Chapter 42: The Rules of Breathing in a Cage.
At home-if you could call it that-mold crept up the corners of the walls, and the lights flickered as if unsure whether to keep going. The single-room apartment held too much silence, too much cold. His younger sister, Mei, curled up in the thin blanket on the mattress, her small body barely rising with each breath. She had been sick again. Ryuga sighed, running a hand through his hair.
He placed a cracked ceramic cup of warm tea beside her.
Steam rose briefly before surrendering to the chill.
"I heard you come in," Mei whispered.
"I brought you cough syrup," Ryuga said, placing a plastic bag on the floor.
"I don't need it," she muttered.
"You say that every time," he replied.
"And you never listen," she shot back, pulling the blanket tighter around her.
He crouched beside her, glancing up at the ceiling where mold crept like vines. Silence settled like dust between them.
"You look different," she begins.
"Tired?" he asked.
"No. Just... different," she murmured.
He looked at her carefully. She always noticed more than she let on.
"You've stopped looking at the floor when you talk," she spoke softly.
"That's a good thing, right?" he asked.
"Maybe," she replied, her voice faint.
She coughed, and the sound echoed too loudly in the tiny room.
"You're starting to look like someone who's not afraid anymore," she said.
"I'm not," he smiled.
"Liar," she whispered.
"I'm not lying," he said, jaw tightening.
"Then why do your hands shake when you're still?" she asked.
He looked at his fingers. Slight tremors. Not enough to deny.
"They don't anymore," he said softly.
"Yes, they do. Just... in a different way," she replied.
Ryuga stood, stepping toward the window. The city beyond was dim and motionless, trapped behind weather-stained glass.
"I had a dream last night," Mei muttered.
"Yeah?" he asked.
"We had wings," she said.
"Feathers or steel?" he asked.
"Feathers. Soft ones. But they were bruised," she said.
"Sounds like us," he said with a small exhale.
"You flew. I didn't," she said.
"You will," he said, turning to look at her.
"No. I watched you leave," she said, eyes low.
"I wouldn't do that," he said firmly.
"You already are," she replied.
His brows furrowed. "That's not true," he said.
"It is. You're getting brighter, Ryuga. And it's not because of me," she said.
"You want me to stay in this cage?" he asked.
"No. I just want to know what kind of sky you're flying into," she said.
"One that's real," he said.
"Does that sky have room for me?" she asked, her voice so soft it almost broke.
He didn't answer at first.
"I don't know yet," he spoke finally.
"That's the scary part," she said.
She sat up slowly, her body trembling with effort. Her face was pale but calm.
"Do you remember the bird we found?" she asked.
"The one with the broken wing?" he said.
"Yeah. We kept it in a shoebox," she said.
"It died," he said.
"No. You opened the lid and it flew away," she said.
"I thought it died," he muttered.
"Maybe you needed to believe that," she said, watching him.
He turned back to the window.
"You were the bird," she whispered. "You always were."
"That bird had a broken wing," he said.
"So do you," she replied gently.
Her eyes, despite the dimness, glimmered with something honest.
"They're going to hurt you, you know," she said.
"They already did," he said.
"You think you're strong enough now?" she asked.
"I'm not waiting for strength anymore," he said.
"That's reckless," she said.
That's necessary," he replied.
The apartment seemed to tighten around them like a closing fist.
"So what now?" she asked.
"I keep going," he said.
"And me?" she asked.
"You watch the sky with me," he said.
She nodded slowly, gaze heavy but certain.
"Don't forget the cage," she said.
"Why would I?" he asked.
"Because one day, you'll be free, and it'll be too easy to pretend you were never trapped," she said.
"Then remind me. Every day," he said.
"I will," she whispered.
He glanced at her-fragile, but sharp like frost, cutting through him in ways the cold never could.
"You talk like you're staying behind," he said.
"I'm not," she said, a soft defiance in her voice.
"You sure sound like it," he said.
"I just know what cages do," she replied.
"They keep things safe... or so we're told," he muttered.
"And so we believe," she said.
"But you're right. Mine's starting to crack," he said.
"That's what happens when you stop bowing your head," she said.
"Do you think I'm changing for the worse?" he asked.
"No," she said immediately. "Just... fast."
"It's not a choice anymore," he said.
She looked down at her thin fingers, then back at him.
"You're getting dangerous," she said.
"Good," he said.
"I don't mean it as a compliment," she said.
"I know," he said with a small, tired smile.
Silence again. The kind that said everything neither wanted to voice.
"Does it scare you?" she asked.
"It scares me more to stay the same," he said.
"Then go. Break it. The cage. The silence. Everything," she said.
He stared at her, heart tightening.
"And you?" he asked.
"I'll break mine too," she said.
He reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek.
"You're stronger than you look," he said.
"You always say that," she said.
"And it's always true," he said.
She exhaled slowly, the sound ghostlike.
"Ryuga..." she said.
"Yeah?" he asked.
"Don't fly too high," she said.
He paused.
"Why not?" he asked.
"Because I want to be able to see you," she said.
His throat clenched. He didn't respond.
"And... because people forget to land," she added.
"I won't," he said.
"You promise?" she asked.
"I promise," he said.
The lights above buzzed once, then stabilized. A moment of rare clarity in the room.
"Do you think we were born in the wrong world?" she asked.
"No. Just the wrong corner of it," he said.
She smiled faintly.
"Maybe. But maybe this corner needed us," she said.
He laughed, just a breath. "That's something you'd say."
"And something you'd roll your eyes at," she replied.
"I'm not rolling them. See? Growth," he said.
"I'll believe it when you don't steal my snacks," she said.
He smirked. "Those expired last month."
"They were mine," she said.
"I left you the crushed ones," he said.
"You left me crumbs," she said.
He chuckled. She grinned.
A fragile peace. One not earned by ease but by enduring everything else.
"Ryuga," she said again, softer now.
"What?" he asked.
"Don't forget me," she said.
He didn't answer immediately.
"That's not even possible," he said.
"You're bad with people. I have reason to worry," she said.
"You're not people," he said.
"I'm not?" she asked, teasing faintly.
"You're Mei," he said. "That's different."
Her smile didn't fade.
"Okay, then. I'll remind you. Every day," she said.
He nodded slowly.
He walked over and sat beside her, their shoulders brushing. She leaned into him, small and still shivering.
A bird in a cage watching the sky but never leaving-that had always been them.
But now, Ryuga could feel it.
The door had started to open.
And this time, he was ready to step through.