In a misty morning, bathed in the soft light of dawn struggling to break through the scent of wet grass and the salty breath of the sea, a young girl ran barefoot, laughing freely.
She played in wide circles around a beautiful woman, one whose face mirrored her own. The two danced and ran across the grassy meadow until the girl slipped, falling into the damp blades, staining her worn clothes green.
She stood up quickly, pouting at the sight of her ruined dress. Her mother had washed those clothes the night before with bruised and wounded hands, after returning from long hours of labor.
"Sarah, don't be sad," the woman said with a smile as gentle as her voice.
"Mama will always keep you warm and clean. That's a mother's duty, my love, as I always love you."
Sarah, still a small child in this vision, turned and looked at her mother, beautiful, even though time and hardship had carved lines of sorrow across her face.she loved to hold her mother's face in her hand and look at her and would giggle whenever she said how much she loved her.
But today, she didn't get happy for her mother's sweet words. Suddenly, Sarah broke into sobs. She rushed into her mother's arms, clutching her desperately.
"Mama! Mama! Where were you? I missed you! They beat me, they hurt me! It's so cold, and I'm so scared! Mama, take me with you! I don't want to be alone anymore!"
The cries she had buried for years, all the grief, all the pain she swallowed while being abused and ignored, came pouring out of her like a river of sorrow.
Her mother's pale, ghostly hand rested gently atop her head, brushing the hair away from her tear-streaked face.
"Sarah… Mother is so sorry. I wasn't there when you needed me most. I'm sorry I let you see me that way. But never forget this!"
"You are my sweetest dream in this world.
I know your pain. I know how hard it's been.
And even though I am no longer there to hold you,
You must be strong one more time.
The light is coming, Sarah.
I promise..."
The warmth vanished alongside the whispers of her mother.
The sea breeze was gone. The grassland, the sun, her mother's embrace, all of it disappeared.
Only darkness remained.
Sarah ran wildly in her sleep, trying to chase after the vision, the broken memories, to cling to that fading warmth. But her body remained heavy ad slow, trapped in a deep and heavy sleep.
Just as her nightmare was about to devour her, a soft touch on her cheek, a real, warm touch, pulled her gently from the abyss.
------
Even after Murakami had left the cargo hold, Menma still stared at the trap door, hatred and fury boiling in his chest. He was already imagining a hundred ways to kill that man.
It was only when Snow trotted over and glared at him that Menma snapped out of it. He took a deep breath and turned away from the bars.
Carefully, he took and laid Sarah down in the slightly better corner of the cage, placing her head on his lap. He, himself, leaned back against the bars, his body slowly calming down, but his mind, was completely opposite.
He wasn't furious about the kiss. He was far too mature, too experienced to be fazed by something like that even though, it was genuinely his very first kiss. What bothered him was why it had happened.
Why had Sarah, a child like her, done something so intimate and decisive without fear, without hesitation?
Was it trauma? Was it a manifestation of past abuse? Desperation? Fear? Was she seeking a bond with him? An anchor?
He didn't know. And the fact that he couldn't understand disturbed him more than the act itself.
Snow, still pouting over her stuff being "invaded," crawled into his other arm. She dug her claws into his pant's leg slightly, as if to remind him that she was still there.
Menma smiled weakly and started gently stroking her from head to tail, calming the jealous furball down, guiding her to sleep on his lap.
As he ran his fingers through Snow's fur, his eyes drifted to the sleeping girl beside him. Without really meaning it, his hand shifted and began gently combing Sarah's tangled white hair, cleaning bits of hay and dust even carefully sending pulses of chakra through his fingers to straighten and shape them.
Soon her hair shined faintly in the dim cargo light, almost like a halo but was stained by one trail of dried tears shimmered along her pale cheek. His hand, freed from the hair, followed it, brushing it away as if trying to remind the girl that in this dark world, there was still someone who would clean and stop her tears.
In the middle of doing so, Sarah slowly opened her wet eyelashes.
Menma, seeing this, withdrew his hand gently.
Her sleepy eyes blinked up at the darkness, staring at the empty corridor, then as if sensing someone, slowly shifted toward the boy staring her. She looked confused, hesitant, and maybe even scared.
But the charm full red eyes shining in darkness alon with the lines on the face gave her some courage. She reached toward his face with her fingers.
Menma instinctively leaned away, not used to be held or touched by others. Sarah's fingers froze mid-motion, close to the boy's face, a flicker of fear and sadness, crossing her face.
But Menma reached forward again, meeting her hand with his cheek. His acting guided her fingers to open along his cheekbone and held his soft, fleshy cheek; warm, reassuring.
Sarah cupped his face gently, the way her mother used to hold her cheek, feeling the emotions, beneath his skin caressed by her fingertips.
Her gaze softened, as if soaking in every detail of the boy's features. But then, doubt, fear and sadness crept in. She pulled her hand back and turned her body, trying to sit up.
Her arms trembled from weakness, unable to raise her waight.
Without hesitation, Menma caught her by the shoulders and helped her sit upright, guiding her to lean to the bars next to him.
They sat side by side, their shoulders touching, their hearts beating in quiet sync beneath the roar of the sea outside, calmly waiting for the other one to open up.
Menma felt the heaviness in the air. The kind that seemed to press down on his shoulders, making it hard to breathe, let alone speak. He opened his mouth several times, wanting, aching, to say something that might ease the moment. But each time, he faltered and returned defeated. The taste of fear and sadness lingered in the air like dust on the tongue, so bitter and thick he didn't know how to begin.
But… there was someone who did.
Snow, having been roused by their earlier movements, stirred with a small annoyed purr. She rose, stretched delicately, then sat in front of them, staring with sharp, judging eyes. Her quiet presence cut through the dense air like a breeze through stale smoke.
Her action caught Sarah's attention, just enough to break the spiral of emotions spinning within her. It gave Menma the opening he needed, a crack in the silence.
Leaning forward, Menma scooped Snow gently into his arms, her soft fur pressing against his chest, the simple comfort grounding him. With care, he turned to Sarah.
"How is your body? Does it hurt anywhere?"
Sarah shifted slowly. Her movements were small, uncertain, like someone remembering how to breathe again. She drew her legs inward and, after a few attempts, successfully wrapped her arms around her knees.
"Um. It's... Fine...."
Her voice was quiet, distant, but the answer was enough. Menma nodded with care.
"That's good."
He knew better than to let the silence settle again. If it returned now, it would drown them both in the weight of things unspoken. So, gently but purposefully, he nudged the conversation toward what he needed to know, what she needed to say.
"Sarah, you know, I have more or less told you about my own situation, but, you, on the other hand, haven't told me anything about yourself. Do you, perhaps... umm... do you want to talk about yourself and... how you got on this ship?"
His voice was soft, not pushing, just guiding. He asked as tactfully as he could, careful not to touch the fresh wounds of her heart, even as he put her in the position to reveal them.
Sarah's body trembled, shoulders curling inward for a moment. But Menma's presence next to her, his steady warmth, kept her grounded, like an anchor pulling her from the storm.
"Do you... really... want to know?"
Her voice was fragile, barely above a whisper, trembling like leaves in a cold wind. She was guarded, uncertain. Still afraid of strangers.
Menma didn't hesitate. His answer came with firm sincerity.
"Hmm. I want to know, really do, cause, you know, I have promised that I'm going to save and eliminate someone's pain and sufferings."
He played the emotional card not to manipulate, but to reach out, to show her that he truly cared, that he was committed to her healing, even if only as a witness to her truth. The words struck deep.
Sarah took a breath. It was sad, weighted with all the years she had carried alone. She wrapped it around herself like a cloak, a small shield against the pain still lingering inside. Then, her lips parted, and with a trembling voice, she began.
She spoke of the past, her voice wrapped in a deep, mournful tone, revealing a story woven from shadows. It was a story filled with sadness and pain, torn edges and bruised memories. A broken story of a family, hidden away in a forgotten corner of the world. A family left behind by the light, born into a life where survival meant silence, and safety meant hiding in the dark.
And she told everything to Menma.
The truth spilled from her like water from a cracked pot, slow at first, uncertain, then pouring with quiet desperation. She spoke of the darkness, the fear, the tiny, flickering hopes they clung to. The desperate chase for even a sliver of light. And in doing so, she revealed to Menma a side of the world he had sworn to change. The unfiltered truth of those who lived in its cracks and shadows.
He listened, fully, deeply.
And with each word she spoke, he saw more clearly the reality of the world he had made it his mission to fight. The darkness was not just in power or policy, it was in silence, in forgotten lives, in the quiet suffering of people like Sarah.
And now, her story lived in him too.
---
"I don't know much about my true origins. My mother once said we are from a clan in the Land of Spring, where every single member had white hair and blue eyes, with clean white skin, no matter with who they marry. That was my mother's clan."
"The clan had many dealings with the government and court, and there were a lot of marriages between the clan and the few noble allies they had. My mother was one of those many, marrying a noble from the Land of Spring."
"She said everything was fine and the country was growing slowly. Their family was happy and in a year they had a cute little baby girl. But nothing is eternal. After the Second and just before the Third World War, a cult was formed in the Land of Spring, quickly spreading among the noble families."
"The requirement to join the cult was sacrificing a young couple and a few children of the clans or families to their so-called god..."
Hearing this, Menma's aura changed so suddenly and intensely that Sarah's breath was cut short. The pure rage and killing intent made the air as heavy as mercury, and along with it, his chakra began to pulse through the air.
Every single creature within ten kilometers of the ship froze in place. Fish began to pass out in fear, sailors trembled and collapsed to their knees, and even the deep-sea creatures fled, swimming away as fast as they could.
Menma's chakra pulses grew stronger and stronger, shaking the main deck, every hall, and every plank of the ship.
Kurama, alerted by the rising storm of chakra and emotions about to explode, quickly called out:
"Calm down, kid! They're not here! You can kill them however you want but if you don't stop, this ship will sink along with everyone on board! You better take things calmly!"
Menma's soul was pulled away from the edge of his ever-growing rage. He have noted the existence of this cult in his mind. No matter what happens in future, he would erase it from the face of the earth, completely.
Taking a deep breath, Menma looked around and saw Sarah struggling to breathe, while Snow pressed herself against his chest in pain, seeking comfort.
He inhaled deeply again, and slowly calmed his heart and chakra, finally letting everyone breathe in relief. Sarah, in particular, looked at Menma in horror as she greedily sucked air into her lungs.
She now understood exactly what Menma meant when he said he was strong. Monster might have been the more accurate term...
Up on deck, Murakami, who had collapsed trembling, slowly pulled himself together. He suspected that a passing sea beast had affected the ship and luckily, it had nothing to do with them. Still, his sixth sense kept sending warning signals. He remained uncertain, anxious.
Back below deck, Menma comforted both Snow and Sarah, gently patting their backs and soothing their emotions.
"Um... sorry. I lost control for a moment. I'll be more careful so it won't happen again…"
Sarah finally calmed down and gave Menma a deep look, as if trying to convince herself he wasn't the monster who had nearly swallowed the ship whole just minutes ago. Taking another breath, she began again.
"It's alright. Umm, oh, after that cult appeared, the major clans and noble families started joining it. Anyone who opposed or tried to stop the cult was… dealt with. My parents' families, our clan, decided to sacrifice a family of three with a newborn child who met all of the conditions. Our family."
"When my father learned what fate awaited us, he betrayed everyone and fled, with help from a few loyal friends. During our escape, we were discovered and chased across the land."
"Eventually, my father found a chance to smuggle us into a country that would protect us from the cult's people, the Land of Water. But... one of his friends had betrayed him. He revealed our location."
"Knowing we were in danger, my father led them away, buying time for the ship carrying his wife and toddler daughter to sail toward the lands covered in mist…"