The girls voice trembled in the cool, oppressive air of the alley as she looked up at him, curiosity mixed with something deeper—like awe. "Why don't you know the meaning of your name?" Her eyes narrowed, studying him like he was a puzzle she couldn't quite figure out.
Angus leaned against the wall, taking another deep drag from his cigarette, the ember lighting up his face in the dark. The smoke swirled around him like it had a life of its own, fading into the night.
"Honestly…" He let out a slow breath, voice heavy. "I don't know." His eyes dropped to the ground, his boots scraping against the cracked concrete. "I was never told."
She blinked, a bit too loud. "You never did the…?!" Her voice was sharp, but he quickly put a finger to his lips.
"Shh, keep it down," he whispered urgently, glancing around. Even in this forgotten part of the ship, you never knew who could be listening.
She lowered her voice, but her frustration was clear. "But seriously—you've never done the labeling ritual?"
Angus ran a hand through his messy hair, pulling the cigarette from his lips. He didn't want to go into it—didn't want to explain how that part of his past felt like some far-off dream, like it happened to someone else. But he did anyway.
"I was a kid," he said, his voice rough, like the memory itself scraped at his throat. "Barely old enough to understand any of it. My parents weren't altered back then. Still human."
He stared off into the distance, eyes unfocused, the past slipping through his fingers like dust. "The day I got labeled, they brought me in for the ritual. It was supposed to be a sacred thing, something that would give me my name, open the path to the Void. But it wasn't what they said it was." His fists clenched, though his gaze remained distant. "The ones performing the ritual—elite priests, supposed to be trusted—knew exactly what they were doing. They told my parents it was my time, but it was a setup. A trap."
He exhaled sharply, cigarette smoke curling into the air. "Once the ritual started, everything went wrong. They killed my parents. They didn't want anyone to know what they were doing, so they slaughtered them right in front of me. The priests—they just… they just killed them." His voice wavered, the anger barely contained. "They tried to do the same to me. They thought I wouldn't survive. But I… I got away. I ran." His hand tightened around the cigarette as if holding onto it could ground him, pull him away from the memory. "Ever since that day, I've been running. Trying to figure out if my name means anything at all, or if they were right. That I'm just some leftover thing from an extinct race." His voice softened to a murmur, as if admitting it made it all feel too real.
She didn't say anything. The silence between them hung heavy, the weight of his past settling in the space around them.
There was a long pause. The air between them was thick with unsaid things. Finally, he shifted, leaning a little closer, trying to shake off the weight of the past.
"By the way," he said, changing the subject to something easier. "You never told me your name."
The girl seemed surprised by the question. "Oh… it's Takahashi Sakura."
Angus blinked. "Takahashi? As in… the royal family?"
Sakura nodded, her eyes darkening, fear creeping into her features.
"Wait," Angus says slowly, piecing it together. "You were… part of them?"
Before she could say anything, a soft light flickered across her forehead. It started as a thin, glowing line just above her remaining horn, and then expanded, tracing a delicate circle. In the center, the glow pulsed and faded, forming a cherry blossom petal.
Angus's breath caught, and he muttered under his breath, his eyes wide with shock. "Shit."
He grabbed her arm, pulling her quickly behind a stack of old crates. "What is it?" she asked, panic rising in her voice.
"You've got a crest," he whispered, eyes still locked on her forehead. "On your forehead."
Sakura's hand shot up to touch it, her breath quickening. "What…?" she gasped. "What does that mean?"
Angus kept her hidden, his own pulse racing. "It means you're the next Empress."
Her face went pale. She froze, her body stiffening like she'd just been struck. She tried to pull away, but he held her firm. "But, uh… I don't think that's gonna happen," he added quietly, his gaze dark. "Not with what's going on with you."
Sakura looked down at the ground, her hands shaking as they balled into fists. A small sob escaped her lips, barely audible, but it hit Angus harder than anything else. It was the sound of someone completely broken.
"I… I can't go back there," she whispered, voice breaking. The words weren't just words—they were a confession, a painful truth she didn't want to admit.
Angus felt a sharp pang in his chest. He didn't know what to say, but he couldn't let the silence stretch on for too long. Not now. Not with her like this.
Just then, a loud roar echoed in the distance, followed by a surge of voices. Excited, buzzing, like something huge was about to happen.
"Hey—Is that the Empress?!" someone shouted. "What's she doing in the lower levels?"
Angus and Sakura crept to the edge of the alley, peering around a rusted stack of garbage. They couldn't see much at first, but the way the crowd moved made it obvious someone important was coming. The mass of people parted, creating a path down the alley.
And then, there she was—flanked by Oni guards and floating drone-lanterns, a regal figure marching through the sea of bodies. Her head was high, her steps measured and confident, unaffected by the chaos.
Takahashi Yuki.
The Empress of the Yen Region.
Sakura's grip on Angus tightened, and her body tensed, going rigid with fear. She looked like she'd just seen a ghost—or worse.
Angus didn't move. He didn't want to make a sound. He kept his eyes locked on Yuki, but all he could feel was the heat radiating off Sakura. Her fear, her terror—it was suffocating.
"Stay quiet," he whispered, barely audible over the noise of the crowd.
"As Yuki passed by, the temperature around them seemed to drop, a chill seeping into their bones as if the very air itself had shifted. Angus felt it first, a subtle but undeniable wave of cold that spread through the alley, like the presence of something powerful brushing against his skin. Sakura stiffened beside him, her breath hitching, as if the very essence of the Empress was pressing down on them."
"Let's get out of here," Sakura said, her voice sharper now—urgent, almost panicked. She grabbed Angus's arm, pulling him with more force than before.
He didn't resist. Her whole body had gone rigid the moment Yuki passed, like she was fighting to keep herself from crumbling. But she didn't say a word. Didn't explain. Didn't have to.
There was something about the way her nails dug into his sleeve. The way her eyes refused to even glance in Yuki's direction. The way she shook—not visibly, not enough for anyone else to notice, but Angus felt it in her grip. That wasn't fear of getting caught.
That was fear of her.
He didn't press. Just followed her through the winding dark of the alleyways, away from the spotlight glow of the Empress and the weight of a past that, for now, she wasn't ready to speak aloud.
The silence between them was thick, the kind that only existed in a place where the weight of a thousand lives pressed down on every corner, every forgotten alley. They moved slowly, almost instinctively, making their way to the edge of the towering wall where the darkness seemed to stretch endlessly. Neither of them had the words to fill the space, only the distant hum of machinery and the occasional creak of the ship's inner workings to break the stillness.
Angus and Sakura sat against the towering walls of scrap metal, the pipes running like veins along the surface, echoing the hum of the ship. The city was silent around them, save for the faint noises of distant machinery and the occasional creak of the ship's inner workings. There was no sky. No stars. Just the cold, metallic walls of the Dera Final stretching out in every direction. The only thing beyond that was the emptiness of space.
Angus rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the exhaustion that clung to him. He reached into his coat pocket, fingers brushing against the empty space where his cigarettes should have been. A sigh escaped him. He glanced at the darkened city streets, searching for any signs of movement.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath. His eyes scanned the ground, hoping for a forgotten cigarette butt or something. But there was nothing. "No smokes. Figures." He leaned back against the wall, letting his eyes drift closed for a moment, just trying to ignore the weight of everything pressing down on him.
Sakura sat beside him, her legs drawn up to her chest, staring at the ground. She didn't speak, but he could feel her unease, the tension in the air thick between them. For a moment, neither of them said anything, the quiet stretching on. Then, slowly, her head tilted, her breath softening as she leaned against him, her shoulder brushing his.
He didn't pull away. Didn't push her off.
Sakura closed her eyes, resting her head gently on his shoulder. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips, though it was hard to tell if she was even aware of it.
"You know…" he began quietly, his voice a rough whisper, "you get used to the quiet. But it doesn't mean it gets any easier."
Her fingers curled into his sleeve, her grip light but steady. The silence between them wasn't heavy, but it was full of something unspoken. He let it hang there, because sometimes that's all you needed. Just a little space to let your thoughts breathe.
She shifted slightly, and for a moment, it seemed like she was about to speak. But then, she sighed, letting her body relax further against his. She was asleep in moments, the weight of her head resting against his shoulder.
Angus sat still, his mind wandering through the endless dark spaces of his thoughts. His fingers absently traced the edge of the sleeve she had clutched. He could feel his own exhaustion creeping up on him, but sleep was something he never quite managed to find.
Instead, he stayed awake, the quiet hum of the ship surrounding them. The weight of his thoughts pressed in, but for once, the presence of someone else—someone who wasn't rushing to escape—was enough to keep him grounded.
Just for a moment.