Himiko didn't go home.
She didn't really have one anyway.
The closest thing to it was an abandoned shed at the edge of the park, overgrown with ivy and forgotten by the world. It smelled like old leaves and the kind of rain that never quite dries. But it had a roof, and that was enough.
She curled into the corner with her knees tucked to her chest, eyes wide and blinking too little.
She smiled at me.
Her fingers curled inward. Scratched the inside of her palms. Tiny crescents dug into the skin.
She looked at me and smiled.
That golden girl. That strange shimmer. That little burst of something.
Warm. Alive. Soft.
Himiko didn't have words for what it was. Just… more.
A breath of something that didn't feel wrong.
She wanted to see it again.
She wanted to know what it felt like.
Would her skin feel warm? Would that shimmer be soft, or sharp?
Would her blood glow too?
Would she scream?
Would she sing?
Himiko didn't know.
She just knew she had to know.
The air around her buzzed. A leftover echo from that look. That heartbeat of a moment when the world had narrowed to two children and nothing else.
She scratched the wood beside her. A circle. Then another. Then lines. Then loops.
She didn't know what she was drawing, but it felt right.
Like she was remembering something she never learned.
The glyphs. The ones that flickered in Kaley's eyes.
She'd only seen them for a moment. But they were seared into her memory like burn marks on paper.
They whispered without mouths. Moved without motion.
Something about them tickled her bones. Made her teeth itch.
Made her feel awake.
Blood. Mirror. Hunger. Spark.
She didn't know how she knew those words.
But she did.
They weren't thoughts.
They were instincts.
And she whispered them into the shadows like a spell.
"Blood. Mirror. Hunger. Spark."
She tasted each one as it left her mouth.
They tasted right.
They tasted like home.
She giggled quietly to herself. A sharp, sudden sound that startled a bird in the rafters.
"I'll keep saying it until she comes back," she said aloud, voice barely more than breath.
"Blood. Mirror. Hunger. Spark."
She dreamed of Kaley that night.
But it wasn't just a dream.
Kaley stood in a field of stars. Not grass. Not sky. Just space, folded inside itself. Her body glowed brighter than it had in the park. Armor shimmered around her like it had grown from her bones. Light spilled from her hands.
Toga stepped forward.
The ground beneath her felt soft. Not like dirt or stone—more like breath. Like walking across a lung made of stars.
Kaley turned.
Didn't speak.
Just held out a hand.
Not with command.
Not with kindness.
Just... an offering.
And Himiko reached.
When she woke, her fingers were still outstretched.
She stared at her palm.
Traced the shape of the dream.
The starlight. The glyphs. The shimmer under Kaley's skin.
Her own hand felt cold now.
Empty.
But the echo remained.
She rolled over and curled tighter into herself. Her breath fogged against her wrist. Her lips moved silently, mouthing the same phrase again and again.
Kaley. Kaley. Kaley.
It became a rhythm. A chant. A melody in her chest that only she could hear.
She didn't eat the next morning. Didn't move much either.
The hunger was real—but not for food.
She sat outside the shed, picking at the dirt. Waiting.
She wasn't sure what for. Just that she would see her again. She had to.
Every sound in the park made her ears twitch.
Every passing stroller made her peek through the brush.
She started keeping track of time in breaths.
A hundred in the morning.
A thousand before noon.
Ten thousand before she heard a voice.
Not Kaley's. Not her mother's. Just someone ordinary.
But her body tensed anyway.
Every fiber of her small, wiry form had been rewired. Tuned to a different frequency.
To a girl who glowed.
She waited until dusk, but Kaley didn't return.
So she moved.
She whispered the name again.
"…Kaley."
Not like a question.
Like a vow.
And somewhere in her small, sharp soul, a thread was drawn tight.
A line from her chest to something distant. Buzzing.
Pulling.
She didn't know why.
But she knew this:
She would find her again.
She had to.
Because in that single glance—
She'd seen something worth chasing.
And she was very good at chasing.
Even better at catching.
That evening, she crept back into the park as dusk spilled shadows between the trees. The air tasted different—wetter, quieter. The kind of quiet that sinks into your clothes.
She walked the path they had taken. The one Kaley had walked with her mother. Step by step, bare feet against dirt, mimicking the rhythm of the girl who shimmered.
She crouched beside the bench they had passed. Touched the metal. Closed her eyes.
Where are you now?
The world didn't answer. But the buzzing in her bones hadn't stopped.
It was louder here.
And as the last light dipped behind the trees, Toga opened her eyes and smiled.
Because now she had something important.
A pattern.
A scent.
A place.
She could wait again.
Or follow.
Or watch.
Because this wasn't the end of something.
It was the beginning.
And Himiko Toga was already in motion.
Already becoming what the world would later fear.
But in this moment, she wasn't a villain.
She was just a little girl who saw a light—and decided it was hers.