The Golden Pieces

 The Golden Pieces

By Vinicius Cardoso

Chapter 1 - Mars

Ownership belongs to Marcos Vinicius de Moura Cardoso, only.

Fobos - Queen Cry

I have memories of a very young age. Memories of my grandma slowly swaying to the beats of the drums. She was gracious as the snow reflecting the moonlight. She had this incredible way of catching everyone's attention, like her body was slicing through the air with each movement. She used to be so elegant when she danced, but with time, that grace seemed to slip away, much like her life did.

These days, my memories are like emotional earthquakes, hitting me as soon as I open my eyes. I live strict days with all my actions being controlled by my mom, Takeko Aika. She used to be happy, she used to smile at my grandma's jokes and loved by everyone around her. Now she’s just cranky as I can say.  But now, she's become somewhat cranky. She dictates my actions, constantly reminding me how to walk, speak, and even how to sit. It's a constant presence. I understand what she's afraid of, but what's wrong with just being... me?

It's the first day of March in a leap year, and I can feel the sunlight turning my closed eyelids orange. I don't even need to open my eyes to know that my mom is drawing the curtains. "Get up, Takeko. You've got school," she says in that way that's supposed to make me want to jump out of bed. I drag myself up, even though every part of me is screaming against it, begging to stay cocooned in my soft pink sheets. 

I make my way to the bathroom and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. A pale, slender girl with disheveled hair and a face that rarely shows happiness stares back at me. My smile seems almost vacant. I run a brush through my shoulder-length hair, wondering why I've never had the courage to try a bolder look, maybe with a splash of pink or orange. Perhaps it's the fear of what others might think.

After getting dressed, I head to the kitchen, where my mom is already preparing her usual cup of coffee, getting ready for work. She's left a small piece of bread on the table for me to eat, and it's as cold as ice.

Our kitchen is tiny, with room for only a two-seat table. Above the refrigerator, an aging tube television has yellowed with time. The local news is on, reporting an explosion in an Arctic village, leaving behind nothing but destruction.

A female reporter's voice fills the room, relaying the sudden and inexplicable disaster. European authorities are baffled, and local news anchor Mr. Shinjiro Ishikawa suggests it might signal the onset of another war, with Russia in the spotlight.

 

My mother finishes her coffee, clutching her chest. "These people have nothing else to do," she mutters to herself.

With a slight adjustment of her posture, my mother prepares to leave for work. I've always admired how she takes deep breaths before heading to work. I admired how she struggles to keep me and my grandparents safe in our small house. 

She nods for herself and heads toward the front door. Before she steps out the door, she reminds me of my grandmother’s funeral. "Takeko, remember the funeral tonight. 6:00 PM. My dad's coming, so don't embarrass me like you did last time.” “I don’t want to go”, I whisper. Mom is already at the door. I think she heard me, giving her reaction. “What?” She screams “You're such a letdown. You couldn't even visit your grandma in the hospital. Can't you toughen up a bit?" She slams the door behind them, leaving me alone at the table.

Of course, I won't forget about grandma's funeral. But I'm not exactly looking forward to it either. The last memory I have of her is her smiling. I don't want to replace that with the image of her ashes and people dressed in black, crying their eyes out. And I definitely don't want to see the sadness in grandpa's eyes. Can I just... be selfish this one time? just this time.

Anyway, it is time to go to school. As I step out of my house, the sun's warmth bathes my skin. It's the gentle embrace of early spring, and the breeze ruffles my hair, like a reassuring pat on the back. I can't help but remember how grandma used to play with me, telling me that my hair was as beautiful as the blackest night, and that my eyes contained all the colors of the world. I gently notice how I’m smiling at her memory. I miss her. I take a deep breath in a way to recompose myself like mom does and I start walking, slowly breathing, slowly getting back to my feets. 

As I make my way to school, I observe the hustle and bustle of people walking hurriedly, caught up in the rhythm of their lives. I can't help but wonder how many times they've repeated this cycle of rushing. The houses and stores along the way seem to glow with the warmth of the sun, each one catching the light in its own unique way.

As I arrive at the school gate, I'm greeted by the sight of cherry blossom trees in full bloom. It's a beautiful sight, and I'm drawn to the delicate pink petals. It brings to mind the first time I met him, and how I used to imagine a hidden shade of bright pink inside his brown eyes. It's a little peculiar how I always search for that hint of pink whenever I look at him. I wonder if Hiroshi is already at school. I consider sending him a text, but as I reach into my pockets, all I find are my house keys – no phone. Perhaps I left it in my room. It's not a big concern; he always has a way of finding me, he always does.

I walk down the school hallways, surrounded by the lively chatter of girls. They're discussing everything from crushes to teachers to the overwhelming expectations their parents have for college. It's frustrating how effortlessly they talk about these things, laughing and sharing their thoughts, while these very topics fill me with anxiety. How do they manage to stay so composed while I'm constantly on edge? I lower my head in a mix of jealousy and self-doubt as I make my way to my classroom.

Taking my seat, I grab my book from my bag, preparing for the upcoming class. It's a brief moment where I can let my mind wander. I glance out of the window, where the sky stretches out in a calm shade of blue. I notice a small eagle soaring playfully amidst the clouds, its movements graceful and carefree. I wish I could feel that kind of freedom from the burdens of the world. I know it might sound a bit dramatic, but bear with me. I just wish I could be as carefree as that eagle up there.

The classroom door slams shut, pulling me back to reality. I refocus my attention as Mrs. Miyamoto, our teacher, strides into the room. She's a strict woman in her fifties, perpetually single, and there's a hint of sadness in her eyes, reflected in her sharp tone. "Everyone, turn to page 167. We're diving into the Kofun period in history. Read and summarize," she instructs before taking her seat, leaving the room in an uneasy silence. She's known for her no-nonsense attitude, which might be a result of her eternal single status.

"Sensei, why don't we ask Takeko? She's Korean, right? Let's hear what she has to say about her people losing yet another war to us," Akiko's voice cuts through the classroom. An uncomfortable hush falls over the room, with her words hanging in the air like a heavy cloud. I can feel the weight of everyone's eyes on me. It's an awkward position to be in—living in Japan, but not being ethnically Japanese. Thanks to my father's background, I'm half-Korean. However, like many of us with mixed heritage, I've been the target of bullying. My grandparents were Koreans who moved to Japan during the Korean War. My mother was born here and so was I, making us Japanese citizens. But due to my appearance, I'm not fully accepted as Japanese by everyone around me. At this moment, my emotions oscillate between fear of judgment and anger towards Akiko. She's smart and attractive, which makes her popular, but what makes it worse is that she's also a bully, and her target is me. Like any other bullying victim, I struggle to comprehend her motives.

"Takeko, do you have anything to add?" Sensei Miyamoto inquires, putting me on the spot. I stand up from my desk, my heart racing as the attention focuses on me. "I have nothing to contribute. I apologize," I respond with a respectful nod, quickly retaking my seat. My back is now drenched in sweat, and I want to avoid escalating the situation any further.

"Stupid girl," Akiko's whisper reaches my ears, a reminder of the unwarranted judgments that persistently shadow me.

"I'm not stupid. Show me some respect," I retort, my voice steady despite the frustration simmering within me.

"No. You're worse. You're weak," Akiko's smile widens with each word she utters, like she's taking pleasure in watching me crumble. I feel my confidence draining away, leaving me feeling utterly powerless.

Girlish giggles accompany my discomfort, making me involuntarily scratch the back of my neck, a habit that surfaces when I'm feeling particularly uneasy. The situation only escalates when Sensei Miyamoto rises from her chair and strikes the table, commanding the class's attention. "Everyone, quiet down and continue reading. Takeko, I expect you to be more focused next time," she declares before resuming her lesson plans. It's unjust how I seem to attract trouble even when I've done nothing wrong.

Throughout the class, folded paper balls come flying at me, each carrying cruel messages urging me to leave, asserting that I'm unwanted, even telling me to die. I want to cry. I just want to escape this torment and feel protected by him.

When the lunchtime bell rings, Sensei Miyamoto exits the room. I waste no time, swiftly making my way out. In the corridor, an unfamiliar girl bumps into me, warning me to watch where I'm going. Apologizing instinctively, I hurry away from the classroom.

I run through the corridors, taking the stairs without hesitation. With each step, the corridor darkens. Finally, I reach the metal door that leads to the rooftop. A sign warns against opening it due to ongoing construction, but I've ignored that sign before. With a determined push, I swing the door open. My vision is momentarily blinded by the bright light. I close my eyes to adjust to the clarity. As expected, Hiroshi isn't here, but I catch a glimpse of a shadow cast by the construction canvas. I find my usual spot, and as I sit, a sudden drowsiness envelops me. Am I really this tired?

Out of nowhere, a wet sensation lands on my left cheek, causing me to jump and yelp in surprise. It's Hiroshi, laughing heartily at my reaction. "You're such a klutz, Takeko," he remarks through his laughter, wiping away his own tears.

"You scared me, idiot," I retort playfully, giving his leg a light punch.

Seating himself beside me, Hiroshi gives me a puppy-eyed look. "Why weren't you responding to my messages?"

"What messages?" I reply, my expression feigning ignorance.

"The ones I've been sending you all morning," he answers, mimicking annoyance as he puffs up his cheeks. Admittedly, he's quite adorable.

"I left my phone at home!" I admit, biting my lip to suppress a smile.

"That's so like you. Well, I've something for you." Hiroshi hands me a slice of bread with Nutella.

"Thanks," I say with gratitude, taking a bite. The sweet, chocolatey flavor explodes in my mouth, and I can't help but let a bit of the delight show on my face. Hiroshi's eyes are fixed on me, and I find myself staring into his deep brown eyes, searching for that hint of pink that I always associate with him. His smile widens, and I can't help but return it. I use the sleeve of my shirt to wipe my mouth, noticing that the white fabric is turning brown from the Nutella smudge. I don't mind; I can always wash it later.

Suddenly, Hiroshi checks his phone and hastily swallows his food. "I've got to go, and so do you. I'll find you after class," he says before darting off toward the door.

As Hiroshi's figure gradually fades from view, I watch him for a moment before heading back to class.

The final bell of the day rings, signaling the end of class. As I step out of the classroom, I observe the usual exodus of students leaving for the day. I make my way to my locker, only to find more cruel messages stuck to my shoes, urging me to go back to my country. I crumple the papers in frustration and exit the school. Outside, the pink trees of the campus are adorned with leaves that catch the warm hues of the setting sun. I can't help but wonder where Hiroshi might be.

I pass through the school gate and begin my journey home. An odd intuition tugs at me, compelling me to glance over my shoulder. Just as I do, I spot a familiar figure tiptoeing towards me. It's Hiroshi. I act like I've only just noticed him when he's nearly beside me.

"Boo," I declare, turning around with a playful grin.

He opens his arms wide, a cheerful grin on his face. "Takeko, can't I ever surprise you?" he teases, and without hesitation, I embrace him.

"You found me, just like you said," I reply, a genuine smile forming on my lips as we intertwine our fingers and begin walking in the direction of my home.

His puppy-like eyes lock onto mine. "What's your plan for tonight?" he inquires.

"Tonight is my grandma's funeral. Grandpa must be there by now," I share.

"Didn't your grandpa live with you?" Hiroshi asks, his curiosity piqued.

"He does, but he wanted to return to the house where he and grandma raised my mom. He wanted to bring some of her memories for the funeral," I explained.

"Need company?" Hiroshi offers, his gaze sincere. I shake my head in response. As much as I'd appreciate his presence, the day belongs to my grandma. I don't want to divert anyone's focus away from her. I can feel my heart racing, a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. It's a daunting moment. I don't want to face it.

Amidst my thoughts, Hiroshi gently nudges me in a different direction. "Hey, Takeko, have you ever been here?" he asks, gesturing towards a park I've always noticed but never explored. The area is dimly lit, probably due to a malfunctioning lamppost.

"It's pretty dark here, Hiroshi. We should head back," I suggest.

He takes a seat on one of the benches and looks at me invitingly. "You seem anxious. Take a moment to unwind," he encourages. I decide to indulge his request, sitting down beside him. "The girls were at it again…" I confess, my voice tinged with embarrassment.

"Don't let them get to you. They're jerks. And you, Takeko, you're special, no matter what they say," he reassures me.

Slowly, I rest my head on his shoulder, allowing myself to relax. Gradually, my eyes begin to close, and before I know it, I'm slipping into sleep.

A gentle touch on my hair rouses me from my slumber. My eyes flutter open, and I find Hiroshi smiling down at me. "What time is it, Hiroshi?" I inquire through a yawn.

"You dozed off for about 15 minutes. Don't worry; it's still quite dark out. I can only see with my phone's flashlight," he replies, his voice soothing. I become more aware of my surroundings, realizing that there's still some time before the funeral. "Thank you, Hiroshi. I think we should head back," I decide, rising from the bench. He follows suit, and as we leave the park, a voice pierces the silence, demanding our attention. "Where do you two think you're going? Stop right there."

Fear clenches my heart, and Hiroshi's hand in mine tightens as we turn to face three menacing figures approaching us.

"Don't even think about running, or we won't hesitate to shoot," one of them warns, his voice cold and intimidating.

Thieves. Panic surges through me, and I instinctively move closer to Hiroshi, my mind racing to comprehend the dangerous situation unraveling before us.

"Here, take my phone. Just let us go," Hiroshi pleads, tossing his phone toward them in a desperate attempt to appease the attackers.

"We're not interested in your phone. Give us the package," insists a man with a red hood.

My confusion deepens. What package are they talking about? As I try to make sense of their demands, a rough hand brushes my hair aside, and one of the attackers positions himself behind us. Fear spikes, and I shout, "Run, Hiroshi!" When I glance at him, my heart constricts at the sight of a masked figure pressing a knife against his throat. Panic surges, and I act on pure instinct, ramming my forehead into the man's chin to break free. Sprinting toward Hiroshi, I'm shoved back with brutal force. "Don't even try, girl. You're weak," the man sneers.

"Help! Somebody, help!" I scream, desperation clawing at my throat. But before I can react further, a powerful kick to my face sends me reeling, and I crash to the ground.

My vision blurs as I try to make sense of the chaos around me. I witness Hiroshi bravely fighting off one of the assailants. Then, the unimaginable happens – I watch in horror as Hiroshi clutches his neck, his fingers stained with blood. Hiroshi? What's happening?

"Are you an idiot? We were supposed to get the package from the girl and leave," the man in the red hood scolds the knife-wielding assailant. In a hurried panic, they retreat, leaving Hiroshi crumpled on the ground, gasping for breath. I rush to his side, my heart pounding in my chest as I see his hand slick with crimson. It all happened so fast. Panic surges as I fumble for my phone, then Hiroshi's.

"SOMEBODY, HELP! CALL AN AMBULANCE!" I scream with every ounce of strength left in me, but the echoes return only silence. Desperation claws at my throat as Hiroshi's gaze wavers, his life slipping away.

I scream again and again, my desperate pleas echoing through the desolate night. But there's no help coming. I'm alone, and it's over. Hiroshi...

Tears stream down my cheeks, and I reach out to him, my trembling hands unable to stop the inevitable. "Don’t go!" I sob, my voice breaking as I cradle his fading form in my arms. Desperate to hold onto him, I gently lay his head on my lap, and in that fleeting moment, his lips curl into a faint, bittersweet smile, as if to comfort me one last time before he's gone.

I find myself in a sterile white room, an unsettling sense of unease settling over me. Seated across an enormous metal table, I'm under the harsh glare of fluorescent lights that cast an unnatural glow. The room feels cold, and I wrap my arms around myself, trying to ward off the discomfort. My mind is trapped in a relentless loop, replaying the same question, torturing me as I try desperately to hold back the tears that threaten to fall.

"I don't know who they were. Where's he?" I keep repeating, but no one offers an answer. The lady who was here before is gone, leaving me alone with my questions. The silence is heavy, suffocating, and my heart feels as though it might shatter at any moment.

As minutes stretch into hours, I can't help but notice the clock on the wall ticking ominously. The sound of each second passing only intensifies the dread building within me. I feel like a prisoner awaiting judgment, and the uncertainty of it all is unbearable.

"Mrs. Takeko, please come here. There's someone here who wants to speak with you," a voice calls me from outside the room. With trembling legs, I rise from my seat and follow the voice. I step into a smaller, dimly lit room where I find Grandpa waiting for me. Shame washes over me, and I feel like I can barely meet his gaze. He doesn't say anything; he simply steps forward and envelops me in a hug, and suddenly, the tears that I was trying so hard to hold back begin to spill.

"Grandpa, I'm sorry. I was so scared," I choke out, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and relief. His arms around me feel like a sanctuary, offering solace in a world that has become so confusing and chaotic.

"It's okay, my dear. You're safe now. Just breathe," Grandpa whispers soothingly.

"Where's Mom?" I ask, suddenly realizing her absence.

"They're at the funeral. They couldn't bring themselves to leave," Grandpa responds with a heavy sigh, his face etched with sorrow. The mention of the funeral sends a pang of guilt through me, a reminder of my absence.

A chilling coldness seems to grip my heart, like an icy winter breeze. We leave the office building and hail a cab. As we drive, I gather the courage to broach the topic of the funeral. "Grandpa, I don't even know what to say. I'm so sorry for ruining Grandma's funeral."

Grandpa places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "It's alright, Takeko. What matters most is that you're safe now. Let's get you home so you can rest."

As we arrive home, I see Mom sitting at the table, her face streaked with tears. They're tears of anger, of frustration, and perhaps even disappointment. Her eyes lock onto me, and though no words are exchanged, the weight of her gaze conveys volumes.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I murmur, my voice cracking as I fight back the tears that threaten to resurface. The room feels heavy with unsaid words and unspoken emotions, and I can't help but wonder how we'll ever bridge the gap that seems to have grown between us.

"Sorry? You're sorry?" Mom's voice trembles with a mixture of anger and hurt. She slams her hands onto the table, causing my heart to race. She rises abruptly, her fury evident. "You've ruined everything. My last moments with my mom, and all you can say is 'sorry'? Is that all you have to offer? You understand how ashamed I was? My 16 years old daughter is a murder"

Her anger pierces me like a dagger, and a heavy silence settles in the room. I clench my fists, struggling to find words to defend myself. "Mom, it's not my fault. He's gone. I could've been gone too," I try to reason, my voice shaky with emotion.

"You've ruined everything. Why, Takeko? Why did you have to do this?" Her voice quivers with emotion, and I can see her struggling to keep her tears at bay.

"Mom, please, you don't understand. He's gone. I loved him, and I lost him," I plead, my own tears welling up as I try to convey the pain that's tearing me apart.

Mom turns away, her emotions too raw to be contained. The room is charged with tension, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings.

The anger that initially gripped me starts to give way to a profound emptiness. "You don't understand," I whisper, the pain of her words like a sharp arrow embedded deep within me.

I stand there, helpless and lost, as the anger dissolves into a suffocating sadness. The tears may have dried, but the pain remains, a constant ache that refuses to relent. My world is shrouded in gray, and I can feel myself spiraling deeper and deeper into a void of desolation.

Amidst the escalating argument between Mom and Grandpa, I can't take it any longer. The turmoil, the emotions, the confusion—it's too much. Without a word, I bolt from the room and retreat to my bedroom, the door slamming shut behind me. The walls no longer offer solace; they only seem to close in on me, trapping me in a nightmarish reality.

Why? Why is this happening to me? Why has God chosen this path for me? Everything that felt secure, stable, is crumbling. This was supposed to be an ordinary day, but now, I've lost everything—everyone. I bury myself in my sheets, as if the fabric could somehow shield me from the world's cruelty.

Days blur into each other, and my existence becomes a monotonous cycle of darkness and solitude. I don't have the will to eat; food has lost its taste. I don't even feel hungry anymore. Nothing resonates within me; it's as if I'm trapped in a void, numb to everything around me. All I want is to remain here, doing nothing, and yet, I'm wracked with guilt for my inertia. But what else can I do? I've lost everything, and it feels like I'm constantly drowning.

A knock at the door interrupts the suffocating silence. "Takeko, are you in there?" It's Grandpa's voice. He's probably brought me some food, but I can't find the strength to respond. However, he doesn't wait for my invitation; the door opens, and he steps in.

"Oh, my dear, why are you like this?" he murmurs, his voice a blend of concern and sadness.

My vision blurs once more, my emotions resurfacing in a torrent of tears. His touch is gentle, comforting, as his hand brushes against my hair. "We need to help you, Takeko," he says softly, his voice laced with a mix of determination and love.

"I'm so weak, Grandpa," I whisper, the admission heavy with self-condemnation.

"No, don't say that," he chides gently. "You're my girl, my warrior."

His embrace envelops me, and despite the pain and darkness that engulf me, I find myself starting to believe his words. Memories of a younger version of myself—the fierce, spirited girl my grandma affectionately called a "little ram"—flicker to life. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth through my tears, a brief moment of respite from the pain.

Grandpa's voice becomes animated as he shares an idea. "You know, Takeko, how about we visit our old house? The place where your grandma and I fell in love."

I nod, a glimmer of curiosity kindling within me. Maybe a change of scenery could offer some semblance of relief from the suffocating gloom that's taken over my life.

Deimos 

The salty tang of the ocean air greeted us as we embarked on a small boat, setting out on our journey to Tsushima Island. I found myself seated next to my ever-enthusiastic grandfather, the boat gently rocking beneath us. The sun played a dazzling game of hide-and-seek on the water's surface, and seabirds soared through the vast sky, their freedom seeming almost infectious.

"Takeko, look over there, Tsushima Island!" Grandpa's voice held a tinge of excitement, and he pointed eagerly towards the horizon. My eyes followed his gesture, and a spark of anticipation ignited within me.

As we drew closer to the island, the wind began to tousle my hair. The briny breeze brushed against my face, bringing with it a sense of liberation I hadn't felt in a while. The gentle waves splashed against the sides of the boat, and I closed my eyes for a moment, taking in the soothing rhythm of the sea.

When I opened them again, Tsushima Island loomed ahead—a picturesque haven wrapped in nostalgia. My heart quickened as we docked at Izuhara, a charming coastal city. Each step I took was a stride into my grandparents' past, into the stories Grandma used to share.

We walked along the cobblestone streets, and I imagined the echoes of their laughter from years ago. Grandpa's tales of chasing sakura petals and tucking them into Grandma's hair suddenly felt more vivid than ever. The sakura trees lining the streets stood as silent witnesses to a love story that had bloomed in this very place.

Grandpa holds my hand, his weathered fingers interlacing with mine as we wander through the island's picturesque streets toward a waiting cab that will take us to his old house. The island's natural beauty envelops us, a serene backdrop to the stories of my grandparents' past. Lush greenery stretches as far as the eye can see, and the air carries a gentle scent of earth and sea.

As we pass by the locals, I notice their features bearing a striking resemblance to both Grandpa and me. For once, I don't feel like an outsider; instead, I feel a sense of belonging, as if these people share in the tapestry of my family's history.

The cab eventually comes to a stop in front of a charming Japanese house. Its walls, built from ancient stones, exude a timeless charm, and a quaint brown wooden gate stands proudly at the entrance. The wall surrounding the house is so low that it barely reaches my waist, giving it an inviting air.

"Grandpa, the house looks incredibly well-preserved!" I can't help but express my admiration and surprise.

"Indeed," Grandpa responds with a hint of nostalgia in his voice. "Your grandma and I made arrangements with our neighbor to ensure it stayed in good condition. It was her dream to bring you here again. The last time you visited, you were so young that you probably barely remember anything."

"I do remember Grandma dancing," I reply, my smile breaking through the mist of tears that often clouds my vision. "In fact, that's one of my most precious memories of her."

Grandpa's eyes soften with fondness as he reminisces. "Do you remember the day when she was at that shrine?" he asks, pointing toward an old shrine perched on a mountain in the distance. "Why don't you go there while I set things up here?"

I nod in agreement, my heart heavy with the significance of the place. I begin my ascent toward the shrine, following a stone staircase that leads upward through the serene surroundings. With each step, I feel closer to Grandma, as if her spirit is guiding me on this journey.

Reaching the shrine, I find it undergoing maintenance notification. It’s floor made of black stones was covered with fallen leaves and a thin layer of dust. I could see a beautiful Haiden and many Xintoists symbols. A grand horse statue stands at the center, a symbol of devotion. It's here that Grandma used to dance, her gestures graceful and filled with reverence. She once told me that offering a dance to the gods would grant our wishes. As I stand in the hallowed space, I know exactly what I want to wish for.

Nostalgia envelops me, and I can almost see Grandma's radiant smile as she danced gracefully before the serene horse statue. Her spirit seems to linger in the very air I breathe, and for a moment, I feel as though I've stepped back in time.

But all too soon, the warm cocoon of memories begins to unravel, replaced by the harsh reality that brought me to this sacred place. Hiroshi's face, his laughter, his presence, flood my thoughts, and a heavy sadness settles back into my heart, like a storm cloud overshadowing the sun.

Kneeling before the statue, no words came out of my mouth, but my heart started to plead for his forgiveness, for his eternal peace, and for the benevolent gods to watch over his soul. I promise that I'll become stronger, that I'll never let another person dear to me suffer as he did. Tears flow freely down my cheeks as I beseech the divine.

With a trembling breath, I rise from my kneeling position and begin to recreate the dance that Grandma used to perform. Each deliberate movement of my arms carries a fervent plea for strength, for protection, for hope. Warm tears trace delicate trails down my cheeks, mingling with my whispered prayers. I yearn for strength from the very depths of my being. Deep within my heart, a yearning for justice smolders, fueled by the burning desire to avenge Hiroshi.

As if in response to my inner turmoil, the sea breeze seems to synchronize with my movements, as if the natural world itself echoes my pain and desires.

But then, amidst my fervent dance, something extraordinary happens. The tears that had been flowing freely suddenly cease, replaced by an unwavering determination. The dance, once a graceful plea, transforms into a fervent vow. I'm not merely asking for strength; I'm demanding it.

An unfamiliar energy gathers in my right hand, radiating warmth and intensity. My heart races as I feel a connection to something beyond myself. Suddenly, a scream of agony tears from my lips, my body convulsing with pain. My hand was burning. My head throbs, and a barrage of unfamiliar images and sensations flood my mind. War, voices, screams, blood—a cascade of horrors that aren't my own memories. 

As the onslaught of foreign sensations threatens to consume me, a chilling voice slices through the air behind me, like a blade cutting through silence. "What a nuisance to see you here, Mars," the voice sneers, its enigmatic owner shrouded in shadows, his words sending icy shivers down my spine.

Before I could even register what was happening, a sudden and brutal blow struck my abdomen. The force of the impact expelled the air from my lungs, and I felt myself hurtling through the air until my back crashed against a stone wall. A metallic taste flooded my mouth as I coughed violently, struggling to regain my breath amid the excruciating pain.

“Die!” The man's enraged scream pierced the chaos around me. I managed to turn my head to see him, his face twisted with malice. In the periphery of my vision, I noticed the horse statue hurtling through the air, a deadly projectile aimed in my direction. Panic surged through me as I realized the imminent danger.

With my heart pounding and fear coursing through my veins, I instinctively turned my gaze to my left, where a strange crack had torn through the air, creating an unsettling rift.

The very air around us seemed to vibrate with an unusual energy, and a swirling mist of deep purple began to materialize in front of me. It stretched out like the space was crackling, becoming even bigger.

In an act born of sheer terror, I squeezed my eyes shut, my mind a blank canvas of fear. The world seemed to hold its breath, and then a sharp snap reverberated through the air. When I mustered the courage to open my eyes once more, I was met with an astonishing sight—a thin, luminous layer of golden energy encased me, like a celestial shield shielding me from harm.

“Run! Here, to the portal, now!” A commanding and urgent female voice resounded from within the portal.

Summoning every ounce of strength within me, I gathered my resolve and, in a desperate leap, hurled myself toward the purple crack that had materialized before me.

Everything went black, and I felt as though I was hurtling through an endless abyss. It was a disorienting and surreal experience, one that left me feeling untethered from reality.

Then, in the midst of the darkness, a firm hand closed around mine. This time, I could see the light again.