Upon stepping out in the Japanese airport I was received by mom,and she looked terrified."Yukina,what pray tell makes you return in the moment your sisters are causing havoc and wanting you to come back before you even understand the depth of it?” Her voice was sharp, yet there was an undercurrent of something I couldn’t quite place—fear? Guilt?

“I came back because I need answers,” I said, gripping my suitcase tightly. “You’ve spent my entire life burying the truth, and I’m done being in the dark.”

She froze, her perfectly composed expression faltering for just a moment. “Yukina, you don’t understand. There are things you’re better off not knowing.”

“No,” I interrupted, my voice firm. “I deserve to know why my sisters are doing this, why Aunt Sophoneia disappeared, why our family is a mess. I deserve to know everything.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, it looked like she might argue. But then she sighed, her shoulders sagging as if the weight of decades was finally catching up to her. “Fine,” she said quietly. “But not here. Let’s go home.”

The Kumo estate was as imposing as I remembered—its towering walls and ornate gates designed to keep the world out. Stepping inside, I felt the familiar chill of its grandeur, a coldness that seemed to seep into my bones. My mother led me to the sitting room, where the heavy silence was broken only by the ticking of an antique clock.

She poured herself a cup of tea, her hands trembling slightly as she sat across from me. “Your sisters…” she began, her voice strained, “are trying to finish what I started.”

“What you started?” I echoed, my pulse quickening.

She nodded, avoiding my gaze. “When I met your father, I was young and ambitious, determined to make a name for myself. I thought if I could dismantle the old ways—both the Astrino and Kumo traditions—I could build something better. But I was reckless, Yukina. I underestimated the cost.”

“Cost?” I pressed, leaning forward. “You mean Aunt Sophoneia?”

Her face crumpled at the mention of her sister. “Sophoneia… She was fragile, vulnerable. She depended on me, and when I sent her away, I thought I was protecting her. But I was wrong. Losing her was the price I paid for my arrogance.”

“And now Reika and Tifani are picking up where you left off,” I said bitterly. “They’re using the same tactics—chaos, manipulation, lies.”

“They think they’re fixing my mistakes,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But they’re only repeating them. And even worse,your sisters have no sense of common,or emotion and empathy,while I had they're running on pure logic,Yukina.And they don't have love for you,unlike I who loved my sisters dearly,still do,they see you as a mere piece on their chessboard," she finished, her voice breaking slightly. "To them, you're not Yukina, their younger sister. You're the key to power, to control. They think if they can pull you into their game, they’ll finally tip the scales in their favor."

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as her words sank in. "And you? Did you see Aunt Sophoneia the same way? A piece to be moved, sacrificed if necessary?"

Her gaze snapped to mine, and for the first time, I saw genuine pain in her eyes. "No," she said sharply. "I loved Sophoneia. I made mistakes, but I never used her the way Reika and Tifani are using you. I thought I was saving her, protecting her from this—mess...You gotta understand Yukina you're sharp,intelligent in all ways,your aunt......Your aunt was a womanchild,someone if you took your eyes off —she'd lose herself," my mother finished, her voice trembling. "Sophoneia wasn’t capable of surviving in this world alone. She depended on everyone around her, and when things didn’t go her way, she... spiraled. I thought sending her away would force her to grow, to become stronger. But it broke her instead."

"She didn’t need to grow stronger," I said, my voice low and cutting. "She needed you."

My mother flinched, and for a moment, I felt a flicker of guilt. But the anger bubbling inside me wouldn’t be silenced. "And now you’re telling me that my sisters, my own blood, see me as nothing more than a tool in their twisted game. How do you expect me to react to that?"

"I expect you to survive," she replied, her tone hardening. "I expect you to outthink them, outmaneuver them, the way I know you can. I didn’t raise you to be helpless, Yukina. I raised you to be stronger than all of us."

"Strong enough to clean up the mess you left behind?" I shot back, my voice shaking.

Her silence was enough.

The room felt suffocating, the walls of the Kumo estate closing in on me. I stood abruptly, pacing to the window. Outside, the sprawling gardens were meticulously maintained, a perfect façade for a family that was anything but.

"What do Reika and Tifani want from me?" I asked, turning back to face her.

"They want what I tried to take for myself," she said after a long pause. "Control of the Kumo and Astrino legacies. They believe that by aligning both families through you, they’ll gain unparalleled power. But Yukina, they don’t just want control—they want domination. And they won’t stop until they have it."

Her words sent a chill down my spine. "And what happens to me in their plan? What happens when I’m no longer useful?"

Her face darkened. "You know the answer to that."

I swallowed hard, a wave of nausea washing over me. "They’ll get rid of me," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

My mother nodded, her expression grim. "You’re their sister, but they don’t see you as family. They see you as a means to an end. And once that end is achieved…"

I didn’t need her to finish the sentence. The unspoken truth hung heavy in the air.

"I won’t let them use me," I said firmly, my resolve hardening. "And I won’t let them destroy what’s left of this family."

A flicker of something—pride, perhaps—passed over her face. "Yukina?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry you have to go through this...But I am proud of you."

"Those are not but empty words to me."I find myself letting out. "So long,Adara."

The silence after her words felt oppressive. For a brief moment, I saw my mother—Adara—not as the cold matriarch of the Kumo family but as a woman broken by her own choices. She wanted redemption but knew it was far out of reach. Her apology didn’t mend the years of lies and manipulation, but it lingered in the air, unspoken threads of a bond we could never truly sever.

I turned and left the room, her quiet whisper trailing behind me. “Stay safe, Yukina.”

Back in my room, I placed Sophoneia’s journal on the desk and sat down, staring at its worn leather cover. My hands trembled as I opened it, greeted by childlike handwriting scrawled across the pages, the words unsteady and filled with innocent wonder and confusion.

"Today, Fuyuki promised to take me to the garden! But he didn't. He said work is more ‘important.’ I told him flowers are important too. He smiled, but he didn’t listen."

 "I think Areti is mad at me. She called me silly. I’m not silly, I just think differently."

 "Adara told me I can’t go outside anymore. She says people might want to hurt me. But I don’t understand. Why? I only want to be happy."

 "Fuyuki left again today. I think he doesn’t like me anymore. Maybe if I make him a flower crown, he’ll smile at me like he used to."

 "I heard Adara crying last night. She says it’s my fault, but I don’t know what I did. Maybe if I stay quiet, I’ll stop making people sad."

Each entry unraveled a painful truth, her voice echoing in my mind. Sophoneia wasn’t just fragile; she was a child trapped in a world too cruel for her gentle soul. The guilt my mother carried was etched in these pages—her failed attempts to shield Sophoneia from the family’s darker legacy.

But it was the last entry that caught my breath:

"Adara says I have to go away. She says it’s for my own good. But I don’t want to leave. I’m scared. Fuyuki said I’ll be okay, but he looked sad. I wish I could stay in the garden forever."

I closed the journal, the weight of her words pressing down on me. Sophoneia’s story wasn’t just one of loss; it was one of betrayal by those who should have protected her. Fuyuki, my father, had played his role too—indifferent and distant, perhaps too wrapped up in his own battles to notice hers.

The next day, I confronted my father in his study. He sat behind a massive desk, the weight of the Kumo legacy etched into his face.

“You knew Sophoneia was suffering,” I said, my voice steady.

He looked up, his expression unreadable. “She wasn’t ready for the world, Yukina. I couldn’t save her.”

“You didn’t even try,” I shot back. “You let her disappear into the shadows because it was easier than facing the truth.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe I did. Maybe I failed her. But I was trying to hold this family together. You think it’s easy, balancing tradition and survival? I made choices, Yukina. Hard choices. And not all of them were right.”

I stared at him, searching for something—regret, remorse. Maybe it was there, buried deep, but I couldn’t forgive him.

“Sophoneia deserved better. So did I,” I said, turning to leave.

“Yukina,” he called after me. “Don’t make the same mistakes we did.”

"I won't,Fuyuki."

Finally I sent a letter to aunt Areti thanking her for making it possible for me to discover just how cruel my family's story really has been, yet also expressing my gratitude for giving me the tools to face it. Writing that letter was cathartic, a release of emotions I’d held back for years. I sealed it with a sense of finality, knowing this chapter of my life was nearing its end.

But the story wasn’t over. Reika and Tifani were still out there, plotting, weaving their intricate web of control. I couldn’t afford to be complacent. Their moves would be calculated, precise, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d end up as another pawn in their game.

I spent the next few days pouring over the remnants of Sophoneia’s life. Her journal wasn’t just a record of her pain; it was a map of her world—a world that had been shattered piece by piece. There were mentions of hidden places in the estate, secret spots where she’d go to escape. One entry stood out:

"I found a little door in the east wing. It’s tiny, like it’s made for me. Inside, it’s quiet. I can hear my own thoughts, and no one can find me. I think I’ll hide my treasures here. Maybe one day, someone will find them and understand."

The east wing. That part of the estate had been locked off for as long as I could remember. My parents always said it was unsafe, the foundation too old and unstable. But now, I couldn’t ignore it. If Sophoneia had hidden something there, it could be the key to uncovering what really happened to her—and perhaps the truth about my family’s darkest secrets.

That night, I crept down the silent halls of the Kumo estate, the moonlight casting eerie shadows on the ornate walls. The air grew colder as I approached the east wing, the heavy oak door looming before me. It took all my strength to push it open, the hinges creaking in protest.

Inside, the air was stale, carrying the weight of years of abandonment. Dust coated every surface, and cobwebs hung like delicate veils. I moved carefully, scanning the space for any sign of the “little door” Sophoneia mentioned. The room felt like a mausoleum, a shrine to forgotten times.

Then I saw it—a small, unassuming door at the base of the far wall. It was barely noticeable, tucked behind an old bookshelf. My heart raced as I approached, kneeling to examine it. The wood was worn, the paint chipped, but it was intact. With trembling hands, I pulled it open.

Inside was a tiny alcove, no bigger than a closet. It was filled with trinkets—a faded flower crown, a bundle of pressed flowers, a small wooden box. I opened the box to find a collection of letters, their edges yellowed with age. Each one was addressed to “My future friend.”

I unfolded the first letter, the handwriting instantly recognizable as Sophoneia’s.

"Dear friend,

 If you’re reading this, it means you’ve found my secret place. Thank you for coming. I don’t know if you’ll understand, but I hope you’ll try. I’m scared, and I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. Everyone says they’re trying to help, but I feel so alone. I just want someone to hear me, to know I was here."

Tears blurred my vision as I read through the letters. Each one was a plea, a cry for connection from someone who had been silenced and forgotten. Sophoneia’s voice, so full of pain yet laced with hope, pierced through me.

But it was the final letter that struck the deepest chord.

"Dear friend,

 If you find this, please remember me. Remember that I tried to be strong, even when it hurt. And if you can, please forgive them. They didn’t mean to hurt me. They just didn’t know how to love me."

I sat there for what felt like hours, holding her words close. Sophoneia’s story wasn’t just a tragedy; it was a testament to the cracks in our family’s foundation, the fractures that had been ignored for generations.

As I left the east wing that night, a new resolve settled over me. I would carry Sophoneia’s memory, not as a burden but as a beacon. Her voice would not be silenced, and neither would mine.

The battle with Reika and Tifani was far from over, but I was no longer the naïve girl who had returned to Japan seeking answers. I was Yukina Kumo-Astrino, and I would reclaim my family’s legacy—not for power, but for truth, for healing, and for the chance to rewrite our story.