The Day When Riku Brought Levi And Erina:~
The air in the subterranean hall was thick with a tension as palpable as the ever-present dust motes dancing in the faint, flickering light of the oil lamps. Two hundred and thirty-four figures, clad in patched and practical scout gear, filled the space – chosen from the scattered remnants of humanity, forged in the unforgiving crucible of the Great War. They weren't just scouts; they were the eyes and ears of the last city, the shield wall against the encroaching, overwhelming power of the other races, the silent guardians of those who still held onto the fragile hope of survival. This wasn't a general assembly; this was a council of war, stripped bare of rank save for the unspoken hierarchy of proven capability and unwavering loyalty to one man.
Riku wasn't here. And that was the first, unsettling truth that permeated the packed hall.
Standing before them, alone on the raised, rough-hewn platform, was Hiro. Young, barely past the threshold of adulthood, yet carrying a weight that would crush men twice his age. He was Riku's shadow, his voice when his throat was raw, his hands when he was busy weaving strategies in the quiet solitude of their war room. He was the right hand, though the title was never spoken aloud outside these clandestine gatherings. It was Hiro who Riku had designated to step into the impossible void should the day come when the General was no more. It was Hiro who had, with practiced, silent efficiency, gathered these two hundred and thirty-four souls under this roof without a single whisper reaching the ears of the general populace, not even Coronne Dole, the village chief who trusted them implicitly. He managed the logistics, the intelligence flow, the endless, grinding details that kept the delicate machinery of their survival turning while Riku wrestled with the impossible.
He was believed, whispered amongst the scouts, to be the closest thing they had to a successor, the second coming of their messiah. But watching him now, the faint lines of exhaustion etched around his eyes, the way his shoulders seemed to bear an unseen burden, everyone in that room, especially Hiro himself, knew the terrifying, insurmountable distance between 'second coming' and Riku. Riku was an anomaly, a statistical impossibility made flesh, a mind that could see possibilities others couldn't even dream of. Hiro was brilliant, capable, utterly devoted – but he was not Riku. And in this world, being 'not Riku' was a chasm that could swallow them all.
A low murmur had been rippling through the assembled scouts since they realized Riku was absent. It finally coalesced into a voice, sharp with a hint of confusion.
"Hiro," spoke Reizo, a scout known for his directness, stepping slightly forward. "You said this was Riku's call... but where is Riku?"
"Thank you for gathering on such short notice," Hiro's voice was low but carried clearly in the hushed hall. "I know many of you are wondering why we are here, why so many, and why the need for such… discretion."
A murmur went through the crowd. The unspoken question was loud enough to hear.
"Some of you have asked where General Riku is," Hiro continued, acknowledging the palpable curiosity. His expression was unreadable, a carefully constructed mask. "He is not here."
The whispers intensified, becoming a low, confused rumble. This was Riku's initiative, wasn't it? His orders always came from him, directly or via trusted lieutenants on specific missions.
A scout near the front, a woman with sharp eyes and a pragmatic air, spoke up. "Hiro," she said, her voice cutting through the murmur, "You said this was Riku's call. If so, where is he?"
Before Hiro could answer, another voice, deeper and laced with apprehension, followed. "Yeah, why isn't he here? Is something wrong?"
Then, from the back, a scout named Kusabi, known for her keen observation and bluntness, added, "When I was coming through the upper passages, I saw Riku near the central fire. He wasn't on mission, or injured. He seemed... occupied, but free." Her implication hung in the air – if he was free, why isn't he here for his own meeting?
Hiro waited for the questions to subside, his gaze steady. "General Riku sends his apologies. He could not attend personally. He has tasked me with delivering his message to all of you." He held up a single, rolled piece of parchment. The silence returned, charged with expectation. This wasn't just news; it was Riku's direct address, delivered in his stead.
"Some of you may doubt this is truly from him," Hiro stated, anticipating their thoughts. "The seal is intact. The script is his. And the contents… only General Riku would conceive of them." He paused, taking a visible, steadying breath. The weight of reading these words, Riku's words, the future they outlined, pressed down on him. He began to read, his voice clear and resonant in the stillness:
Hiro's gaze swept across the faces, meeting each one with a steady, if weary, intensity. "He won't be coming."
The murmurs intensified, questions overlapping. "Why?" Byaku, her face a mask of concern, voiced the question echoed by dozens. "Is he... injured?"
Before Hiro could answer, another voice cut through the rising tide of anxiety. "That doesn't make sense," Kusabi, her usual guarded expression replaced by open confusion, stated. "When I was coming here... I saw General Riku in the village. He seemed... free. Not on a mission, not confined."
A fresh wave of unease washed over the assembly. If Riku was in the village and capable, why wasn't he here addressing his most trusted scouts? The implications were numerous and none of them were comforting.
Hiro held up a hand, a gesture that, despite his youth, commanded immediate, if slightly hesitant, silence. "You will understand," he said, his voice clear and steady, "after you hear his message. He cannot come. Therefore, he entrusted me to deliver his words to you."
He held a folded, worn piece of paper in his hand. Unfolding it with careful precision, he took a deep breath, his gaze falling upon the familiar, rapid script. This wasn't just a message; it was a directive from the man who carried the weight of their world.
He began to read, his voice resonating in the quiet hall:
"To all scouts,"
The simple salutation, direct and familiar, pulled them in, silencing the last vestiges of doubt.
"I know everything must've been doubting why I brought those two in the village,"
He paused for a fraction of a second, allowing the weight of those words to settle. Levi and Erina. The newcomers. Their strange clothes, their even stranger air of not belonging.
"Their attire is entirely different from us. I know it's difficult to trust them just now. instead, you should be wary of them. Always keep an eye on them, wherever they are whatever they are doing. When you've decided to trust them, let me know."
Wary. That, they could do. Keeping an eye on everyone and everything was their default mode. The instruction was surprisingly... open-ended. When they decided to trust them? Not if Riku told them to. It placed the onus of judgment on the scouts themselves, a departure from Riku's usual decisive commands regarding potential threats. It spoke volumes about Riku's own uncertainty, perhaps even a strange conviction he couldn't articulate.
Hiro took a measured breath, his eyes scanning the paper before continuing.
"Also, reduce the scouting to minimum for now. From now on, only 20 scouts will be active and they won't go on missions."
Gasps rippled through the hall. Reduce scouting? To minimum? In a world where every corner could hide a creature capable of wiping out their entire village, where information was life, this was an almost suicidal decree. Only twenty? And not even on missions? It was unprecedented, unthinkable. Their very survival depended on their constant vigilance, their forays into the dangerous outside world for resources and intelligence.
"When it comes to gathering food and resources, right now, the village has enough food to last 10 days."
Ten days. That was critically low. It meant their scouting had already been hampered, or the world had become even more barren than usual. Ten days was a knife edge.
"I know right now our resources are scarce but leave that to me."
Leave it to Riku. A familiar refrain, one that had pulled them back from the brink countless times. But how? If scouting was reduced, if they weren't going on missions, how would resources appear? Did he have a plan? Another impossible gamble?
"The finest scouts will become inactive and live in the village like normal villagers."
This struck at the core of their identity. Finest scouts. The ones who had survived the longest, seen the most, killed the most, protected the most. Their purpose was scouting, protecting, fighting. To be told to simply... live? To lay down their vigilance? It felt alien, dangerous. Why sideline their most valuable assets, their most experienced fighters and trackers?
"One last thing, no one should know this other than you guys, not even couronne."
The final instruction hung in the air, heavy with the weight of absolute secrecy. Not even the village chief, the person they were sworn to protect? This meeting, these directives – they were to remain hidden, a secret buried within the heart of their defense force. It severed, at least temporarily, the connection between the scouts as a military unit and the village they guarded.
"Your general, Riku."
Hiro finished reading and lowered the paper. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the ragged breathing of the assembled scouts. Their minds raced, trying to process the conflicting nature of the orders: welcoming strangers while being wary, reducing vital scouting, entrusting resource gathering solely to Riku, sidelining the elite, and the absolute secrecy. It didn't fit. It didn't make sense in the brutal logic of their world.
The reactions began, a cascade of confusion, frustration, and reluctant acceptance.
Oboro, one of the senior scouts, her face usually impassive, showed a flicker of bewildered concern. Reduce scouting? To twenty? Her mind immediately went to the increased vulnerability. They would be blind. They wouldn't see the encroaching threats, the shifting battle lines of the other races. It went against every instinct hammered into her over years of survival. And the finest... inactive? She herself was one of the finest. The thought of not being out there, of not feeling the bite of the wind on her face and the familiar weight of her weapon, felt like severing a limb. Yet, it was Riku's order. And Riku's orders, however baffling, had always, always led them closer to survival. There had to be a reason. A reason she couldn't see yet. The trust in Riku warred with her strategic mind.
Setsuna, her gaze sharp and analytical, narrowed her eyes. Wary of the newcomers, but decide trust for ourselves? Reduced scouting? Leave resources to Riku? Secrecy? Each point felt like a puzzle piece from a different box. It wasn't just illogical; it felt... wrong. Riku was unpredictable, yes, but his strategies usually had a terrifying, brutal elegance to them. This felt messy, vulnerable. What is he planning? she wondered, a prickle of unease tracing its way down her spine. Could Riku, finally, have made a mistake? The thought was sacrilege, yet the orders screamed of danger.
Fucho, ever the pragmatist, ran a hand through his short, dark hair, a low growl escaping his throat. "Ten days of food," he muttered, loud enough for those near him to hear. "Ten days? And we're supposed to stop scouting for resources? How does he expect us to eat after that?" His frustration was evident. He understood the need for secrecy, the need to be wary of outsiders, but the logistics of survival felt utterly ignored by this new directive. It felt like being told to starve while keeping their eyes open. Is this another one of his gambles? Fucho respected Riku, but sometimes his plans felt less like strategy and more like tempting fate with a smile.
Nokosu, younger than many, but hardened by too many close calls, felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach. Inactive? Me? He wasn't among the absolute elite, but he was reliable, a solid member of a scouting party. The thought of being confined to the village, not contributing in the only way he knew how, while the world outside remained deadly, was terrifying. It felt like being benched during the final, desperate minutes of a game. The secrecy bothered him too. Coronne was like a mother figure to many; keeping something this significant from her felt like a betrayal, even if ordered by Riku. He looked at Hiro, searching for answers in the face of the man who stood in Riku's place, but found only the reflection of their shared uncertainty.
Shigoi, the most outwardly emotional of the group, clenched his fists, his eyes flashing with a mix of confusion and indignation. "But... but the missions are how we survive!" he burst out, unable to contain his reaction. "How we protect them! To stop... it's like tying our own hands!" The idea of staying within the village walls, while the dangers they knew so intimately prowled outside, was unbearable. And the newcomers... he had seen them briefly, felt the strange energy radiating from them. Trust them later? Keep an eye on them? It felt like a monumental distraction when their focus should be outwards, on the established threats. "Why would he do this?" he pleaded, looking around at the equally stunned faces.
Hiro waited for the initial wave of reactions to subside, his expression a carefully neutral mask that didn't quite hide the weary understanding in his eyes. He knew these reactions. He had felt many of them himself when Riku had first presented these orders. He didn't have the answers to why. Only Riku did. His job was to convey the message, to maintain order, to be the steady point in the sudden storm of confusion.
"I understand your concerns," Hiro said, his voice cutting through the fading murmurs. "Believe me, I do. These are not... easy orders. But they are General Riku's orders. And as he said, you will understand. Perhaps not now, perhaps not tomorrow, but eventually." He paused, letting the finality of that sink in. "For now, we follow his instructions. The twenty active scouts will be chosen based on necessity and specific skills, and their roles will be clarified. The rest will integrate back into the village. Maintain vigilance, yes, but from within. And the secrecy... is paramount. No leaks. To anyone."
He looked at them, his gaze lingering on each face in turn. "We are the scouts. We follow Riku. This is his path forward. We trust in his judgment, as we always have." It was a statement of faith, a reminder of the bond that held them together, the shared belief in the man who had shown them how to defy extinction.
The silence returned, heavier this time, laden with unspoken fears and the dawning realization that they had no choice. Riku's word was law, his judgment their only guide. Even when that judgment seemed to lead them into the very darkness they had fought so desperately to escape. The meeting ended not with a clear resolution, but with a somber acceptance of the unfathomable. They would follow Riku's orders. They would watch. They would wait. And they would pray that Riku, their impossible General, knew something they didn't – something that would keep the last of Imanity from being extinguished entirely. The secret was sealed, the burden shared by 217 weary souls, left to grapple with the unsettling reality of their General's unseen hand guiding them towards an unknown future, dictated by two strangers and the promise of an impossible solution.But as the scouts began to disperse, the quiet, shuffling of their feet filled the hall. The tension hadn't dissipated; it had merely transformed into a coiled, internal anxiety. They were soldiers given orders that felt like surrender. They were the guardians told to lower their shields. They were the eyes of humanity, suddenly commanded to look inwards, towards two enigmatic strangers, while the true monsters of the world still lurked just beyond the light. And in the silence of the hidden hall, under the flickering lamplight, the weight of Riku's impossible trust settled onto their shoulders, heavy and uncertain.