brown and too observant—were locked on me.

"You're late," she said, already moving toward me.

"I stayed behind for something," I murmured.

She stopped in front of me, hands on her hips, but her expression wasn't angry—just… worried.

"You look tired."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not." She stepped closer. Too close. Her fingers brushed my sleeve, soft and familiar. "Your eyes are dull. You didn't even hear me the first time. That's not like you."

I blinked. She notices too much.

"I didn't sleep well."

She frowned. "Then let me walk you home."

"That's not necessary."

She stared up at me for a long moment, then smiled. It was soft. Loving. And completely non-negotiable.

"Too bad."

I didn't argue. I never did with her—not because I couldn't, but because resisting her affection took more energy than I was willing to waste.

We began walking the last few paces together—our homes standing side by side, just like they had our whole lives.

Hers: cheerful, well-kept, always filled with light and the sounds of conversation and music.

Mine: quiet, shadowed, untouched by anything that felt alive.

Airi slowed as we reached the short path between our doors. Normally, she'd give me a small smile, squeeze my hand, and slip into her house with a soft goodbye.

But tonight, she didn't move.

She stood beside me, fingers brushing mine again—hesitant, searching.

"You looked worse than usual today," she said quietly, glancing up. "Like something pulled you apart and put you back together wrong."

I tilted my head slightly. "That's dramatic."

She laughed, but it was soft. Thin. "Yeah. Maybe. But I know how you usually fake being tired. Today didn't feel like that."

She knew. Not everything. Not even close. But Airi always sensed the shifts—the imperfections in the mask I wore.

"I'm just worn out," I said, turning toward my door. "It won't last."

Her hand caught my wrist.

I didn't flinch, but I did stop.

Her grip was gentle but firm. She looked at me with something between worry and fear. "Ren… if something's wrong, and you're in danger, or if someone's doing something to you… I want you to tell me."

I didn't respond right away.

Because someone was doing something to me.

Me.

But she wasn't ready to understand that. No one was.

So I turned and offered her a small, practiced smile.

"There's nothing to worry about."

She didn't let go of my wrist. Not immediately. Her eyes searched mine, and for a brief moment, I wondered if she saw through the lie.

Then she let go, shoulders sagging.

"Okay," she murmured. "But if that changes… even a little…"

"I'll tell you," I said. Another lie.

There was a long silence before she spoke again. This time, her voice was gentler. "Then… let me stay with you. Just for a while. Until nine. You shouldn't be alone tonight."

I hesitated—but only for a moment. Then I nodded.

"Fine."

We both stepped into my house.

The door shut behind us with a soft click.

She didn't know that beneath her feet, beneath this quiet, ordinary home, an empire stirred.

And far below, through stone and steel and silence, Elira stirred too—sensing him. Always sensing him.