The Dream-Weaver's Grave: Arai Tsuruki's Hidden Heart - Rampage — Kiyoka Collapses

That's wrong, he thought. Something had been caught in his chest for days now. As Arata walked the stone-paved path leading to the Kudou estate, he kept turning over the letter from the Ministry of the Imperial Household he'd received several days ago. *The activity of the dream-weaving power is intensifying. By tomorrow, submit a report and detailed findings to Kudou Kiyoka.* Four days since then. Arata had not written a single page of that report. No—he *couldn't* write it. Every time he sat at his desk and picked up his brush, Miyo's face surfaced. Those pale brown eyes. That voice apologizing, *I'm so sorry.* That small back, trembling in the storehouse. (If I report her, she'll be designated dangerous.) The Ministry wanted to control the dream-weaving power as a "dangerous ability." If he wrote the truth in his report, Miyo would be handed over to the Usuba family. Which was the same as throwing her back into that dark cage. Arata left the letter sitting in his desk drawer and headed for the Kudou estate again today. The sky over the imperial capital of Miyabi had been leaden since morning. A damp wind stirred the young leaves of the roadside trees. The white walls of the mansions lining the upscale district reflected a dull light. The moment he passed through the Kudou gate, the air in the garden changed. The meticulously tended shrubs, the surface of the pond, the call of a small bird somewhere. But today something was off. Arata stopped and frowned. (The air is stagnant.) To Arata, an ability-user, it felt that way. An unpleasant presence, like the residue of some power. Miyo's dream-weaving had grown sharply stronger over the past few days. Its influence was seeping into the very air of the estate. "Oh, Master Tsuruki. Good morning." He turned toward the voice. Yurie was just stepping down from the veranda into the garden. An elderly woman who had served the Kudou household for many years. She was one of the few who understood Kiyoka—who called him "the young master." "Good morning, Yurie. The air in the garden feels heavy today, somehow." When Arata spoke with a gentle smile, Yurie let out a small sigh. "So you feel it too, Master Tsuruki. ...The air in the estate has been stagnant lately. Even someone like me can't help but feel a nasty sort of restlessness in my chest." Her words set something stirring in Arata's chest. (It's leaking out enough that even Yurie can sense it.) Ordinary people without abilities normally couldn't perceive the presence of a power. That Miyo's dream-weaving had grown strong enough for that said everything. "Where is Miyo today?" When Arata asked, Yurie's face took on a troubled look. "Lady Miyo is still resting in her room. She's been sleeping poorly at night lately... and her color isn't good." Something gave a small, sharp pang deep in Arata's chest. (Miyo isn't sleeping.) The dream-weaving power was beginning to run wild. Her own mind was being eroded by it. "Would it be all right if I took a walk in the garden?" "Of course. Take your time. I'll go prepare some tea." Yurie bowed and went back inside. Arata began walking the garden alone. In the courtyard, flowers of every color were in bloom. Small white blossoms swayed in the wind, giving off a sweet fragrance. But beneath that sweetness, Arata caught a faint, foul odor. The presence of a nightmare. The misshapen things that appeared in dreams were beginning to mix with the air of reality. (We're already near the limit.) Arata bit his lip. Perhaps his judgment in holding back the report had been wrong. But if he reported her, Miyo would be handed over. Either choice would hurt her. Then he spotted a small figure in a corner of the courtyard. It was Miyo. She wore a sakura-pink kimono, her soft black hair loosely tied back. She sat on a wooden chair at the edge of the garden, gazing absently at the flowers. Her downcast profile was so still it hardly seemed of this world. But her cheeks looked paler than usual. Arata approached slowly. "Miyo." Miyo's shoulders gave a startled jump, and she hurried to her feet. Her face as she turned was, indeed, pale. Those pale brown eyes caught him and wavered. "Ah... Master Tsuruki. Good morning. Forgive me—I didn't notice you..." Miyo bowed deeply, both hands folded before her chest—a habit of hers. Arata smiled. "No, forgive me. Did I interrupt your rest?" "No, not at all... I was only lost in thought for a moment." Miyo lowered her eyes again. Arata studied her complexion. Faint shadows lay beneath her eyes—proof she hadn't been sleeping at night. "Miyo, you mentioned before that you feel strangely exhausted after your dreams lately. How have you been?" When Arata asked in a lowered tone, Miyo smiled in a troubled way. "Yes... somehow, after I dream, my body feels as heavy as lead. And when I wake in the morning, I often can't remember what I saw..." Her voice was so faint it seemed about to vanish. Listening to her, Arata felt something tighten, grinding, deep in his chest. (She doesn't realize. She doesn't realize her dream-weaving is eating away at her own life.) "Please don't push yourself. If anything happens, come to me anytime. I'll take responsibility for watching over your dreams." At his words, Miyo lifted her face just slightly. A faint trace of relief surfaced in her eyes. "Thank you, Master Tsuruki. ...I truly can do nothing, and yet I'm always causing you trouble. I'm so sorry." She apologized again. Arata felt the words sting his chest, but he kept his smile intact. "I've never once thought of you as trouble." At his words, Miyo murmured softly. "...Master Tsuruki, why are you always so kind to me?" For a moment, Arata was at a loss for words. (Why, she asks.) There was only one answer. But he couldn't bring himself to say it. "Because you're someone who deserves kindness." Arata smiled as he said it. Miyo lowered her eyes, flustered, and gave a small nod. That was when it happened. The air changed. A cold sensation ran down Arata's spine. The garden's air grew heavy in an instant. The scent of flowers vanished, replaced by a foul stench like rot. (—It's coming.) Arata stepped in front of Miyo. "Miyo, get behind me." His voice dropped low. Miyo, not understanding what was happening, looked up at him anxiously. "What...?" In that instant, Miyo's body lurched violently. "Ah..." She crumpled where she stood. Arata caught her in a panic. Her body was burning hot. "Miyo! Miyo!" She had lost consciousness. And in that moment, before Arata's eyes, the air tore open. At the center of the courtyard, a black mist began to swirl. It took shape before his eyes—long arms, a distorted face, a misshapen body. A nightmare was materializing into the real world. (A nightmare has crawled out of Miyo's dream.) Arata laid Miyo gently on the ground and stood. "Yurie! Someone! Get Miyo inside!" At his shout, servants came rushing from the estate. Yurie ran to Miyo, her face ashen. "Lady Miyo! Please, stay with us!" "Please, take care of her." That was all Arata said before turning back to the nightmare. The nightmare seemed to notice him—it turned its head slowly. Its misshapen face fixed on him. Its eyes were like hollow pits. Arata clasped his white-gloved hands before his chest. (I'll stop its movement with illusion.) He activated his ability. Illusion—the power to send hallucinations into an opponent's senses and seal their movements. Countless phantom butterflies began to dance around the nightmare. They clung to its body, trying to hinder it. But the nightmare paid them no mind and charged straight at Arata. (It's not working well. Against a materialized monstrosity, illusion only works halfway.) Arata twisted away from the attack. But he couldn't dodge it entirely. The nightmare's long arm grazed his shoulder. *Shhk.* Blood flew from Arata's shoulder. (Damn...) He endured the pain and put distance between them. Illusion was weak against a materialized monstrosity. Such creatures could only be seen by ability-users with the sight, and only ability-based attacks could defeat them. Arata's illusions lacked offensive power. The nightmare closed in again. Then a sharp voice rang out. "Get back." Arata turned. Kiyoka was running into the courtyard. His long black hair was tied back in a single tail, and his silver-gray eyes held a cold light. A braided cord was wound around the ring finger of his left hand. Kiyoka cut across in front of Arata and thrust his right hand toward the nightmare. "—Lightning." A pale blue bolt of lightning shot from Kiyoka's hand. The lightning ability—the specialty of Kiyoka, captain of the anti-entity special unit. The bolt pierced the nightmare's body. It let out an earsplitting shriek. The black mist burned away beneath the lightning. But the nightmare did not fall. Monstrosities could only be defeated by ability-based attacks. Kiyoka's lightning was certainly that. But this nightmare had been born from Miyo's dream-weaving—its power was greater than an ordinary one. The nightmare spat a cloud of black mist at Kiyoka. He twisted aside to dodge. But in that opening, the nightmare turned toward Miyo. "—Not a chance." Kiyoka planted himself in its path. The nightmare's long arm lashed out at Kiyoka's stomach. He didn't try to avoid it. No—he *couldn't*. To protect Miyo, he couldn't move from that spot. *Schlck.* The misshapen arm tore deep into Kiyoka's abdomen. "Guh..." A sound of agony escaped him. But he did not fall. "—Flame." Bleeding, Kiyoka activated another ability. The flame ability. Red fire burst from his hand and engulfed the nightmare's body. The nightmare burned, let out a death cry, and vanished. Silence returned to the courtyard. Kiyoka dropped to his knees. Blood from his abdomen spread across the ground. "Miyo... are you... all right..." That was all he said before collapsing. "Lord Kiyoka!!" Miyo's scream rang across the courtyard. At some point she had regained consciousness. She ran to Kiyoka and lifted his body into her arms. "Lord Kiyoka! Lord Kiyoka! Please, stay with me! Because of me... because of me...!" Miyo's tears fell onto Kiyoka's face. She was consumed with self-blame. The monstrosity born from her dream had wounded him. That fact carved deep into her heart. Arata stood frozen where he was. Blood ran from the wound on his shoulder. But deeper than that, something in his chest was sinking, heavy. (Because I put off the report.) Arata gritted his teeth. His own soft judgment had brought this about. It had wounded Kiyoka and driven Miyo to despair. (This is my fault.) Arata walked over to Miyo and Kiyoka. "Yurie, fetch a doctor. And we need to get Lord Kiyoka inside. I'll carry him." Arata lifted Kiyoka's body. It was terribly cold. "Lord Kiyoka... Lord Kiyoka..." Miyo followed after Arata, weeping. —— Kiyoka fell into a coma and did not wake. The wound in his abdomen was deep, reaching his organs. Wounds inflicted by ability-based attacks were difficult to heal with ordinary treatment. The Kudou family physician worked desperately, but Kiyoka's consciousness did not return. Miyo would not leave his bedside. "It was my fault. If only I weren't here... Lord Kiyoka wouldn't have..." She repeated it over and over. Her voice was so faint it seemed about to disappear, and just listening to it felt like being torn apart. Arata stayed close beside her, and said nothing. (No. The one at fault is me.) He wanted to say it. But he couldn't. —— Night came. Arata stood alone in the hallway outside Kiyoka's room, leaning against the wall. His shoulder wound had already been treated. But the wound in his heart remained gouged deep. (I have to do this myself.) Arata closed his eyes. Miyo's dream-weaving had become uncontrollable. Nightmares were spilling from her dreams and beginning to affect the real world. If this continued, it wo

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Episode 4

Name: The Dream-Weaver's Grave: Arai Tsuruki's Hidden Heart
Author: Novelia

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