"Even the unshakable knows its cracks."
Sumiko has built her path steadfastly, following the steps she laid out for herself. But even the most solid rock can crack if struck at exactly the right spot.
First Arc
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(Sumiko - Twelve Years Old)
The scent of lavender blends with the faint perfume of freshly cooked rice.It's a warm, comforting aroma—the smell of a home that no longer exists. I'm seated on the floor of a room bathed in the orange glow of dusk. The shadows of trees sway across the wooden walls, and light linen curtains flutter in the salty breeze drifting in from the sea.
My mother's fingers glide through my hair with an almost ghostly tenderness. Gentle, precise—as if each stroke imprinted an indelible memory. Her hands, slender yet firm, weave strands expertly, braiding them with the ease of someone who's done it countless times.
"When I was a child, I used to play with my siblings near a little waterfall," her voice whispers, thick with nostalgia. "The water was always freezing, but we didn't care. We'd dive in again and again until our lips turned blue."
I close my eyes and imagine it: children laughing between mossy rocks, the roar of cascading water, the cool touch of droplets on skin. My mother sighs and tucks a strand behind my ear.
"It was a happy time. I hope when you're that age, you'll find joy too."
There's something melancholic in her words—a hidden shadow behind the sweetness. I swallow hard and dare to ask:
"Will you be here to see it?"
My hands tighten in my lap. I'm afraid of her answer. Afraid of the pause before she speaks. When she does answer, her voice isn't the same.
"No."
I lift my gaze. The sun's warm light has vanished. The curtains stilled. The air grew thick. A chill runs down my spine. Something is very wrong.
"Why?" I whisper.
The sea breeze turns rotten. A vile stench of rusted iron and damp rot fills my lungs, thickening with each breath. Terror crawls across my skin as my mother's face becomes ashen, her lips trembling. Her eyes...
They bleed.
"Because you left me to die."
Her voice echoes—distorted, shattered—a hiss sliding through the dark fog that now engulfs the room. I try to move, but my body won't obey. Her once loving hands grip my hair and yank it until it hurts.
"No... I didn't..."
I want to scream, to run—but fear is choking me. Blood flows down her cheeks in thick rivulets, staining her kimono—the same white linen with blue flowers from Kirigakure—now soaked with red.
Dark fog coils around her, consuming everything. Her hands reach for my face, and before her cold fingers can touch me...
I wake.
My body drenched in sweat, breathing ragged, chest heaving like I've run a marathon. My skin burns, as if fever erupts from deep within. I clutch the sheets with shaky hands, trying to separate dream from reality.
But the scent of blood still lingers in my nose.