11-13-2024, 11:48 PM
Kiyohito took in their surroundings slowly, his gaze sweeping over every detail as though he were reading a strange story that had been laid out for him, line by line. His expression shifted from wary distrust to something closer to reluctant acceptance, his posture loosening as he let out a low murmur, as if grounding himself.
He turned first to the man—Cal, if he’d understood correctly—and inclined his head in a deep, respectful bow. “I must apologize for my earlier assumption,” he said, his voice calm but edged with a kind of formal sincerity, as though he were both soldier and diplomat. Then he turned to the young woman, a softness almost brushing his features. “Miss Marisol, please, no apology is necessary. Self-defense is the only proper response when the unknown approaches.”
Even as he said it, he found himself frowning at the surroundings. A nursery? It was difficult to reconcile this dim, dreamlike space with anything dangerous. The child and the strange creature were gone, but the memory of their presence lingered in the air, adding to the surreal quality that pressed in on him.
He took a breath, steadying himself, but felt an odd flicker at the edge of his vision. Glancing down, he saw his suit shimmer and dissolve, shifting into a plain shirt and shorts. His old pajamas, oddly familiar, blinked into existence before flickering away again, replaced once more by the suit. He stared at the fabric, then let out a single, quiet laugh, half in surprise, half in disbelief.
When he looked back at his companions, there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes now, a spark that broke through his usual composure. “My name is Kiyohito,” he said, his tone softening just a fraction. “If you would oblige, I would very much appreciate it if you could explain… where we are. And perhaps why reality seems so willing to shift its shape.”
He turned first to the man—Cal, if he’d understood correctly—and inclined his head in a deep, respectful bow. “I must apologize for my earlier assumption,” he said, his voice calm but edged with a kind of formal sincerity, as though he were both soldier and diplomat. Then he turned to the young woman, a softness almost brushing his features. “Miss Marisol, please, no apology is necessary. Self-defense is the only proper response when the unknown approaches.”
Even as he said it, he found himself frowning at the surroundings. A nursery? It was difficult to reconcile this dim, dreamlike space with anything dangerous. The child and the strange creature were gone, but the memory of their presence lingered in the air, adding to the surreal quality that pressed in on him.
He took a breath, steadying himself, but felt an odd flicker at the edge of his vision. Glancing down, he saw his suit shimmer and dissolve, shifting into a plain shirt and shorts. His old pajamas, oddly familiar, blinked into existence before flickering away again, replaced once more by the suit. He stared at the fabric, then let out a single, quiet laugh, half in surprise, half in disbelief.
When he looked back at his companions, there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes now, a spark that broke through his usual composure. “My name is Kiyohito,” he said, his tone softening just a fraction. “If you would oblige, I would very much appreciate it if you could explain… where we are. And perhaps why reality seems so willing to shift its shape.”