The night air clung to Rinne’s skin as she climbed the stairs to her apartment. Her boots echoed against the concrete steps as she reached the landing and paused, staring at the chipped numbers on her door. 302. They looked as worn as she felt.
The lock clicked open with a twist, and the door groaned on its hinges as she stepped inside. A faint smell of dust greeted her, mingling with the faintest trace of lavender air freshener long since past its prime. She flipped the light switch, and the tiny apartment flickered to life. Clothes were draped over the back of the couch; empty takeout containers cluttered the coffee table alongside a pile of unopened mail. Her desk by the window was buried under an avalanche of half-sketched drawings and forgotten notes. She sighed, running a hand through her hair.
“I need to clean this place up,” she muttered, more to herself than to the silence.
Rinne slipped off her boots, her tired voice breaking the stillness. “I’m home…”
As if summoned by her words, the faint jingle of metal against metal sounded from the corner of the room. It was soft at first, almost tentative, then grew louder, accompanied by the rapid pitter-patter of tiny feet on the hardwood floor.
Rinne’s face softened as a small brown dog darted into view, his floppy ears bouncing with each step. His collar caught the light, the metal nameplate clinking rhythmically against the silver ring.
“Skippy!” she called, her tone brightening as she crouched down and opened her arms wide. “Come here, you little troublemaker! Mommy’s home!”
Skippy barked, his high-pitched yaps a melody of pure joy, and launched himself into her arms. His tail wagged so hard it was a wonder he didn’t topple over. Rinne laughed, the sound a rare reprieve from the heaviness she carried, as she scooped him up and cradled him close.
“There’s my good boy,” she murmured, scratching behind his ears. “Did you miss me, huh? Of course, you did. You’re the best boy, aren’t you? Yes, you are.”
Skippy licked her face, his tiny tongue catching her cheek, and she giggled despite herself. For a moment, the weight of the world lifted, and the messy apartment and the long day outside seemed miles away.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
After a few minutes of indulgent baby talk and belly rubs, Rinne finally set Skippy down. “Alright, you little rascal,” she said, brushing fur off her pants. “Give me a minute.”
She moved to the corner of the living room, where a small wooden shrine stood against the wall. It was meticulously arranged, unlike the apartment around it. Three photographs sat side by side, framed in delicate black lacquer: her father, his sharp Japanese features softened by an easy smile, and her mother, whose golden hair framed a face that was both elegant and kind, and of course her older brother.
The soft glow of a candle illuminated the shrine, casting gentle shadows across the carpet beneath it. Rinne knelt, her knees pressing into the floor as she clasped her hands together. For a long moment, she didn’t speak, letting the silence wrap around her like a blanket. Then, finally, she whispered, her voice steady but low:
“I’m home, Dad. Mom. Akio.”
The words hung in the air in a bittersweet way. Skippy padded over and sat beside her, his tail thumping softly against the floor, offering his companionship. Rinne exhaled slowly, her eyes lingering on the photographs.
It had been two years since the attack—two years since that monster had rampaged through the streets. The Genju had come without warning, and immediately caused destruction. Rinne could still remember the sounds: the screaming, the crushing of stone and metal, the sickening roar of the creature as it tore through everything in its path. Her parents and brother had been caught in the evacuation, swept up in the desperate attempt to flee the beast’s wrath.
They hadn’t made it.
The loss had hollowed her out, left her floating in a sea of anger and grief with no anchor. Joining the Nightguard—those sworn to protect the city from the beasts—had seemed like the only way forward. At first, it had been a way to channel her rage, to strike back at the creatures that had stolen everything from her. Over time, it had become something more. A purpose, maybe even a calling.
Rinne stayed there in front of the shrine for a while, the city’s noise muffled by the walls, the small apartment feeling both too large and too small all at once. Finally, she rose, giving Skippy a gentle pat on the head before retreating to the couch.
“Come on,” she muttered to herself, pressing her palms to her cheeks until they stung. “Get it together.” She slapped her cheeks lightly, more out of ritual than resolve, and exhaled deeply.
The mess around her could wait another day. Tonight, this was enough.