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Chapter 3: “Echoes of a Broken Vow”

  Chapter 3: "Echoes of a Broken Vow"

  The hallway outside the summoning chamber was silent, but not still. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of incense and tension. Priestesses guided the students toward their assigned chambers, offering faint smiles that couldn’t hide the unease in their eyes.

  Mirei walked slowly, her legs trembling—not from exhaustion, but from the weight of everything. Her body still moved with practiced calm, but her knees nearly buckled when she heard the soft sobs. The moment her eyes caught them—two girls clinging to each other in a corner of the hall, tears streaming down their cheeks—it hit her. The reality of it all. The shock she’d been holding at bay cracked at the edges.

  “I want to go home,” one of them whispered, almost too quiet to hear. “This isn’t right…”

  Ms. Aiko stood nearby, frozen for just a second. Mirei noticed it—the slight pause, the way her hand hovered awkwardly in the air, uncertain. She hesitated, then gently pced it on the crying girl’s back.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she said, her voice tender but strained. “I promise… we’ll figure this out together.”

  Mirei clenched her hands at her sides. She wanted to believe that. So badly. But those words—it’s going to be okay—sounded so fragile, like gss ready to shatter. She could feel the tremor in them.

  One of the girls reached for Aiko’s sleeve, as if anchoring herself to something real. And Mirei… Mirei stood there like a ghost. Not crying. Not speaking. Just watching.

  Because she didn’t know what to say either.

  She didn’t know what to feel.

  She turned away before her own voice could betray her.

  Just as Mirei reached the door of her assigned room, her fingers brushing the cool brass handle, a soft voice called out from behind.

  “Mirei.”

  She turned. Ms. Aiko stood at the end of the corridor, her expression gentle, but her eyes, red-rimmed, tired, betrayed the effort it took to keep standing.

  “Ah… I didn’t mean to startle you.” Aiko gave a small smile, walking slowly until she stood beside her. For a moment, the two simply looked at each other in the hush of the holy corridor, bathed in the quiet glow of candlelight.

  “We’ll find her,” Aiko said. Her voice was low, warm. “Alicia… she may not look it, but she’s strong. Stronger than people think.”

  Mirei looked down, brows tightening. “I know. She always was.”

  “She’s your friend, isn’t she?” Aiko continued, softer now. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling, not knowing where she is. But I want you to know—no one’s forgotten. We’ll do everything we can.”

  Mirei swallowed, the lump in her throat heavier than before. She looked up at Aiko, and for once, didn’t try to hide the weariness in her voice.

  “You’re pushing yourself too, sensei,” she said quietly. “You’ve been holding everyone together since we got here. You should rest too. I’m here if you need anything.”

  The words surprised even her, but she meant them.

  Aiko blinked. Then she gave a tired, grateful ugh, brushing back a loose strand of hair.

  “Thank you, Mirei. That means more than you know.”

  There was silence again, but it wasn’t awkward. Just heavy. Full of things unspoken.

  Mirei gave a small nod, then pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  The door clicked shut behind her.

  White.

  That was the first word that came to her mind. The room was white—floor to ceiling, walls to sheets, as if color itself had been drained away in reverence. The stone walls glowed faintly with holy inscriptions, soft and unintrusive, like whispers in a long-forgotten tongue. The bed was carved from pale wood, sheets tucked in with military precision. A room for purity. A room for prayer.

  A room that felt nothing like home.

  Mirei stood still in the middle of it, her eyes scanning the corners like she was looking for something to anchor her. But there was nothing. Just stillness. Just white.

  She peeled off her uniform slowly, folding each piece like a ritual. Her limbs felt heavy. Her fingers slow.

  The bath wasn’t luxurious—just a simple round tub filled with warm water already prepared by the priests. Steam curled upward like ghosts. She stepped in, letting the heat wash over her limbs, watching the ripples spread as if the water could carry her thoughts away.

  She closed her eyes.

  "The warmth dulled her limbs. Her thoughts drifted—slowly, then all at once—into the past."

  She tried not to think. Tried not to see the empty uniform. Tried not to hear the muffled sobs in the halls. Tried not to feel the invisible thread tugging from somewhere distant, impossibly far.

  But Alicia’s name kept surfacing like breath in deep water.

  She stayed until the heat began to dull her skin. Then, wrapped in the provided white robe, she returned to the bed and y down, staring at the ceiling.

  The light was soft. The silence is complete.

  And in that silence, the dream came.

  A dream she hadn’t seen in years. A dream buried beneath years of memory and silence.

  Unforgotten.

  Unwelcome.

  But waiting.

  It was summer.

  Not the dry, scorching kind—but the soft, sleepy kind that smelled like fresh grass and distant rain. The stars were gentle tonight, scattered like tiny flowers across the navy sky.

  Mirei y on her back, the meadow cool beneath her. The world was hushed, as if nature itself was holding its breath. Beside her, Alicia pointed up at the sky, eyes wide, lips parted in silent awe.

  “That one looks like a bunny,” Alicia said, her voice small, dreamy.

  “It’s a star,” Mirei replied, but not unkindly.

  “A bunny made of stars,” Alicia insisted, turning to grin at her.

  That smile—so innocent, so full of wonder—it pierced Mirei’s heart even in memory. In that moment, she made a secret vow to herself, buried so deep she had almost forgotten it.

  I’ll protect that smile. Always.

  They y there for what felt like forever, whispering nonsense about consteltions and dreams, until the wind shifted and the night began to cool.

  “Let’s go back,” Mirei said, sitting up.

  Alicia nodded, but as they made their way down the slope of the hill, she tripped—nothing serious, just a scrape on her knee. But she winced, holding back tears, and Mirei dropped to her side in an instant.

  “You’re such a baby,” Mirei said, kneeling. “Come on, up you go.”

  She turned around and crouched. Alicia hesitated only a second before wrapping her arms around Mirei’s neck. The weight was featherlight, but the feeling was grounding.

  Mirei carried her the rest of the way, stars overhead and Alicia's warmth against her back.

  Alicia had fallen asleep.

  Her face was peaceful, flushed with warmth and moonlight, lips parted slightly like a child’s, head resting against Mirei’s shoulder. She looked like a painting—fragile, perfect, untouched.

  Something stirred inside Mirei.

  Not romance—not exactly. Not yet. She was too young for all that, but… even then, she knew.

  She knew what boyfriends and girlfriends meant. She knew people kissed and held hands and whispered things in secret.

  But what she felt wasn’t about kisses or silly games.

  Children were supposed to think of candy and cartoons, not promises. Not oaths. To say you wanted to protect someone always sounded childish, silly, like py-pretend.

  But for Mirei, it wasn’t.

  It was a promise, heavy as armor. A vow as pure as the sky above.

  I’ll protect her. No matter what. I’ll be her knight. Always.

  She smiled to herself.

  Back then, the world still felt like something that could be saved.

  And Alicia’s sleeping form felt like something worth saving.

  .

  But dreams, no matter how sweet, don’t st forever.

  Mirei never forgot that night.

  It was raining—cold, endless, the kind that soaked into your bones. Alicia had been staying over, curled up in Mirei’s room with a bnket around her shoulders and a cup of hot cocoa in her hands. They were going to watch movies. Stay up te. Laugh about school.

  But then the phone rang.

  Mirei remembered the way Alicia’s expression froze. How the cup slipped from her hands and shattered against the floor. How she didn’t cry—not right away. Just stood there, trembling, silent, as if the rain outside had found its way into her heart.

  Her parents had died in an accident. Far away. Alone.

  But the next morning… she was gone.

  No goodbye. No expnation. Just gone.

  Mirei had waited. Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months.

  She asked her parents—begged them—to help her find Alicia. To contact her retives. To reach out through school records, family friends, or anyone. But every attempt ended the same.

  Alicia Tsukihana is currently not avaible.

  That’s all they ever heard.

  No answers. No clues. Nothing.

  It was as if she had vanished from the world entirely.

  Mirei used to stay up at night, staring at her phone, willing it to light up. Hoping for a text. A call. Anything.

  But it never came.

  And when Alicia returned—after a whole year—it was like seeing a ghost. Same face. Same voice.

  But everything else had changed.

  When she returned to high school, she was different. Cold. Quiet. The warm light in her eyes was buried under frost. She didn’t ugh. She didn’t smile.

  And she never talked about that night.

  Mirei tried to reach her.

  But no matter how close she stood, Alicia always felt far away—like a snowfke you couldn’t catch, dissolving just before you touched it.

  And somewhere, deep down, Mirei realized—

  That promise she made under the stars?

  She had already failed to keep it.

  Mirei jolted awake.

  “When Mirei opened her eyes, the room was still white.”

  The silence of the holy room wrapped around her like a cold shroud. Her breath hitched. Her chest ached.

  Warm tears streamed down her cheeks, soaking into the pure white pillow beneath her.

  She didn’t wipe them away.

  They kept falling, quietly—gently—like the rain from that night long ago.

  She curled up on her side, pressing the pillow tighter, as if it could fill the space that had been hollowing out inside her for years.

  That dream… that memory…

  It wasn’t just a dream.

  It was a wound.

  And now, in this foreign world, surrounded by strangers and uncertainty, the pain had returned with terrifying crity.

  Alicia…

  She pressed her face into the pillow.

  “I’ll find you,” she whispered. “No matter what. I won’t lose you again.”

  But even as she said it, the doubt coiled in her chest like a serpent.

  She had promised once before.

  And she had failed.

  Mirei stayed curled in silence, the weight of the past pressing against her chest like a stone.

  She didn’t know how long she y there.

  But slowly, the tears dried. Her breathing calmed. Sleep no longer pulled at her—only the cold crity of morning’s edge.

  Then—

  Ding—dong… ding—dong…

  The church bell rang out, low and solemn, echoing through the hallowed halls like a call to prayer.

  A soft knock came at the door.

  “Mirei?” Ms. Aiko’s gentle voice carried through the wood, warm but steady. “It’s morning. Time to get ready.”

  Mirei sat up slowly, wiping her face with the edge of her sleeve. The white room, once distant and holy, now felt just a little less empty.

  She looked toward the door.

  “…Yeah. I’m coming.”

  And so began the first morning in a world no longer her own.

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