Inside their room, Luxana lay curled on one of the two futon mattresses spread across the tatami floor, her body turned toward the empty mattress beside her. The soft glow of lantern light cast gentle shadows over the woven rush mats beneath her, the subtle scent of hinoki wood filling the quiet space. The futons, traditional Japanese-style bedding, were laid directly on the tatami-a firm yet yielding surface made from tightly woven straw-providing a natural support that encouraged restful sleep without the bulk of a Western bed frame.
She shifted slightly, exhaustion weighing on her, eyes half-closed but restless. Where is he? she wondered silently, the stillness around her amplifying the absence. In this serene room, with sliding shoji doors softly filtering the night outside, the simplicity of the space contrasted with the complexity of her thoughts. The futons were neatly arranged, ready for rest, but the empty space beside her felt vast.
The traditional arrangement, with futons rolled out at night and stored away by day, reflected a lifestyle valuing space and minimalism. Here, on the floor, the body could align naturally, shoulders and hips relaxed against the firm tatami beneath the soft cotton of the shikifuton mattress and covered by the smooth silk of the kakefuton duvet. The quiet room, with its unadorned clay walls and understated wood accents, invited calm, yet her mind remained alert, searching for the familiar presence that was not yet there.
Luxana's gaze lingered on the empty futon, the thought of him absent but near.
The silence stretched, broken only by the distant creak of a floorboard. Then, the shoji door slid open with a soft, deliberate sound. Cillian stepped in, his silhouette framed by the lantern light from the corridor. He paused, eyes adjusting to the dimness, then quietly closed the door behind him. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he saw her awake.
He moved with careful steps, the floor barely creaking beneath his weight. Instead of immediately lying down, he knelt beside her futon, his presence quiet and oddly gentle. For a moment, he just watched her, as if searching her face for any lingering anger or exhaustion.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked softly, his voice low enough not to disturb the peace of the night.
Luxana's eyes narrowed, but there was a spark in them-a flicker of her usual fire, even through the fatigue. "I was waiting for you to remember you actually have a wife," she shot back, her tone sharp but not unkind. "Or did you get lost on your way to the kitchen?"
Cillian smirked, unoffended. "I was just making sure the house was secure. Old habits die hard." He lowered himself onto the futon beside her, the warmth of his body a subtle comfort in the cool night air.
She rolled her eyes, but a small smile betrayed her relief. "If you left me alone in this room one more minute, I'd have started thinking you'd run off to sulk about being called lucky again."
He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. "I'll take my luck where I can get it. Especially when it means coming back to you."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The night outside pressed close, the world reduced to the quiet intimacy of shared space and breath.
Cillian reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "I thought you were being sarcastic when you said you actually cleaned my mess." he said, voice softer now.
Luxana snorted. "Someone has to keep you from turning every place we visit into a disaster zone. Besides, I'm not about to let you outdo me in the 'being useful' department."
He grinned, settling onto his back, hands folded behind his head. "Wouldn't dream of it."
She shifted closer, her presence fierce even in stillness. "Good. Because if you ever leave your mess for me again, I'll make sure you're the one hand-washing clothes in the river next time. At midnight. With the frogs."
Cillian laughed quietly, the sound fading into the night as he finally allowed himself to relax beside her. "Deal."
-Next Morning-
"Mhmmm..." A faint, contented murmur escaped Cillian as he drifted awake, the first rays of morning light filtering softly through the shoji screens. He stretched languidly, expecting to find Luxana beside him, but her futon lay empty, the bedding slightly rumpled and cool to the touch.
A jolt of unease shot through him. He sat up abruptly, running a hand through his tousled hair as his eyes scanned the quiet room. His gaze landed on Luxana, curled in the far corner near the door, her back pressed against the wall. She hugged her knees tightly to her chest, her head resting atop them, arms wrapped around herself in a posture that spoke of both pain and exhaustion.
What's she doing there? he wondered, a flicker of worry passing through his mind. Did something happen last night?
He rose silently, careful not to disturb the delicate peace of the morning, and padded across the tatami. Kneeling gently at her side, he reached out, his fingers brushing aside the strands of hair that had fallen across her face. Her skin was pale, her brow furrowed with tension even in sleep.
As if sensing his presence, Luxana's eyes fluttered open, their usual spark dulled by fatigue. She blinked, momentarily disoriented, before recognition settled in.
"Oh…" she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "You're up." Her words were heavy, her exhaustion etched in every syllable. "I'll-I'll…" She tried to continue, but her voice faltered. She pushed herself upright, wavering unsteadily as she rose. Cillian instinctively reached for her wrist, his grip gentle but insistent.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low, concern threading through his usually stoic demeanor.
Luxana scoffed, her tone edged with bitterness as she yanked her hand free. "Will telling you cure the pain?" she snapped, her eyes flashing with a mockery that barely concealed her vulnerability. "And what next? You'll go singing to Hana I'm acting all weird?"
She glared at him, her expression a mask of defiance. "Give me that watch of yours." She demanded, thrusting her hand out, palm open and expectant. "NOW."
Cillian hesitated, confusion flickering across his features, but he complied. He unfastened the watch from his wrist and placed it in her waiting hand.
"Now fuck off," Luxana spat, her voice cold and final. She turned away, striding to the opposite end of the room, leaving Cillian kneeling in the morning light, the silence between them suddenly cavernous.
For a moment, he watched her retreat, the ache of helplessness settling in his chest. The room, once filled with the promise of a new day, now felt unbearably heavy, the distance between them more than just physical-a chasm carved by words left unsaid and pain left unshared.
Cillian remained kneeling for a moment, the weight of Luxana's words and the chill in her voice hanging in the air like a storm cloud refusing to break. The watch felt strangely absent from his wrist, as if some invisible thread between them had been severed. He watched her cross to the far side of the room, her posture rigid, every movement betraying a stubborn pride masking deeper hurt.
He stood slowly, careful not to make a sound that might provoke her further. The early morning light painted faint golden lines across the tatami, illuminating the delicate dust motes swirling in the stillness. Cillian's mind raced, torn between the urge to reach out and the knowledge that, right now, she needed space more than comfort.
Luxana sat on the floor, her back to him, shoulders taut with tension. In one hand, she gripped the watch so tightly her knuckles blanched, the tendons in her wrist standing out as if she were wrestling with something unseen. A sheet of paper and a pen lay before her, and for a moment, her breathing was shallow and uneven, betraying the storm inside. Then, with a sudden resolve, she set the watch aside and began to write, her movements deliberate and urgent.
He took a tentative step forward. "Luxana…" His voice was softer now, stripped of all bravado, just a raw note of concern.
She didn't turn. "Don't," she said, her tone brittle. "Just…don't."
Cillian hesitated, then nodded, even though she couldn't see it. He crossed to the low table near the window, occupying himself with folding the futons, his movements slow and deliberate. The silence between them was thick, but not empty; it was charged with everything unspoken, a fragile truce held together by the morning's hush.
After a few minutes, Luxana finally moved. She walked to the window, drawing aside the shoji to let in a breeze. The cool air ruffled her hair, and for a moment, she simply stood there, eyes fixed on the garden outside, where dew still clung to the moss and the world felt untouched by their troubles.
Cillian watched her from across the room, his expression unreadable. He wanted to say something-anything-to bridge the gap, but every word felt inadequate, every gesture too much or too little.
A heavy silence lingered, broken only by the faint rustle of paper and the distant call of a morning bird. Finally, Luxana's voice cut through the quiet, softer than usual, edged with a tired vulnerability. "I want chocolate," she murmured, almost as if the words themselves cost her something.
Cillian blinked, caught off guard. "Chocolate?" he echoed, confusion etched across his face, his brows knitting together. "Why?"
She turned to him, her eyes shadowed and unreadable. "Never mind," she said, her tone abruptly dismissive. She crossed the room with measured steps, the watch still clutched in her hand, and pressed it into his palm.
Just as I thought, Luxana mused inwardly, studying his reaction. He can't use his demonic powers here. If he could, he would've conjured chocolate the second I mentioned it. But he didn't. That's all the confirmation I need.
Cillian accepted the watch without protest, slipping it back onto his wrist. He glanced at her, concern flickering in his eyes. "Are you really okay?" he asked quietly, his voice stripped of all bravado.
"Mhm." Luxana nodded, her gaze unwavering as she waited for him to finish adjusting the watch. Then, in a movement both deliberate and surreal, she reached for his hands and placed them gently around her neck. Her eyes met his, steady and unflinching.
"Strangle me," she said, her voice calm, almost challenging.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to stop. Cillian's eyes searched hers, reading the pain, the defiance, the silent plea woven through her words. He didn't ask why. He didn't hesitate. With a grim resolve, he tightened his grip, the strength in his hands unmistakable.
The room filled with a tension so thick it was almost tangible-a collision of trust, desperation, and the dark intimacy that bound them. In that moment, neither spoke. Everything that needed to be said hung in the space between his hands and her throat, in the silent understanding that sometimes, the only way to feel alive is to stand on the edge of oblivion, and trust that the one holding you there will never let you fall.
And with a blur, Luxana's vision sharpened-her surroundings shifting, reality folding in on itself. She found herself lying exactly where she had first entered Omeen, the familiar ground beneath her, but this time her body felt strong, not weak or trembling as before. Something was different-she could sense it in the air, in the steady beat of her own heart.
She lifted her head, bracing herself for what might come, and what she saw stole the breath from her lungs.
She was no longer alone.
Encircling her in a tightening ring stood every figure from her past and present, each one more vivid and real than memory or nightmare.
Roxana
Her Nanny
Medea
Richard
Helios
High Priest
Leena
Heron
Hades
Isabella
Daleyza
Lily
Myla
Mylo
Veles
Fenris
Eamon
Idris
Lilith
Rudbeckia
Ava
-all of them, their faces illuminated by a strange, spectral glow.
But it didn't stop there. The circle widened, filled with the wolves she had slain, the people she had feared, the enemies she had vanquished, and even those she had once loved or trusted. Every shadow from her past, every ghost she had tried to outrun, now stood before her, their eyes fixed on her with a silent, collective judgment.
There was no escape, no place to hide. Luxana was surrounded-by the living, the dead, the feared, and the forgotten. Every wound, every regret, every triumph and failure had taken form, and now, in this moment, they all bore witness to her.
Her breath caught in her throat, not from weakness, but from the overwhelming weight of being seen-truly seen-by everyone she had ever touched, harmed, or loved. The past and present converged, and Luxana stood at the center, no longer running, but facing the reckoning she had always known would come.
To be Continued...