Reimi
I woke up.
The transition was jarring, to say the least.
I didn't move. I lay perfectly still, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
The bed was soft.
...Dangerously so. The air was warm. No sirens. No explosions. No monsters. No memory of Kaito haunting my dreams.
"She's awake! Guys, she's awake!"
I turned my head.
They were all there. The four of them, huddled near the bedroom door, watching me like I was a live artillery shell someone had accidentally brought indoors.
A girl with dark brown pigtails tied with pink bands hovered by the door, clutching a tray. She had Momoka's face. Almost. The eyes and nose were off. Younger, too — sixteen, maybe. And where Momoka had been Japanese, this girl was visibly mixed, something in the cheekbones and the skin tone my brain couldn't quite file.
She looks... so much like her.
She was looking at me with a concern so bright it pained me to receive it.
"Are you okay?" the girl whispered.
I blinked. My fingers curled into the blanket. It was so soft it almost didn't feel real. "Where am I? Am I… am I dead?"
"Um…" she said, her voice small. "You — you've been out for about eighteen hours. So we brought you to my house. My mom is a nurse, she helped us get you cleaned up last night. You were in pretty bad shape after killing, like, a billion of those things. Well, it was more like a thousand, but it was still a lot, you know? Oh! And you can call me Maya!"
I sat up. The room spun. I felt like I was in a dollhouse. A simulation of a home designed by a child. Everything was light, pastel, and too clean. Idol posters on the walls. Clothes on the floor.
"...Am I dead?" I asked again.
"Um… no? Like I said. You just passed out. But we carried you here. You were really heavy! I mean, not that you're fat or anything! I didn't mean it like that! I meant you're really strong, obviously, uh, because you killed all those monsters, um. Sorry, we just never met a girl like you. Um. What... what's your name, anyway?"
I stared at her. My head was pounding, and if this was death, it smelled like laundry detergent and somebody's shampoo. If this was a dream, my ribs wouldn't hurt this much.
But where were the husks? The chaos beasts? The cold?
Three other girls stared at me from the door. I clocked them in threat order. A tanned, dark-skinned girl in a red t-shirt, black curls tipped with flame-red highlights — the striker, hands already half-closed into fists. A slight Asian girl with glasses and a blue sweatshirt hanging off her. The smallest of the group. Ranged support, eyes wide and nervous. And behind them, a tall blonde in a yellow-and-black sundress, arms crossed, expression unreadable — the anchor.
They all had auras. Faint ones, shimmering at the edges of my vision. Sentinels.
"Is she a ghost?" the redhead whispered. Her fingers dug into the doorframe hard enough to creak the wood.
"No," the tall girl said. "She's not dead, she's just… really weird. I've never seen anything like her."
"I'm not weird," I rasped, pushing the covers off. They were pink and covered in cartoon flowers. "I'm — this is weird. Where the hell am I?"
"You're at my house!" Maya said. "I brought you some food!"
She shuffled forward and placed the tray on the bed beside me. A bowl of rice with a fried egg on top. A fork next to it. The smell hit me like a punch in the gut.
Real food.
I picked up the fork. My fingers shook. The egg was yellow and glistening.
I was so tired of Loki's games. This couldn't be real.
"I... need to get out of here," I said, my voice hoarse.
"Don't be crazy! You've been sleeping for eighteen hours. You need to eat, and drink, and —"
My hand snapped out. I grabbed her by the front of her shirt and yanked her forward until she was inches from my face. She was so soft. So fragile. Her eyes were huge.
It would've taken nothing to snap her neck, to leave her crumpled on the floor of this dollhouse.
It was hard not to think of her as a paper cutout, something you could push your thumb through without trying.
"Who are you?" I snarled. "Anansi? Morpheus? Loki? Some kind of shapeshifter? Answer me."
"M-Maya!" she stammered. "My name is Maya! I'm Maya Hoshino! Please don't hurt me!"
I was so tired of Loki's games.
Three flashes of light erupted behind Maya. I let out an annoyed sigh.
Something cold and sharp pressed against the back of my neck, right at the base of my skull. I caught it in the mirror to the side — the blade of a naginata.
"Let her go. Right. Now." The Asian girl, fully transformed now. "If you have any humanity in you, unhand Maya. She was only trying to help you!"
I didn't even look back. I grabbed the shaft of her annoying toothpick and squeezed, twisting it into scrap with one motion of my wrist.
The girl gasped, and I turned to face the other three. The redhead was wearing heavy red gauntlets glowing with a dull red light. The blonde had a mace with a yellow gemstone set in the head, and a buckler on her other arm.
"Wait! Don't hurt them!" Maya pleaded as she waved for everyone to stand down. "Please! We're your friends!"
I picked her up off her feet, my hand wrapping around her throat.
"I don't have any friends," I said, low. I could see her pulse jumping in her neck.
I should've broken her. I didn't. I held myself back.
Because she felt like a person, not like Loki's usual bullshit wasting my time.
I squeezed, and she let out a choked sob.
She was looking at me with wide eyes. "I didn't mean to make you upset, I swear! I just want to help you! We all do! Please let me go. Please. We can talk, just please let me go."
"Your name is Maya?" I repeated.
"Y-yes!"
"You say your name is Maya?"
"Yes!"
"Do you know anyone named Momoka?"
"Who? I've never met anyone with that name. Is she a friend of yours? Did something happen to her?"
Momoka was gone. Momoka was dust. I'd held her hand while she came apart. Dreams don't have that kind of weight. This place did.
I released Maya and pushed her away.
She stumbled backward, nearly tripping over her own feet.
"Maya!" the Asian girl shouted, leaping forward to catch her.
I leaned against the wall, my head spinning. "I'm sorry. I thought I was somewhere else."
"It's okay!" Maya said, voice shaking. "It's okay, we all make mistakes. Just — don't do it again. Please?"
The redhead was still in the doorway, fists clenched. "We should call the Association," she said, barely above a whisper. "We should call a hospital. We should call someone. We can't keep her here."
The tall blonde girl crossed her arms. "She's right, Maya. This is too much. She's too dangerous. She nearly killed you."
Maya looked between us, eyes wide and pleading. "No! No way! We can't do that! She's not dangerous! She's not! Just — look at her! Look at her, Alfie."
"I am dangerous," I said, looking at Maya. "I am very, very dangerous."
She puffed her cheeks out, hands balled into fists. "No! You're not! You're just lost and scared, like us! We're all scared! We're all —"
"Maya," the blonde cut in, sharp. "Look at her eyes. That's not normal. She's... she's a monster. Look at what she did to Linda's naginata."
The Asian girl — Linda from what I gathered, looked at her ruined weapon and shuddered. "She's right. We can't trust her, and we can't control her. It was a mistake to bring her here."
"I didn't ask to be brought anywhere," I said, pushing off the wall.
My head was throbbing. Every muscle was stiff. I could feel gravity, the weight of reality pressing down on me like it hadn't in a long time.
"I'll leave. I'm sorry for the trouble."
I pushed past the frozen redhead and stalked out of the bedroom, my feet sinking into the plush carpet.
The hallway was long and narrow, lined with family pictures.
"Wait!" Maya called out, her voice echoing behind me.
I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.
This wasn't my world. This wasn't my life. I needed to get back to what was real. I needed to find the exit to this false reality.
I'd survived the destruction of my reality. I'd chased that accursed Hephaestus through the unspooling of the 13th. But then I'd been caught in a trap. A trap made of a past that had never been and a future that couldn't be.
"Where are you going?" Maya shouted, running to catch up. "You can't just walk out! You need to stay here. We'll help you, I promise! My mom is a healer — a real healer, a Sentinel! She can help you! She'll help us all!"
I kept walking. Every step felt like walking on glass.
The air in this house was too clean, the carpet too soft, the walls too white. Everything was wrong. Too new. Too intact. I wanted to rip it all down, to shatter the walls and break the windows, to tear it apart until I found the door that led back to the chaos.
But most of all I had to find a way out of this false reality.
I reached the front door. My fingers wrapped around the handle.
It opened with a creak. The air outside was cold. The sky was a perfect blue.
"W-wait, please! We have a lot of questions!" Maya stammered. "You saved us! How can we thank you?"
I paused, half-turning. Maya stood a few steps behind me in the hallway, hands clasped in front of her.
She was different from Momoka. Softer in a way that hadn't been tested yet.
"You can't. There's nothing to thank me for. I was just doing what I do."
"Which is what?"
"Killing."
I hesitated, my hand on the door handle. I wasn't sure what I'd find outside. More of this false world. More of this nightmare.
"Wait!" Maya shouted. "At least tell us your name!"
I stopped.
"Zero, zero, four, two," I said, not looking back.
"What? That's not a name, that's a serial number. What is your name?"
I paused, hand still on the handle. I could feel the weight of the house pressing down on me, the weight of the world. I didn't want to turn around. Didn't want to see her face. Didn't want to see the pity in her eyes. The hope.
"I told you —"
"Reimi."
My blood froze.
I turned around, slowly. Maya was standing in the middle of the living room now, her eyes focused, her face pale.
How did she know? I hadn't told anyone that name since… the end. How did she know?
"Rei for zero. Mi for nothing. Reimi. I figured if you won't give us your name, maybe we could make one for you? So, I came up with that. Um, do you hate it? I kinda just came up with it on the spot. Dad says I'm better with kanji than he is. Not typical for a second gen, I know."
"I — I have a name," I said, my voice shaking.
"I know. We all do. But sometimes the name we have doesn't fit us anymore. Like, when we transform, we all get a new one. Maya Hoshino is one thing, but Star Morganite is something else. It's a second chance, right?"
She was babbling. She was babbling and I wasn't listening. All I could hear was her voice saying my name. My name. The name I'd been given when I stared death in the eyes for the first time.
"Reimi," I repeated, barely a whisper.
"Yes! Reimi! Do you like it?"
"I hate it."
"Oh." Her face fell. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I just thought it might be a good idea to give you an alias. I guess it wasn't."
I looked down at my hands. Covered in scars, some old, some new. I could feel the weight of my power pressing down on me, the pressure of my aura.
"It's not a bad name," I admitted, finally.
"Yeah?" she said, perking up. "Do you want to use it? I mean, you don't have to, of course. It's your choice."
"I — no." I shook my head. "I already have a name. A real one. It's —"
I froze. My throat closed up, and the words died in my mouth as I remembered two girls clasping my hands, pleading with me not to leave so soon.
"It's what?" she asked, voice soft.
I shook my head, my heart pounding. "It doesn't matter. It's not important. Just call me whatever you want. I'll be gone soon enough."
At that very moment, my stomach growled. Loudly. I hadn't eaten in days. I hadn't slept in weeks. I hadn't been outside in years.
And the next moment, the familiar scent of strawberry milk filled my nose.
Green eyes stared up at me, wide and innocent.
"Come on. Come back to the kitchen with me. Let's get something in your stomach before you leave, at least. Miss Reimi."
I frowned down at her. She was a bit shorter than me, her head barely reaching my neck.
So young. So stubborn. Just like how I'd been back then.
Just like they had been.
And she was holding out a carton of milk. Strawberry milk. The same kind Momoka had always given me.
It was the kind that smelled like a childhood I'd never had.
I sighed, my shoulders sagging. I was too tired to fight. Too weak to resist. Too hungry and too cold and — too scared.
I took the carton of milk.
And then I fell to my knees and started sobbing.