The morning sun filtered through the curtains of Konone’s room, but the warmth couldn't seem to reach the girl sitting on the edge of the bed. Mahiru sat perfectly still, her hands folded in her lap. She wasn't wearing the dark, jagged silks of Arcana anymore; she was back in a simple school sweater, but she looked more fragile than ever.
On the nightstand, the Card of Lightning sat beside a plate of untouched toast. The card hummed with a soft, golden static, vibrating whenever Mahiru breathed, as if it were waiting for her to claim it.
"Mahiru? You haven't eaten," Konone said softly, leaning against the doorframe. She was wearing bandages over her shoulders—the scars from Koko's wind-blades—but she kept her posture relaxed to avoid worrying her friend.
Mahiru flinched at the sound of her name. She looked at the card, then quickly looked away, her eyes brimming with tears.
"I remember everything, Konone," Mahiru whispered, her voice trembling. "I remember the King’s voice... like a thousand needles in my brain. But the worst part isn't what he told me to do. It’s that I did it. I saw people running. I saw the fear in their eyes. And back then... I felt nothing but a cold, hollow hunger."
"That wasn't you," Konone insisted, walking over and sitting beside her. "That was the Void. You were a prisoner."
"Was I?" Mahiru held up her hands. They were small and shaking. "These hands called the shadows. I can still feel the cold under my skin. Every time I close my eyes, I see the buildings collapsing. I see the 'discord' I created."
She looked at the golden card. "Now this thing... it wants me to lead the lightning. But what if I just bring the storm again? What if the light is just another way to hurt people?"
Outside, the city was bustling, unaware of the trauma sitting in a quiet bedroom. But in the corner of the room, Mahiru’s tiny fairy form—now her permanent companion again—floated silently. The fairy’s dark fur had begun to sprout tiny, golden tufts, a sign that the light was trying to return.
"The lightning doesn't choose the path, Mahiru," the fairy whispered. "The one who holds the spark does."
Mahiru didn't answer. She just stared at the toast, her mind trapped in a loop of violet lightning and shattered glass. She was free from the King, but she was still a prisoner of her own memory. And somewhere in the city, a green-eyed girl was looking at her own scarred hands, waiting for the moment the "glitch" that ruined her life finally stepped back into the light.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡndhWYtJb9t
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