The Last Bargain

Chapter II: The Nihilist's Truth

Raito Kasetsu stood at the edge of a cliff, looking out over the dense forests surrounding Shinsenchou. The wind tugged at his dark robe, and the roar of the waterfall nearby filled his ears, yet he remained still, his gaze fixed far beyond the horizon. He wasn't admiring the view; he was thinking. Always thinking.

Raito had never known a life without his ability. From the earliest age, he could simply look at someone, focus on their face, and know if they were lying. It wasn't a matter of guessing or intuition; it was as if a second sight opened up inside him, a certainty as clear as day. His parents had been thrilled at first, thinking their son possessed a unique gift. But Raito soon realised that knowing the truth about people wasn't the blessing everyone believed it to be.

He saw through the small lies—his mother's reassurances when they had no rice left, his father's tales of his youth exaggerated for the amusement of his friends. But then, he saw the deeper deceptions, the ones that chipped away at his soul. He learned that almost everyone lied, even when they didn't need to, even when the truth was harmless. To Raito, the world became a tapestry woven with falsehoods, a place where nothing was real and everything was suspect.

And so, he had turned his focus inward. What was the point in seeking companionship when he could not trust a single word spoken to him? He spent his days in isolation, detached from the rest of his clan. The Kasetsu clan was small but notable, valued for their wisdom and insight. Many of his relatives had roles as judges or advisors, using their abilities to discern truths and lies for others. But Raito wanted no part of it. He had no interest in playing the games of politics and power.

He sighed, glancing at the fading sun. "The present is all that matters," he muttered to himself, a mantra he repeated often. "The future is a lie."

"Raito," a voice called, breaking into his thoughts.

He didn't need to turn to know who it was. Hana, his elder sister, had found him again. Her presence was a mix of concern and frustration. She had always been the one to try and reach out to him, to pull him back from the abyss he had placed himself in. He didn't look at her yet, instead choosing to keep his gaze on the distant mountains.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice flat.

Hana hesitated, then took a step closer. "Father has been asking for you. There are things happening... things you need to know about."

Raito finally turned to face her, his eyes narrowing slightly. He focused on her, his vision sharpening, and immediately he saw it—a flicker, a subtle change in the air around her, like a distortion in the light. It was a familiar sensation, one he had experienced countless times. She wasn't lying, but she wasn't telling the whole truth either. It was the half-truths that bothered him most, those partial lies that slipped through cracks, disguised as honesty.

"What aren't you telling me?" he asked, his voice cold.

Hana flinched, the slight reaction all the confirmation he needed. "I... it's not something I can just say," she replied carefully, choosing her words with precision. "Father thinks it's better if he tells you himself."

"He always thinks that," Raito replied, turning his back on her again. "If he wanted me to know, he would have come himself."

"Raito, please," Hana pressed, stepping forward again. "It's serious. Something is happening to the clans."

Raito's interest piqued slightly, but he kept his expression neutral. "What about the clans?"

Hana took a deep breath. "There have been disappearances," she said softly. "Whole clan houses... gone. Vanished without a trace. No one knows why or how."

Raito turned back to her, this time his gaze fully on her face. He focused again, searching for any sign of deceit. But there was nothing. No flicker, no change in the air. She was telling the truth—or at least, what she believed to be the truth.

"Disappeared?" he asked, his scepticism evident. "You mean destroyed?"

"No," she replied. "I mean exactly what I said. Disappeared. Like they were never there. The land, the buildings, the people... all gone."

Raito frowned. "That's not possible."

"I know," Hana said. "But it's happening. The elders think it has something to do with the gods."

"The gods?" Raito scoffed. He had always dismissed the stories of gods granting abilities, seeing them as just another layer of mythology to cover up the strange, inexplicable nature of the world. "You actually believe that?"

Hana shrugged, looking uncertain. "I don't know what to believe, Raito. But Father wants you to come back to the house. He thinks your ability might help us understand what's happening."

"My ability?" Raito laughed, a bitter sound. "What good is seeing through lies when there's no one left to lie to?"

Hana's face grew stern. "You're not the only one who's frustrated, Raito. But if the gods are involved, if they're truly doing this... no one is safe. Not even us."

He studied her again, searching for any hint of deception. But again, there was nothing. The air around her remained clear, unbroken. She was speaking from a place of fear, of genuine concern.

For a moment, Raito felt a strange sensation, a tug at his chest. Was it worry? Curiosity? It had been so long since he had felt anything beyond his own cold detachment. He swallowed hard, trying to push it away.

"Fine," he said finally. "I'll come. But if I find out you're keeping something from me—"

"I'm not," Hana interrupted. "I swear to you, Raito. I'm telling you everything I know."

He gave a curt nod, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "We'll see," he murmured.

As they walked back toward the Kasetsu clan's estate, Raito found himself thinking more about the so-called disappearances. If they were real, if entire clans were being erased from existence, then perhaps there was more to the world than he had allowed himself to believe. And if the gods truly were involved... What did they want?

He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts. The future, he reminded himself, was a lie. But for the first time in years, he found himself considering the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he was wrong.