Beneath the Ashes

Chapter 8

Wrapped in the thick, unyielding plastic, I felt its rough stiffness pressing hard against my skin, constricting my breath. Every muscle throbbed with exhaustion as I forced myself to lie beside Aika's still, unconscious form. My heart pounded, a silent echo in the otherwise stifling quiet of the dim this abandoned room, where the distant wail of sirens drew closer, a lifeline through the shadows. I had managed to activate the silent distress signal on one of the attackers' phones, sending our coordinates to the authorities. Now, there was nothing to do but wait. My breathing shallow, pretending to be as lifeless as the dark room around us. But, I can still see with my senses.

Just as the sirens neared, I could sense Aika stirred, her lashes fluttering as if to brush away sleep. Her breaths, soft and steady, filled the silence, grounding me as I lay still beside her. Slowly, she opened her eyes, the faint light from the window catching in her gaze, her expression clouded with confusion as she took in the scene around her: the tangled bindings, the remnants of our struggle, and the slumped bodies of the thugs on the floor. Her gaze fell on me, bound as she was, wrapped in shadows and silence.

"Sharva...?" Her voice was faint, fragile, as she crawled closer, her hand reaching out to me with a tremble that caught my breath.

"H-hey! Sharva, are you alright? Wake up... please." She whispered, the raw plea in her voice tightening around my heart as her hand brushed my cheek.

I exhaled slowly, letting out a soft groan, my eyelids fluttering open. Turning to meet her eyes, I let my voice emerge hoarse and weak, laced with confusion. "A-Aika... what... happened?" A thin line of blood trailed from my mouth, completing the illusion of my battered state.

The sirens grew louder, cutting through the air as the screech of tires echoed from below. Tension coiled in my chest as I heard heavy footsteps rushing toward the apartment. I felt Aika's hand tighten around mine, her warmth seeping into my skin as I fought to appear helpless. Moments later, police officers burst through the door, flashlights illuminating the room as they swept in to assess the scene. Paramedics followed, surrounding us in a flurry of calm, urgent voices as they checked for injuries.

They separated us, placing us each on stretchers, the rhythmic sway of the ambulance oddly soothing. But my mind was far from at peace, haunted by the memory of Aika's panic, the touch of her hand lingering like an ember. My injuries were shallow, but seeing her bandaged forehead, the stitched line marring her soft skin, left a dull ache deep inside me. I wanted to reach for her, to brush away her pain, but instead, I answered the officers' questions with detached indifference. I knew they'd find nothing of the "assailant." In my dragon form, I'd left no trace, no fingerprints, no DNA—nothing they could follow.

At last, they allowed us to leave. Aika sat across from me, the bandage pale against her skin, her face a mixture of weariness and quiet strength. I felt an overwhelming urge to smooth away the worry creasing her brow, my fingers hovering just inches from her skin before I withdrew, holding my emotions in check.

"Does it still hurt?" I asked gently, unable to keep the concern from my voice.

Her gaze softened, her fingers brushing over the bandage as if testing its presence. "N-no, it doesn't hurt anymore," she replied, a faint smile touching her lips. "The doctor patched me up well."

Her mouth curved in a small, wry grin. "Though I think I'll be left with a scar. Guess that's part of the job description for a chef, right?"

She chuckled, the soft sound melting the tension between us. Her hand lingered on mine, her touch steady and warm, grounding me in ways I couldn't quite explain.

"I suppose so," I said, matching her playful tone. "But maybe next time, we skip the part where we're ambushed by thugs, yeah?"

Aika squeezed my hand, a gesture as reassuring as it was intimate, and I felt the warmth of her fingers linger long after she let go. I wanted to ask her about the mysterious Tsukishiro Himemori, the name whispered through the fog of danger, but I held back. This wasn't the time. She needed peace, not more questions.

"So... are you sure you'll be okay going home alone tonight?" I asked, my brow furrowing slightly with concern.

She sighed softly, her smile wan but sincere. "Yes, I'll be alright," she murmured, though the hint of unease lingered in her gaze. "I've been through worse, believe me. Besides, you look like you could use some rest too." She nudged me, a playful glint returning to her eyes. "Maybe tomorrow we can cook something together, away from all this trouble."

The thought stirred something warm in my chest, and I returned her smile. "That sounds perfect," I replied. "Maybe I'll finally get to see those famous knife skills of yours in action."

I leaned closer, my voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "But don't expect me to keep up. I'm more of a 'slow and steady' type in the kitchen."

Aika's laughter softened the edges of the night, her eyes crinkling with amusement. My gaze drifted over the curve of her cheek, the way the light glinted in her hair, and before I could stop myself, I blurted, "Would you... I mean, if you're comfortable... you could come over to my place tomorrow?"

Her cheeks flushed, her eyes widening in surprise, and she fidgeted slightly. "Oh... um, thank you," she stammered, her shyness charming. "It's very kind of you to offer."

She bit her lip, casting her gaze downward. "If it's alright... maybe we could meet there? My little ramen shop isn't exactly... the best place for... you know."

A slow smile tugged at my lips as I watched her fluster, my heart pounding a little faster. "Of course," I said quickly. "It's nothing fancy, but... it's quiet. Cozy, I hope."

We shared a look, her hand lingering on mine as though to bridge the silent words between us. "Get some rest, Aika," I murmured as I walked her home, feeling a sense of finality settle over me as she paused at her door.

"Good night, Sharva," she whispered, a gentle warmth in her voice as she turned to enter.

As the door closed, I took a deep breath, the chill of the night air a poor match for the warmth she left behind. Yet I couldn't shake the image of her—vulnerable yet strong, her laughter lingering like a whisper in my heart, urging me to stay by her side.