⚠️ ADULT STORY - Magical Realism
In the quiet, lantern-lit streets of Matsushima, Sharva stumbles upon a small ramen shop hidden between towering buildings. Hungry and desperate for warmth, he steps inside-only to be captivated by Aika, the enigmati...
The words were faint, as fragile as the flicker of a candle in a storm, but they reached him. They cut through the sterile hum of the hospital room and pierced the roaring tempest inside him—a storm of rage, guilt, and despair. Like a thread through darkness, her voice found its way to his heart and pulled.
His eyes flew open, drawn to her as if she were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. She was. She had always been.
Aika.
Her lips moved again, trembling under the weight of her plea, each word trembling on the edge of collapse. Her face, once radiant and full of life, was a pale canvas now painted with pain. Bruises, blooming dark and cruel, marred her delicate skin—a silent testament to the brutality she had endured. Yet, even in her brokenness, she held a quiet strength that drew him in. She was his anchor, a beacon reminding him of the man he had fought so hard to be.
Not the beast. Not the dragon. Just the man.
He fell to his knees beside her, the cold of the linoleum floor biting into him, though he barely felt it. His hands hovered above her, trembling, afraid to touch the bruises as though his presence alone might bring her more pain. But when his fingertips brushed her cheek, it was as if he could feel the weight of her suffering in that single touch. A wave of emotion surged through him, overwhelming and relentless—grief, guilt, fury—all crashing against the dam of his restraint.
"I'm here," he whispered, his voice raw and broken, as if speaking the words aloud might make them true. "I'm not going anywhere, Aika. I swear it."
The fire within him simmered, its embers glowing hotter with every breath he took. He felt the dragon stir, clawing at the fragile walls of his control, its hunger for vengeance roaring to be unleashed. It whispered promises of retribution, of justice soaked in blood, but he silenced it. Locked it away. For her. Always for her.
Her eyelids fluttered, her lashes wet with unshed tears. When her gaze finally met his, it was hazy with pain, her pupils unfocused yet filled with recognition. Relief flickered in her expression, a faint light in the darkness. In that moment, he felt the crushing weight of her trust—a fragile, beautiful thing that both healed and tore at him.
Her hand trembled as she reached for him, the motion slow and almost imperceptible. He caught it with infinite care, enfolding her fragile fingers in his own, the warmth of her touch grounding him in the here and now. She was alive. She was here. And that knowledge alone was enough to break him.
"Don't... leave..." she murmured, her voice no more than a shadow of its usual strength.
"I won't," he vowed, his voice steady despite the chaos raging inside him. "Never. I'll always be here, Aika."
Her lips twitched, as if trying to form a smile, but the effort proved too much. Her eyes fluttered shut once more, surrendering to the pull of sleep. Her breathing steadied, each rise and fall of her chest a delicate rhythm, a reminder that she was still fighting, still holding on.
He stayed there, his hand still clasping hers, unwilling to let go. Each bruise on her face, each cut marring her skin, was a reminder of how close he had come to losing her. A searing reminder of the price she had paid for his failures.
The sharp echo of footsteps in the corridor pulled him from his thoughts. He rose reluctantly, releasing her hand with care, and turned as the door creaked open. Two police officers entered, their presence heavy with the weight of what they were about to say.
"She's stable?" one of them asked, her voice crisp but not without compassion.
"She's alive," he replied, his tone clipped. "That's all that matters."
The officers exchanged a glance before the older one, his face weathered by years of duty, spoke. "We've got leads. Neighbors heard the commotion. Someone intervened—a good Samaritan. Didn't make it."
The words struck like a blade, but he didn't flinch. His face remained impassive, a mask perfected through years of suppressing the storm inside him.
"This wasn't random," the officer continued. "We believe the attackers were professionals. Hired. Do you know why someone might target your wife?"
For a moment, he hesitated. "We've had... concerns. Threats. People are watching us. But we don't know who."
The officers didn't press him for more, though their silence was heavy with unspoken questions. He gave them just enough to guide their investigation, breadcrumbs they could follow. But not the full truth.
Because the truth was a weight they couldn't bear. A truth that lived not in the mortal realm, but in the shadows where fire and fury dwelled.
As the officers departed, promising updates, he stood alone in the cold corridor, staring at the door to Aika's room. The air was sharp, biting against his skin, but it did nothing to cool the inferno within him.
He couldn't rely on the police to fix this.
The people who had done this—the monsters who dared lay a hand on her—weren't the kind the law could stop. They would come again. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name.
And when they did, he would be waiting.
---
The first light of dawn filtered through the hospital window, its soft, golden rays spilling across the bed. It bathed Aika's sleeping form in an ethereal glow, softening the harsh lines of her injuries. She looked fragile, impossibly so, as if the weight of the world might shatter her.
He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering as he whispered, "Rest, Aika. I'll take care of this. You don't have to be afraid anymore."
Her hand twitched slightly, as if reaching for him even in her dreams. The sight unraveled him, breaking through the walls he had so carefully constructed.
The dragon stirred.
He had caged it for years, burying it beneath the weight of his humanity. For her, he had tried to be normal. To be a man. But now, as he looked at her bruised and battered form, he knew restraint was no longer an option.
The people who had hurt her didn't deserve mercy. They didn't deserve the law. They deserved the fire he had kept locked away for so long.
And he would give it to them.
As the first light of dawn painted the sky in hues of crimson and gold, he left the hospital room, the fire in his chest burning brighter with every step. The beast within him coiled, ready to strike, its fury a mirror of the love that had ignited it.
When the dragon was unleashed, there would be nothing left of those who had dared to harm her.
Nothing but ash.
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