Chapter 130: A strange place
"I couldn’t appear before you."
Yuki waited. The man remained silent. She could tell from his expression that he wasn’t ready to explain further, and something told her that whatever answer lay behind those words was far more complicated than she was prepared to hear. So Yuki changed the question.
"Then tell me about my mother and father," she pleaded quietly, her voice softening.
The man’s fingers stilled. Yuki swallowed.
"I don’t remember them," she admitted sadly. "Aevia told me our father died before I was born, and that the grief from his death made our mother so weak that she didn’t survive my birth," Yuki said. Her heart was filled with guilt and grief.
She always remembered the sad look Aevia gave her whenever she asked about her mother.
A foolish part of her blamed herself for their deaths. Her gaze dropped to the counter. "Aevia always looks sad whenever I ask about her."
Yuki’s fingers curled slowly into her palms. "There is a foolish part of me that has always wondered if she blames me," she confessed, her voice breaking slightly.
The words were difficult to say aloud, but now that they had escaped, she couldn’t stop. "I was the baby she was carrying when she died. Sometimes I think..." Yuki hesitated, her throat tightening. "Maybe if I hadn’t been born, she would have survived."
The stranger’s expression changed instantly. "Aevia doesn’t blame you. You are what she had left," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt.
Yuki’s head snapped up. Their eyes met. There was something so certain in his voice that Yuki forgot to breathe. "She never blamed you," he continued gently. "The sadness you saw in Aevia’s eyes wasn’t blame. It was pity."
"Pity?" Yuki repeated quietly, confusion colouring her voice.
"She blamed herself for what happened," he explained solemnly.
Yuki stared at him. "What happened?" she asked quickly. The question came before she could stop herself. "How did my father die?"
The man’s expression closed. He shook his head. "I’m sorry," he said quietly.
Yuki’s brows drew together. "Sorry?" she repeated, irritation creeping into her voice.
"I can’t tell you," he replied apologetically.
Something inside her snapped.
"What do you mean you can’t tell me?" Yuki demanded, her voice rising. "You keep giving me pieces of information and then refusing to explain anything!"
The man remained silent.
"You know everything about me. You know my mother. You know my father. You know my sister. You know things about my childhood that I barely remember, yet every time I ask you a question, you suddenly decide that you can’t answer!" she shouted angrily.
Her frustration boiled over. "Why can’t you tell me?" she demanded furiously.
Her hand swept across the counter. The bowl of mangoes toppled. It crashed onto the polished floor. The sound echoed through the kitchen. Mango slices scattered across the tiles, their golden flesh smeared against the dark wood.
Juice splashed across the floor, pooling beneath the cabinets. Several pieces rolled beneath the furniture while one landed near the man’s bare foot. Shards of the broken bowl glittered among the mess. Yuki’s chest heaved.
The man slowly looked down at the destruction. Then he sighed heavily. "I would tell you if I could," he said regretfully.
Yuki’s anger faltered. "But sometimes ignorance is better than the truth," he continued softly. "And besides, I made a promise."
Yuki stared at him. "To whom?" she demanded, her voice quieter now.
The man slowly lifted his eyes to hers. "To your mother," he answered solemnly.
Yuki’s mouth fell open.
"She made me promise that I would never tell you," he continued, his voice thickening with emotion. "I also promised that I would never see you."
His voice caught slightly on the last words. Yuki’s anger disappeared. "Never see me?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.
The man looked away. "There are consequences for breaking certain promises, Miyuki, and I just couldn’t see you even without the promise," he explained heavily.
The way he said her name made something twist inside her. "I can’t break the promise I made to your mother," he continued firmly. "And, honestly, I agree with her."
Yuki’s heart began to pound. "Why aren’t you allowed to see me?" she asked quietly.
The man didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced towards the enormous windows. Yuki followed his gaze. The meadow was still glowing beneath the strange twilight sky. The stars remained suspended overhead, bright and motionless. The man stared at the view for several seconds. Then he spoke.
"Doesn’t this place feel strange to you?" he asked thoughtfully.
Yuki frowned. She looked around the kitchen. "What do you mean?" she asked cautiously.
He nodded towards the window. "The sky," he said simply.
Yuki turned towards it. "Look at it carefully," he instructed quietly.
She did. The last traces of daylight still lingered along the horizon. The stars were out, but the sky had not darkened any further since she had first woken. Yuki’s brows slowly drew together. The man glanced at her.
"How long have you been awake?" he asked curiously.
"I’m not sure," Yuki admitted. "Maybe an hour."
"And has the sky changed?" he asked, his voice becoming more pointed.
Yuki’s lips parted. No, it hadn’t. The same twilight had remained since she opened her eyes. The man gave her a knowing look.
"Exactly," he murmured.
Yuki stared through the glass. A cold sensation crawled down her spine.
"This isn’t normal," she whispered, her voice uneasy.
"It isn’t," the man agreed quietly. "The same way I am not normal."
Yuki turned towards him. "What is this place?" she asked anxiously.
A small smile touched his lips. But there was something unreadable behind it now.
"I think you’ll find that answer soon enough," he replied cryptically.
Yuki’s stomach tightened. She studied his face, searching for some hint of what he meant, but the man had already picked up the glass of juice he had abandoned earlier. He took a slow sip, completely at ease, as though he hadn’t just turned her entire understanding of reality upside down. Then, almost casually, he lowered the glass.
"I’m glad you rejected them," he said quietly.
Yuki’s eyes narrowed. "Why?" she asked suspiciously.
His unusual purple eyes settled on hers.
"If you hadn’t rejected them, I don’t think we would have had this opportunity either," he answered, his voice strangely gentle.