Chapter 8 – New Start

  Moving Day.

  I watch the people working around me, captivated by the smooth rhythm of it all. Boxes glide past in practiced lines, wheels whispering over polished concrete, voices low and efficient. Less than a month ago, it was just me, a single duffel bag packed for every assignment. Now there’s a line of suitcases and a small army of helpers, moving in sync like it’s effortless.

  The difference is stark. Almost surreal.

  As the last suitcase rolls past, one of the guys gives me a nod, lifting a bag with a polite smile.

  “Got it covered, miss.”

  A part of me wants to laugh.

  If he knew I could probably out-bench him without breaking a sweat, would he still be so quick to offer?

  Reluctantly, I accept the role they’ve put me in—watching from the sidelines. There’s nothing they’ll let me help with, no box left unattended long enough for me to grab it. I drift toward the limo, habit pulling me to the perimeter even when I don’t need to secure it.

  The driver opens the door for me. Leather and faint citrus cleaner greet me as I slide inside, the door closing with a soft, deliberate click.

  Through the tinted window, I watch Mom and Grandma finish the last bits of paperwork, speaking quietly with the people handling everything. Their movements are calm, controlled—no loose ends. My eyes drift shut, and I sink back into the seat, letting the gentle hum of the idling engine wash over me.

  I only open them again when I hear the door open beside me.

  “We’re all set,” I say as they settle in on either side of me.

  My voice comes out tighter than I meant it to. Mom catches it immediately, laughing softly as she wraps me in her arms. Her warmth surrounds me, familiar from habit, and her fingers slip into my hair, brushing slow, steady lines along my scalp. Each touch eases something loose inside my chest.

  Grandma’s voice carries its usual trace of amusement.

  “Honey buns, you did well today. I’m glad you let the suitcase situation go.”

  I exhale, the tension finally fading.

  Their laughter fills the quiet car, and I relax into the space between them, tuning out the world as Mom’s hand continues to thread through my hair.

  It’s enough.

  Arriving at the airport, we’re directed to the first-class waiting area. The transition is seamless—staff moving with practiced ease, hands already reaching for our luggage before we fully stop. Suitcases disappear down polished corridors, voices murmur softly into headsets, and everything feels curated, controlled.

  I watch the process quietly, simply appreciating how different this life is from the one I knew.

  Before, airports meant tight schedules, hard benches, and security briefings. Now it’s warm lighting, quiet lounges, and coffee served in real cups.

  “Sweetheart, you can have the window seat, and you’ll be sitting beside me. Are you excited to be flying again?”

  Mom’s tone carries a hint of teasing, probably remembering our conversation before shopping.

  “I am, Mom,” I reply with a soft laugh as they call us to board.

  Inside the cabin, everything feels spacious—wide aisles, plush seats, soft ambient lighting. I take my place by the window and buckle in, giving Mom a small smile before letting my gaze drift outside.

  Memories surface uninvited.

  Norway to Japan. Economy class. Knees jammed against plastic. Shoulders hunched. Trying to sleep upright while pretending not to exist.

  Now, with my smaller frame and the generous sweep of this first-class seat, the contrast feels almost jarring.

  I let out a quiet chuckle.

  Then the lump hits my throat.

  It catches me off guard—how something so simple can carry so much weight. My eyes follow a ground crew vehicle across the tarmac as planes taxi past, engines rumbling low and distant. I focus on my breathing, slow and measured, letting the steady hum of the airport calm me.

  Mom reaches over and gently takes my hand.

  I turn toward her. She’s watching me, concern softening her expression.

  “Are you all right, sweetheart? You went a bit quiet. I felt something through the bond.”

  “I’m fine, Mom,” I murmur. “I was just… remembering my last flight. Thought it’d be funny, but I guess I’m still getting used to the change.”

  She nods, offering a small, understanding smile before settling back into her seat, giving me space without pulling away.

  Through the bond, I feel it anyway—her love, steady and warm. Grandma’s too, layered beneath it. The gentle reassurance wraps around me, easing the tension from my shoulders.

  By the time we land, that tightness has faded.

  We leave the airport much the same way we arrived—quiet efficiency, reception staff coordinating luggage delivery ahead of us. Mom accepts the keys as we’re guided toward the elevator, polite smiles exchanged all around.

  The building itself is a blend of luxury and modern design. Sleek lines softened by discreet sakura motifs carved into the paneling near the lift. Subtle lighting glows along the walls, reflecting off polished stone floors.

  It’s hard to believe this place is our new home.

  As the elevator ascends, I watch the floor numbers slide past, feeling a quiet curiosity build in my chest.

  I wonder what the view looks like from the top.

  Mom opens the door, and I step inside, taking in the open-plan layout with instinctive efficiency.

  Kitchen first—sleek counters, warm under-cabinet lighting, everything clean-lined and deliberate. It flows naturally into the dining area, and just off to the side, the lounge opens toward floor-to-ceiling windows. Low modern seating faces a city skyline washed in late-afternoon gold.

  It’s beautiful.

  Almost too perfect.

  Like a display apartment meant to sell a lifestyle rather than house real people.

  Mom gestures to a doorway on the left. “That’s your bedroom, Vala.”

  I follow her, stepping into the room. A double bed sits neatly made, corners sharp. There’s a walk-in wardrobe, an en suite tucked discreetly beyond, and enough open space that nothing feels crowded.

  But my attention goes straight to the main wall.

  A single framed picture of Skuld hangs there, centered with deliberate care.

  It carries a quiet presence—solemn without being heavy.

  Everything else from our old life was meant to be left behind, donated as part of our new identity. Clothes. Furniture. Keepsakes.

  This picture is the only exception.

  It feels symbolic, like a lone thread tying me to who I was, even as everything else has been carefully cut away.

  I take in the room one last time, then step out onto the balcony.

  The space is generous—ten meters by five, opening fully to the city. Evening light spills across concrete and glass, soft hues painting the skyline below. Traffic hums faintly in the distance, carried upward by warm air currents. Somewhere far beneath, people move through their routines, unaware of how drastically my own world has shifted.

  I rest my hands on the railing.

  As the sun dips lower, the city lights flicker on one by one. A strange sense of belonging settles in my chest—being part of something, yet standing apart from it.

  Then I feel it.

  A gentle tickle through the bond.

  Magic.

  Familiar energy stirring, subtle but unmistakable.

  They must be changing their appearance now.

  The realization lands quietly.

  The last piece of my childhood is slipping away.

  I’m not sure how I feel about that. There’s a tightness in my chest that doesn’t quite become sadness. It feels right for this new chapter—necessary—but that doesn’t make it easy.

  I keep my eyes on the skyline, losing myself in the view as I reflect on how the faces I’ve known all my life are about to change. The thought is unsettling. Another thread loosening. Another reminder that there’s no going back.

  Through the bond, warmth spreads—excitement, anticipation. I feel my family’s happiness about their transformation, and that shared emotion steadies me.

  Even if everything looks different now…

  They’re still them.

  Even so, I can’t shake the feeling that something fundamental has shifted.

  And so have I.

  “Sweetheart, can you come inside?”

  There’s a subtle shift in her voice, but I still recognize Mother immediately. I slide the glass door open and step back into the apartment.

  The two women waiting for me feel both familiar and unfamiliar.

  We share the same black hair and blue eyes, but now there’s something different about them—an almost ethereal quality layered over their features, a quiet strength that wasn’t as pronounced before. It’s not dramatic or overwhelming. Just… refined. Like everything sharp has been polished instead of dulled.

  Despite the obvious family resemblance, I can’t help noticing I’m on the losing side in the chest department.

  With their curves, maybe I still have a lot of growing to do.

  Calling her “Grandma” suddenly feels strange.

  She looks like a woman in her fifties, radiating calm authority and lived wisdom, while Mother could easily pass for an older sister in her early thirties. They were beautiful before the change.

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  Now?

  Now it’s impossible to ignore.

  Our similarities make it unmistakably clear we’re family—and to my surprise, that realization pulls me closer to them instead of pushing me away.

  I realize I haven’t said anything. I’ve just been standing there, staring.

  “Well,” I finally say, clearing my throat, “what can I say? You both look beautiful, and I love how closely we match. It really adds to the family vibe.”

  I hesitate, glancing down.

  “And yeah… my chest is still growing, so…”

  Probably a good place to stop.

  I’m big for my age, definitely.

  They’re just bigger.

  They raise matching eyebrows, smiling, and instinct kicks in. I straighten slightly, meet their gaze, and take one small step back.

  Old training whispers automatically: maintain distance, read body language, control space—

  “Sweetheart, where are you going?”

  Mom’s arms close around me before I can finish the thought, and a heartbeat later Grandma joins in, wrapping me in their combined warmth.

  So much for tactical awareness.

  Sandwiched between them, it becomes painfully clear my defeat in certain measurements isn’t changing anytime soon.

  I surrender with a quiet laugh and decide it’s time for a subject change.

  “So, Mom,” I say, muffled slightly against her shoulder, “what do you actually look like? We’re family, so show me.”

  “Sweetheart, we can show you—but understand that our true forms look a lot younger, and not exactly human.”

  With a soft shimmer, like heat haze settling into focus, their true forms emerge.

  The air feels different for a moment—lighter, charged—like the space itself is paying attention.

  My gaze drifts first to Skuld.

  Silver hair frames her face in gentle waves, catching the light in a way no photograph ever could. Standing here, she’s the girl from my picture—real, present—but layered with something deeper. Authority. Grace. A quiet, dangerous elegance that doesn’t need to announce itself.

  She meets my eyes, a faint smirk touching her lips, clearly aware of my staring and mildly entertained by it.

  Yeah. That tracks.

  I turn to Mist next, and the shift is immediate.

  There’s a warmth to her in this form that feels softer, more open. Her expression carries an ease I haven’t seen before—an invitation rather than a shield. I reach out without thinking, brushing her arm lightly, just enough to let her know I see her too. Not just as my mother, but as herself.

  She doesn’t pull away.

  Looking back at Skuld, I let a small smirk form.

  “Skuld… somehow, seeing you like this feels familiar.”

  Her eyes gleam with playful recognition as she mirrors my expression.

  “So,” she says lightly, “how long have you had my picture now, Vala?”

  Her tone carries just enough humor to soften the words, and I laugh as she does.

  Even Mist can’t resist—I see her face light up in a warm smile, her eyes crinkling with the same easy joy. There’s something about this moment, the gentle teasing between us, that feels right. Light. Earned.

  They really are beautiful.

  Skuld’s quiet chuckle pulls me out of the haze.

  “I’ve never felt this before,” I admit honestly. “And your true forms are gorgeous—seriously. Is that how I’ll look once I’ve grown up? I mean… you look kind of twin-ish. And I am related, right?”

  Mist’s expression shifts.

  Not cold—but focused.

  “Sweetheart,” she says gently, slipping straight into full mom mode despite looking barely older than me, “I want to give you time to adjust. But there are things you’ll need to prepare for. You’ll require training. And you’ll be attending school—not just for education, but to learn how to interact with people as a girl. There’s still a lot of growing up ahead of you.”

  The sudden seriousness catches me off guard.

  I study her face, then exhale slowly.

  “Hmm. My mental age hasn’t reset,” I say carefully. “By human standards, I’m still a grown adult. I may not be human anymore, but why can’t I use that as a baseline?”

  Skuld smiles, but there’s weight behind it.

  “By human standards, you’re competent,” she agrees. “But morality tends to be considered… soft in the Old World. Especially compared to immortals. So maybe don’t use humanity as your primary reference for future training.”

  That lands.

  I nod for now, letting the conversation move forward, though curiosity simmers beneath the surface. If Valkyrie children are treated anything like human ones, there are definitely going to be arguments later.

  I feel a faint frown forming as I meet Mist’s eyes.

  She notices.

  Clears her throat.

  Then smoothly changes direction.

  “So,” she says, “would you like to talk about weapon training?”

  “Sure, and noted, Skuld. But Mist—before that…”

  I steady my voice.

  “I’m not against going to school. And I understand I still have things to learn. But can we agree you won’t treat me like a human child? We can work on this together. Like we would have before the change.”

  I hold her gaze.

  “A part of me wants a second chance… as a family. And yeah, maybe a second childhood helps with that. Maybe school helps all of us adjust. I’m even curious how it’ll feel this time—going as myself. Not hiding. Not pretending.”

  I pause, choosing my words carefully.

  “But child or not, I’ve already received a full education. My mind hasn’t reset.”

  Mist studies me quietly.

  She sighs—but it isn’t frustration. It’s adjustment.

  “I know,” she says softly.

  I can tell she wants me to embrace it fully—to surrender to the idea of being her child without conditions. And I understand why. A clean slate. A softer beginning.

  But I’ve never functioned well under blind authority.

  The military tried.

  It didn’t stick.

  “I just prefer open communication,” I add. “Not obedience.”

  Her expression warms slightly at that.

  I soften my tone in return.

  “Just… give me time to adjust. And know that I love you, Mist.”

  There’s the faintest blush rising in her cheeks. It makes her look younger somehow.

  “There are things I need to work on too, sweetheart,” she replies. “And I love you.”

  The tension eases from my shoulders.

  The moment stretches a second too long, and I give a small, awkward wave—like that somehow disperses the emotional charge.

  “So,” I say lightly, pivoting before it gets overwhelming, “weapon training.”

  Both of them refocus.

  “I’ve inherited some memories from our Valkyrie bloodline,” I continue. “Mostly longsword forms. A few variations. But there’s something else—something from my other bloodline. It’s… locked. Not fully accessible.”

  I hesitate.

  “But I have a strong feeling my primary weapon will be a katana.”

  Mist’s expression tightens—not fear, but concern.

  That tracks.

  I offer an easy smile.

  “Looks like I’ll be busy.”

  School during the day. Sword training after. Homework. Family dinners.

  The image settles into place more easily than I expected.

  Meeting Mist’s gaze, I feel something steady inside me. Not resistance. Not resignation.

  Direction.

  ***

  A few days later…

  The balcony gives me a clear view of the local area, and a quick search on my phone highlights a few nearby spots—a corner store, a small café, a movie theater. All within walking distance.

  Good enough.

  Dressed in dark green combat pants and boots, I pull on a fitted white shirt printed with a blonde girl driving a tank. The hairstyle Sachie taught me finishes the look. Practical, comfortable, familiar in a way that still feels new.

  Time to explore.

  I head for the convenience store first. I want a few treats for tomorrow—first day of school feels like it deserves something small and comforting.

  The neighborhood is clean and quiet, the kind of place where sidewalks are swept regularly and shop windows shine. Exactly what you’d expect from a nice area.

  Which makes it jarring when a girl about my age comes running toward me, breath ragged, hair flying behind her.

  Three boys are chasing her.

  “SAKURA! Those idiots are crazy and chasing me—ah… you’re not Sakura.”

  Her relief lasts about half a second before panic floods back in.

  The boys slow when they spot me, stopping a couple of meters away. They’re trying to look casual. Failing badly.

  I catalog them automatically—posture, spacing, hands. None of them look trained. Just loud, entitled idiots.

  I sigh.

  “So,” I say calmly, stepping forward half a pace, “if you aren’t friends of hers, can you please fuck off? I’d like to have a conversation without you fuckwits standing around.”

  Yeah.

  Still working on diplomacy.

  The girl blinks at me. The boys hesitate, clearly thrown by the directness. This wasn’t how they pictured this playing out.

  Military habits die hard.

  I turn to the girl.

  “I’m heading to the convenience store. You can come with me,” I tell her evenly, “or you can take your chances here.”

  She doesn’t hesitate.

  She moves to my side and takes my hand when I offer it, fingers trembling slightly. I give her a small, reassuring smile and start walking.

  Let them decide if they really want to escalate.

  “Hey! Don’t just ignore us. We’re not finished talking with her yet.”

  Footsteps close in behind me.

  I don’t turn.

  The shift in air is enough. A hand reaches—

  I pivot on instinct.

  One controlled step. Heel drives back and up, catching solid contact just below the ribs.

  A sharp grunt.

  Air leaves his lungs in a broken wheeze as he folds, collapsing onto the pavement with a dull thud. Not permanent damage. Just enough to remind him of physics.

  I don’t even break stride.

  “Try that again,” I say mildly, glancing over my shoulder, “and I’ll aim higher.”

  Silence.

  The other two freeze. Recalculating.

  Good.

  I turn back to the girl like nothing unusual just happened.

  “My name’s Kuro Vala,” I say calmly. “And I’m guessing you’re friends with a Sakura who looks like me?”

  “Etto—ah—hai. I’m Sami Hina,” she stammers, eyes wide. “Thank you, Kuro-san, for helping me today. I, um… I mean, yes, but…”

  Her gaze flickers to the boy still wheezing on the ground.

  “Ouch,” she mutters. “That was a hell of a kick. Uh—sorry—and thank you. Sakura-san is like a sister to me. Normally we help each other out. I didn’t expect to run into those guys, and they wouldn’t dare try anything if she was here.”

  I raise an eyebrow at her flustered explanation.

  “Seems I’m lacking sufficient malice,” I reply dryly. “Welp. I’ll do better next time, Sami-san.”

  She giggles despite herself, tension bleeding out of her shoulders.

  Now that we’re walking again, I get a proper look at her. Long dark hair. Big eyes. A few inches shorter than me. Soft features that make her look younger than she probably is.

  The kind of presence that attracts idiots who mistake quiet for weakness.

  I shake my head faintly.

  Some people never learn the difference.

  Entering the store, we let go of each other’s hands, the automatic doors sliding shut behind us with a soft chime. Cool air washes over my skin, carrying the familiar mix of packaged sweets, warm bread from the corner rack, and floor cleaner. Fluorescent lights hum quietly overhead.

  I take a moment to orient myself—rows of neatly stocked shelves, drinks lining the back wall, refrigerated cases along one side—before drifting toward the candy aisle.

  “Etto, Kuro-san,” Sami asks, walking beside me. “Are you looking for something in particular, or just browsing?”

  “Starting tomorrow, I’m a first-year student at Takehaya High School,” I reply, scanning the shelves. “I don’t dislike school, but a few treats can definitely make the day more enjoyable.”

  Her face lights up.

  “Ah! Sakura-san was preparing a desk for a new student on Friday. We’re seated alphabetically and—ah—sorry. Her name is Kato Sakura, and we’re in the same class. Besides, it’s not like we get many new students this time of year.”

  She’s genuinely excited about it, and despite myself, I feel a small smile tug at my lips.

  Maybe tomorrow won’t be as bad as I thought.

  “Kato Sakura…” I repeat. “Cute name. Do you have a picture? I’m curious about the girl I was mistaken for.”

  She hesitates, shaking her head.

  “Hmm… I don’t think she’d appreciate me sharing her photos without permission. You can ask her tomorrow. Or just imagine dark eyes and no silver hair next time you look in the mirror.”

  “Thanks, Sami-san,” I reply dryly. “That was incredibly helpful. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  I roll my eyes and continue browsing, fingers hovering over different candy packs while my lips twitch with a restrained smile.

  She giggles. “Sorry, Kuro-san. I’m not trying to tease you. Sakura’s just… different from most girls. I like letting her decide things for herself. But I figure you’ll probably get along.”

  I toss a couple of treats into my basket.

  “Guess I’ll find out tomorrow…”