Eclipsed

Chapter 40

As Ren left that pocket dimension he was in, the soft creak of the wooden door echoed faintly behind him as he stepped out. The room he exited was sparse, almost oppressive in its simplicity. The walls were made of rough, aged wood, their surface marred with scratches and dents that spoke of years of use. A single, flickering oil lamp hung from a rusted hook in the corner, casting uneven shadows across the floor. There was a small table cluttered with faded papers, an old inkpot, and a quill that had long since dried up. The air was heavy with the scent of mildew and a faint trace of something metallic—blood, perhaps, or rust.

As Ren stood just outside the room, he was confronted by a middle-aged man. His sharp, calculating eyes locked onto Ren with an intensity that made him instinctively tense. The man was Takehiko—a figure of authority here, known for his cold demeanor and unyielding adherence to duty. He crossed his arms, his posture rigid, and smirked slightly.

"Well," Takehiko began, his voice low and gravelly, "that was your father, kid. We'll hope you'll carry out your duties, Koroshi."

Ren's eyes narrowed at the name, his fists clenched by his sides. "Koroshi is not my name," he snapped, his voice taut with anger.

Takehiko didn't even flinch. Ignoring Ren's protest, he continued as if he hadn't spoken, his words sharp and commanding. "Well, kid, you have duties to do today."

Ren's lips tightened into a thin line. He wanted to lash out, to argue further, but he swallowed the retort. Instead, he exhaled sharply and muttered, "Fine, whatever."

Takehiko grunted in acknowledgment, then turned on his heel. "Follow me."

Ren trailed behind Takehiko, his footsteps echoing softly against the worn wooden planks beneath them. The hallway they walked through was dim and narrow, lit only by scattered lanterns that cast flickering pools of light. The walls seemed to close in on Ren, the oppressive silence broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards. The air smelled faintly of oil and dust, mingling with the faint scent of sweat from the workers who toiled somewhere deeper within the building.

They reached a larger room where Aiko was seated, hunched over a table covered with tools and scraps of paper. She was engrossed in her work, her hands deftly assembling something—a small mechanical device with intricate gears and wires. The room around her was a chaotic workshop, filled with shelves of spare parts, half-built gadgets, and tools scattered haphazardly across the floor. The atmosphere buzzed faintly with the sound of grinding metal and the occasional hiss of steam.

Takehiko stopped at the threshold and addressed Aiko curtly. "Give him something to work on now," he ordered before turning and striding out without a backward glance.

Ren watched him leave, his irritation simmering just below the surface. He turned to Aiko, confused and slightly exasperated. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked, his tone edged with frustration.

Aiko barely looked up from her work. Her voice was monotone, almost robotic. "Something simple. Here." She shoved a dusty cloth and a small toolbox into his hands. "Clean the gears and oil the joints on those machines." She gestured vaguely toward a row of old, clunky devices that looked like they hadn't been touched in years.

Ren stared at the pile of work, incredulous. "Really? Cleaning?"

"Just do it," Aiko said flatly, her tone leaving no room for argument. She returned to her work, clearly uninterested in further conversation.

As Ren began his task, he glanced around the room. The workers scattered throughout were unsettlingly silent, their movements eerily precise and methodical. They worked like machines, their expressions blank, their eyes devoid of emotion. It was as if the very essence of life had been drained from them, leaving only empty shells behind.