Chapter Text
A turning point, she had pondered for days on end. She really did.
There were people who could go about their lives without ever having to feel the world shift beneath their feet, to feel time warp beneath their unseeing gaze, to sense everything they know and hold dear face peril.
Fortunate beings – they go about their days with contentment, excitement, love, tiredness and oftentimes frustration.
Was that not life at its core? Laid bare for all to see, for all to know?
But life, they hiss, but life, the sky split.
A warning, a sign, an omen.
But life, a sigh.
All but serene normalcy, all but ordinary. And one could only hope that they’d be lucky enough to escape unscathed, from the screeching sounds of fate’s sharpened claws.
I don’t think I’ll ever be ready, she wavered. Never.
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That simple visit to the doctor was enough to crush any hopes of a child, dreaming of brightness. The experience was more than enough to allow for a dislike of hospitals to fester in the girl’s mind. White and green, overly dull. The grey walls seemed to swallow her whole.
The beeping of monitors in the distance, foreboding as ever, made the wait unbearable.
The smell of antiseptic and disinfectant, irritating to the nose. The smell of health and wellness, they said. The smell of pain and injuries, she thought.
Something about the doctor’s coat, pens, sleeves, and shoes. Something about the white walls, cold aircon, grey floor, and white sheets upon the medical bed.
Something about those glasses that glinted, reflecting the white artificial light on the ceiling. If the world was a horror movie, the lights would flicker just about now, with the professional looking at them with an unreadable gaze.
I’m sorry, the doctor said. The universe seemed to grin along as space warped in front of her.
Something about quirk factors, pinky-toe joints, not manifesting, unknown reasons, research. It was all too fuzzy to hear. Or maybe it was the shock from the diagnosis that muddled her mind.
A laugh brushed her ear from the walls and ground. Was she imagining things?
“There’s barely anything to refer back to as these cases are pretty uncommon. Of course, it could just be an extremely late manifestation or even a dormant quirk, but according to the tests, so far it seems unlikely.” The lull of the voice, laced with pity, was something that Charlotte wished she could tune out. But she kept listening despite it all, as if entranced, in a daze.
“We’re in the process of contacting other hospitals in other countries to see if there are any other similar cases, but I’m extremely sorry for not being able to give you a direct and proper answer.”
Her mother and father took a brief moment to look at each other, silently communicating through a slight glance. It never ceased to amaze her every time – if she didn’t know better, she would’ve thought that her parents had mind-reading abilities.
Her father did the speaking this time, and with a word of thanks, they headed off with muddled hearts.
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What was wrong with not having a quirk? She wanted to announce to the world this injustice, this inequality. Was it wrong of her to continue to hope? To dream?
Jeers echoed in the playground, shadows cast upon her figure, surrounded.
Did she lose all of her rights, as a person, a child, a human, the moment she was deemed unspecial?
She had always been cheerful and mild-mannered, and she got along with her fellow-aged friends starting at elementary school. She had hoped that one day she would move mountains and rivers, and bring a good change into the world.
But now, she was shaken.
The boy in front of her had brought his hands before his chest with a huff, eyes shining with pride, of some sort of immature, shallow superiority. With something Charlotte didn’t quite understand.
He had spewed random insults, as bad as they could be for a first-grader. With his four other friends, a few boys and a few girls, they had successfully cornered her after lunch.
She could feel the sounds echoing in her eardrums. The laughs and scoffs were nothing she wasn’t accustomed to, even if it had gone on far longer than it should have. Didn’t she tell the teacher already? Why was this still happening?
When she ignored them in favour of going somewhere else, they blocked her once more, a hand on her collar and a fist raised up. Advising, taunting.
Know your place, quirkless trash!
The first punch connected with her left cheek as another hand pulled harshly at her hair. Children are cruel, and brutal when need be.
She stumbled.
There is no love for the unprepared. The world seemed to scream at her. No love for the unrealistic.
So know your place.
Even as scratches and bruises appeared on her body from the scuffle on the hard dirt ground, she didn’t make a move to do anything. She had fought back more often than not at first, but with no authority figure stepping in, she could only hold off so many people.
With so many hands surrounding her, raining down and pinning her in place, she felt a little lost.
What is the point of all this? She wanted to laugh, or maybe cry, but with the faces of her classmates looking down at her from above, condescending, entertained, she held in the urge.
She wouldn’t give them that kind of satisfaction, not even a little.
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“Mom, dad,” crystal orbs resembling that of a shimmering sea flickered upwards, focusing on the crayons and pencils within her small hands, “is not having a quirk bad?”
A pause. A look. A crawling realisation marred with guilt and faintly-traced rage.
“...Is there something wrong?” Her mother asked, voice soft and comforting whilst her eyes froze over. “What made you ask such a thing?”
The pushing, the pulling, the tugging, the strikes. Those teasing tones and mocking words rang in her ears. Eyes that had been bent into crescents, pleased. Lips that curled upwards, cruel.
“Nothing much,” Charlotte let out a breath, her hand never ceasing to move, colouring in the sky with purples and blues, greens and yellows. Her teacher had asked her why she chose to use such random colours for the sky, and all she wanted to say was she wanted to imagine. What if it wasn’t blue? What if it could be a colour beyond our very human comprehension?
The sky was so beautiful, so vast and endless, so daring and wide. She didn’t have an answer back then other than the fact that she just felt like it.
Everyone sees it as blue, a shade of light blue, different from the navy blue of the ocean, and the blue-raspberry-flavoured cotton candy during the local summer festivals.
The sky was her favourite colour. It wasn’t a thing, nor was it an object. It wasn’t the background of a scenery, nor was it something that had just simply existed above our heads with nothing notable about it. To her, it was the centrepiece of an artwork, vibrant and free.
Others couldn’t understand her sentiment, just like how they couldn’t understand how she didn’t care for her lack of quirk. Something they all had but she didn’t, and something that they all agreed upon but she didn’t.
Her mother’s voice cleared her mind. “Sweetheart? What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
“The kids at school don’t like that I don’t have a quirk,” she stated, pausing her hands just before they reached the yellow crayon. She grabbed it before she continued. “They said that I’m a freak for being built differently and that I’ll spread my quirkless disease everywhere.”
Her father frowned, seething. Her mother furrowed her delicate brows, anger bubbling.
“My little munchkin, why didn’t you tell us? I would’ve given the school and their parents a piece of my mind!” A deeper voice sounded, a low rumble of his throat, contrasting against her mother’s smooth sound but still held love all the same.
Abundance, a word she had encountered in a dictionary. The amount of love her parents held for her rivalled the world.
A smack of his ribs made him wheeze, and a sound of surprise escaped him. Charlotte saw her mother’s mouth twitch. Ignoring her husband, though very much agreeing with his words internally, she turned her attention back to her child.
“You shouldn’t listen to those kids say all that nonsense,” lips were pursed in distaste, “It’s all lies, none of it is true. Don’t let it get to you, you hear me?”
Charlotte nodded her head slowly as she drew out specks of yellow around the white sun. “You didn’t answer my question,” her lips jutted out slightly.
Her father sat down next to her on the soft fabric of their carpet, putting a hand on her own as he stopped her movements.
“Sweetie, a quirk is just a tool, you hear me? Just a tool.” He demonstrated by bringing out a lollipop from a spark of brightness, ignoring a ‘really? A lollipop? Didn’t I tell you to cut back on giving her sweets?’. Revenge for earlier, when she had whacked him.
Charlotte’s eyes shone at the display of magic. She couldn’t do anything like her dad, but just like a magic show, she never thought of quirks as anything less than fascinating. Beautiful.
“It’s useful, of course, but it isn’t the only tool in the shed.”
Her mother hummed, “Quirks aren’t everything in life,” she said, “there are things you do without quirks, people you meet who value you for you. I guess it’s a little hard for you to understand right now.” She smiled apologetically. A hand brushed Charlotte’s dark locks of hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ear.
“When your mother and I went to UA, we were at the top of our class. We didn’t have brilliantly flashy quirks, but we still managed to do well and become heroes, even if we work behind the scenes most of the time.” He rambled, and his wife sighed.
“What your father is saying is that even if you don’t have a quirk, you can achieve great things. A so-called ‘weak’ quirk or not having a quirk doesn’t matter, it’s your actions that decide things.”
Charlotte felt her heart squeeze a little. Go away, she wanted to tell that little feeling that settled once again within her, familiar and tempting. I don’t need you, despite the way her body trembled at the return of something once dear.
“You can be anything you want pumpkin,” Anything? “Anything at all, anything you dare to reach forward to grasp.”
“You’ll have to work hard, harder than everyone else because they have a head-start when you’ve only just made it to the starting line.” Charlotte turned her head from her drawing and looked into her father’s clear blue eyes. “The world will be against you, but your mother and I will always be on your side.”
“In the future, you’ll find others who’ll stand by your side too. You just have to keep believing.”
Hope bloomed in Charlotte’s chest once more, spreading to every inch of her body. It was there to stay, rooted within her, never allowing itself to part from her ever again.
“As long as you’re happy,” her mother said sweetly, “and safe,” a soft caress of the smooth skin on her cheek said it all, “that’s all that matters.” Pink crystals gazed back at her own blue ones.
Charlotte felt her eyes water, glistening. Her lips lifted into a smile that she couldn’t control.
“Was UA fun?” Was that what her father had said? What a weird name for a school. “...Is the school principal really a dog-mouse-bear?”
Her dad choked on a wheeze. “Dog-mouse-bear…!!”
Her mom had to hide a smile. Though she would’ve loved to laugh along, her heart swelled up with something more heavy. This was probably the first time their little girl had shown interest in something about the outside world – outside of the endless books in the study.
Her father went to get their graduation album and yearbook, wanting to show a better, more personal picture of the principal than what Charlotte had probably seen on the news. He managed to stub his foot on the wooden feet of the sofa and trip on the leg of a metal chair as he left the carpet, somehow. Her mother laughed, at last, fondly shaking her head at the chaotic disaster that had been left in his wake.
(Hope was something that Charlotte was never going to let herself forget ever again.)
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“Listen to Kayama-san, okay?” Her mother cupped her face with cold hands. Something her father said that Charlotte herself had inherited from her mother. “It’ll be okay sweetie, be good. Remember what I told you. In an emergency, stay calm. Okay?”
Something more solemn, darker and serious, took hold of those later words. Charlotte’s sky-blue eyes met her mother’s own.
Pink eyes turned to the figure carrying her, simple black jeans with a white graphic t-shirt, accented with red words. Dark purple hair that would usually be let down, voluminous and dramatic, was tied in a simple low ponytail.
“Nemuri,” Her mother said softly, a glint appearing in her eyes, “take care of her for the time being, okay? Make sure she eats all her meat and gets enough protein, her neck will go sore from all the books she reads so it’s probably better to avoid that, and she needs to go out and get enough sunlight.”
Kayama laughed and joked, “Does she need to photosynthesise to get her energy? What kind of kid did you guys even raise…?”
“And also—”
“—That’s enough! You already left me an eighty-page instruction guide on how to keep your kid alive for a week. I think I can handle it.” Kayama winked in reassurance, patting her chest in a show of confidence.
Akane laughed, mildly embarrassed at the guide that she wrote.
Lukas came just in time with a coffee and iced lemon tea in hand. Handing the drinks to his wife, he looked at Charlotte, who was in Kayama’s arms.
His lips quivered.
Akane withheld the urge to sigh. Kayama snorted, trying to hold in her wheezes. What a traitor, laughing at her soon-to-be second-hand embarrassment.
“Oh, my poor daughter! I’ll miss you so much!” Her father practically bawled, burying his blonde locks of hair into Charlotte’s stomach and giving her a bunch of butterfly kisses on her round rosy cheeks. He nibbled on her face and mimed the action of biting into the soft, squishy cheeks. Many eyes turned towards them, curious gazes, most of which were amused.
Charlotte giggled as her father’s hair tickled her chin, with her hands, she grabbed onto the golden strands in defense.
“Look! My little angel doesn’t want to leave us!” Lukas turned his head to his wife with a desperate gaze. “No,” she cut him off before he even had the chance to suggest anything.
“But I didn’t even say anything…” Lukas pouted before turning back to Charlotte. “Baby, your mother says that we can’t take you with us… how cruel is that?” He sniffled.
Akane rolled her eyes as a few heads turned their way. She eyed her husband’s figure with mild exasperation. “We’re going on a job, who’s going to take care of her there? Surely not the assistants at the agency, and we can’t leave her in the hotel room.”
Lukas mumbled, agreeing but still discontent with the situation. He fiddled with Charlotte’s chubby hands, bringing them to his face as he lamented. With a simple whoosh of his fingers, he brought a lollipop into his hand, courtesy of his quirk. Handing the sugary treat to Charlotte, he grinned as she gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“You sure married someone one-of-a-kind, didn’t you Akane-chan?” Kayama simply couldn’t resist.
Akane sighed, this time not even trying to hide it, “You’ve got to stop giving her candy! She’s going to get a cavity at this rate. Didn’t we agree with giving only one a day?” She gave a pointed look, “You already gave her one today.”
“It’s just candy, what does it matter!” He laughed, “We’re going to be gone for a week, so I may as well give her some more!”
Akane immediately put a stop to such an idea.
“Sweetie, your mother’s so strict!” Kayama couldn’t help but choke out a laugh. At the rise of Akane’s brows, she immediately composed herself, coughing to hide her tremors.
Having just about enough of Lukas’s dramatics, Akane pulled her husband off of their daughter, seriously, she married a dork. “We’ll just be gone for two weeks, control yourself.” She flicked Lukas’s forehead, earning a yelp at the surprisingly strong attack.
Upon taking a few steps forward, they both paused and turned back, meeting each other’s gazes for just a brief second.
“We love you,” Lukas said, gently touching Charlotte’s soft and rosy face with his palms, the surface rough from his line of work. A few kisses around her eyes followed. “We really do.”
Akane smiled, eyes twinkling like a thousand stars, “Don’t you ever forget that.” Giving Charlotte a final soft kiss on the crown of her head, Akane smiled lightly.
Don’t forget anything. Charlotte felt a surge of energy rise within her. Her eyes glowed against the strong sunlight shining through the airport windows.
“Bye sweetie, we’ll see you next week.”
As they walked towards the security check-in to progress further into the airport, Charlotte felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
It was fine, she was fine. It was probably the ice cream that she had eaten before arriving at the airport.
Frowning, she felt her eyes sting with unshed tears, the urge to grab onto her parents and beg them not to leave.
“Eh?” Kayama panicked when water droplets fell from Charlotte’s eyes, “uhm, you’re crying?! Akane-san said you almost never cry!” Gently, a warm hand rubbed soothing circles on her back.
“It’ll be okay, they’re only going to leave for a little while!” Kayama spoke softly, doing her best to calm her down.
The little girl sobbed silently, unable to decipher what exactly she was feeling. This burning pit, this quaking force within her.
Rejoice, the world sneered.
For some reason, Charlotte felt as if her parents were going somewhere farther than she could reach, with her short arms and shoulders too frail to stand against the world.
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For things that she wished were right, how fate loved to prove her wrong. For things that she had wished to be wrong, how the universe loved to prove her right.
Her parents always spoke of fate when they talked about their first meeting and their lives, albeit jokingly. Sometimes, her mother looked at her with a knowing gaze, mixed with something she could never figure out. Too aware, too present, too something.
Was this what fate was? Unsuspecting in its nature, inevitable in its power.
Fate, something that was predestined, was set in stone the moment you open your eyes to those bustling streets and starry skies.
Was this her parent’s fate? To perish in a plane crash on their way back from the other side of the globe, so close to where she was waiting?
Vaguely, she remembered Kayama crying and holding her close, shedding tears that stained her clothes just as Charlotte had done back at the airport a week ago. Hiccups racked Kayama’s form.
Who knew a hero could be so vulnerable?
Sushi, Kayama’s cat, mewled softly beside her on the couch, trying to cheer them up. He leaned into Charlotte’s stiff hands, but those fingers only trembled and didn’t make any move to pet him.
It’s raining outside, Charlotte realised absentmindedly. The patter of rain upon the windowsill drained her of her own tears. Droplets fell repetitively as the sky dulled with greys, almost as if it were weeping, mourning the fallen.
Where are you? She wanted to shout.
I miss you, she wanted to say.
I’m sorry, she wanted to whisper, voice hoarse from the pleas that she voices in her recurring dreams.
If only there was more time.
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Her aunt hated her, for whatever reason was available, for whatever reason that could exist in the universe. Certainly, it was no understatement.
Piercing crimson eyes judged her every move, as if she was a criminal on trial, awaiting their death sentence. Round red eyes gazed at her from behind her mother, watching Charlotte with interest.
Akari, her nearest blood relative, clicked her tongue in disdain. She muttered something incomprehensible before turning to ignore Charlotte, ushering her own daughter back towards her room.
A side glance was all she got, no warm words or comforting reassurance. “You’ll be staying in the room to the left of the second bathroom, and do take note that there are some ground rules in this house.”
Charlotte nodded her head silently, paying attention to her aunt’s next words.
“Do not speak unless spoken to.” Akari had said with a careful flick of her hair. “Do not leave your room unless I tell you to.” A glare. “Don’t leave the house unless I allow you to, and don’t talk to my daughter unless I give you permission otherwise.”
“I’m hosting you in this house, for now, you hear me? Don’t do anything unneeded, and I expect you to make yourself useful when it comes to house chores. I will tell you when to do them, so follow all these rules and we won’t have much trouble, understand?”
“Do I make myself clear?” Charlotte responded with a clear nod.
Another exasperated sigh, “I said, do I make myself clear? Goodness, at least answer when you’re spoken to.”
Charlotte shut her eyes and breathed.
“Yes ma’am.”
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Puffs of condensation left their mouths as they walked past the empty streets, dim lights and sketchy alleyways. Nails dug into the soft skin of her forearms. Usually, her aunt kept her fingernails in extremely good condition, it was just the strength with which she was gripping Charlotte’s arm that hurt, even with the velvety glove that should’ve been a barrier to that sharp sting of crescents forming on her skin.
A yelp escaped her when she was tugged forward harshly, the skin of her palm scraped the concrete ground she had landed on, knees buckling with her thick winter pants skidding forward from the force.
A suitcase was thrown to the ground right next to her along with a backpack that had nearly hit her nose when she had turned around. Charlotte could only guess that it was the small mercy that her aunt would give her. Dread was starting to sink into her, was there no way to change this situation?
“Don’t blame me for doing this,” Akari breathed and spoke with a biting tone, eyes swirling with a myriad of emotions. Rage? No, that wasn’t it.
Fear?
When Charlotte’s wide crystal eyes met Akari’s deep vermillion ones, the latter flinched, as if burned. Mutters of curses left her lips as she bit on her lower lip.
“Your… mother told me you were smart enough to take care of yourself.” The woman looked distinctly uncomfortable at the knowledge. “I took you in because that was ridiculous. But if she’s right, then… you should have everything you need.” She said, as if to also reassure herself.
“This isn’t my fault. You shouldn’t have tried to speak to Hikari. I can’t stand you.” Turning her heel and walking back the way they had come from, Akari left her last words. “...So just blame your parents for allowing you to be born into this world the way you are, you’re better off alone.”
And then she was gone.
Even until the very end, she did it her own way, not giving Charlotte the chance to utter even a word of protest.
The stars above her seemed to openly mock her. Yes, they chorused, come. They beckoned her to walk deeper into the dark and narrow crime-riddled area of the south side.
Still having yet to completely overcome her shock, she thought back to her mother’s words.
“Akari, your aunt, has been through a lot, so she may come off as mean. But she’s actually a really nice person.” When Charlotte had asked if her aunt was nice enough to come over for dinner, her mother didn’t respond. Only a look. That sad, melancholic expression.
Back then, she felt that it didn't suit her mother. Now, she felt that perhaps she never understood the reason for that look back then. That perhaps she’d never understand it.
Without even pausing to check her belongings, she grabbed the suitcase handle and slung the backpack over her back. As soon as everything was in place, she followed her feet and walked quietly forward.
(Her mother’s words rang in her ears. Something she could recall perfectly. Something she couldn’t ever forget.
Somehow, she pondered.)
But a small child lugging around a suitcase that was almost bigger than her would draw way too much attention at this time. It was probably better to find a place to wait out the night. Then, she’d follow what her mother told her. One by one, without any delay. So with a few careful steps and hiding behind a few corners, avoiding the unsavory individuals that loitered around the area, she reached a relatively safe building, seemingly empty and abandoned with its front doors still open.
She had made her way up the many stairs. The sounds of rats squeaking bothered her more than she would like to admit. Be brave, she told herself. Don’t back down now, she couldn’t, could she? She just needed to wait things out. Until daybreak, at the very least. Until it was easier for her to go around, without drawing people’s gazes.
She’ll just have to find it. The back-up plan that her mother had always recited to her, over and over again.
Every step, heavy as lead, that brought her just the tiniest bit closer to the top, voices she would usually ignore echoed and bounced off the walls soundlessly, back at her.
Quirkless weakling. You’re a worthless freak, you pathetic bitch. You’re a useless waste of space! A diseased existence!
Warm hands that caressed her face no longer existed, and the comfort of a home was gone too.
Just blame your parents for allowing you to be born into this world the way you are. You’re better off alone.
It was her fault, if only partially. She was probably annoying, weird, and abnormal. She would never blame her parents for anything, so it must be something she did that made her aunt fear her. Couldn’t even stand the thought of being near her.
The smell of rotting walls and rusted metal cleared a little as soon as she started to feel the chilling breeze coming from the rooftop.
It was surprisingly beautiful. The south side remained dark within the shadows, lonely and desolate, whilst the view in the distance with bright flashing billboards and bustling streets despite the time of night felt like a completely different world.
…Was there even a place for her in that world?
Before she could even start tracing the streets like some kind of maze, a spark she caught from the corner of her eye stole her attention. She furrowed her brow and tightened her grip on her suitcase.
Have no fear, for I am here! Like a chant, she repeated the phrase in her mind. It was okay, it was fine. Surely it was just another person right? Or maybe it was just a light that glitched out.
The glow that reflected on the damaged tiles of the side of the building didn’t cease.
Walking towards the edge where some broken railings lay, crumpled and flaky on the ground, she peered over the ledge and felt her breath catch at the sight.
A tear in the world, a rip in the sky. It was strange, seriously. A swirl of colours and unending hues.
It didn’t seem like a quirk, and as far as she knew, there wasn’t anyone near the building either.
Such a strange sight. The perception of the buildings and the world seemed to shift, warping inwards in the direction of that anomaly. Weirdly, it reminded her somewhat of her father’s quirk.
Charlotte exhaled a shaky breath. Her lungs seemed to quiver— from the cold air or the apprehension in her veins —she didn’t know.
Something within her pulled, tugging her core towards the ledge as if begging her to reach out, connect. Her insides felt like they were being twisted, churning, she felt as if her blood was starting to bubble and boil.
What would someone of her age do in such a situation? The moonlight seemed to beckon her and light a path.
Her lips were dry, her hands clammy from cold sweat. She felt detached from her own body. It didn’t feel like she could resist this.
She didn’t fully realise until it was too late.
The fall snapped her out of whatever took control of her. A muted shriek left her as she held onto her suitcase tightly, hoping for some kind of protection, some kind of safety and comfort in this bizarre situation
Down, down, down. There she went. Just like Alice who fell down that rabbit hole. The book had made it seem less scarier than it was. Strange gusts of wind knocked her around, spinning her in the air, sending her tumbling around, which only made her clutch the oversized baggage even closer to her chest.
She wanted to puke. Her stomach seemed to disagree immensely with this sudden turn of events.
Her eyes closed tightly, squeezing so hard that she felt a drop of water escape the corner of her eye.
Sleep, the wind purred, sleep.
She went from feeling all too much one moment to feeling nothing at all the next.
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What the hell?
Charlotte could have used other colourful vocabulary that she had learnt from her aunt to describe her current predicament, but she decided not to, solely due to the shock of landing face-first into a thick blanket of snow. Coupled with the fact that the entirety of Japan hasn’t even started snowing yet— though the weather was indeed getting colder —Charlotte felt even more confused than ever.
It was daytime. Somehow. The sun had risen just a few inches above the horizon. Did she really sleep through the entire night in the snow?
What surrounded her was no longer the deteriorating alleyways of Mustafu, but rather, trees that stayed green despite the ice and frost was all she could see.
She stood up shakily, chilled to the bone from sitting on the wet and freezing ground. Knocking as much snow off her clothes as possible, she looked around and found her suitcase right beside her feet along with her backpack still safely on her back.
A shiver ran down Charlotte’s spine, followed by a brief gust of wind.
Welcome, the mountain seemed to echo.
Frowning, she took a beige scarf out of her suitcase and wrapped it around her own neck hastily. It was too cold, her fingers trembled, numb and stiff.
She started to head down the mountain, and after one too many times of slipping and almost sinking completely into unstable and soft snow, she arrived at the base of the mountain with her suitcase in one hand and a long stick in the other – one she had picked up for the sole purpose of testing the stability of the path in front of her.
Once she reached a clear dirt road, marked with wheel tracks, it seemed clear that she wasn’t near any sort of city or town. It was weird when her blue eyes landed on a wagon for heaven's sake, how far was she from civilization that used cars?
The man on the ox-wagon had stopped the cart in front of her, out of the kindness of his own heart, asking if she was lost and needed help. So she ended up taking his offer and hitched a ride. It was no easy feat.
She had to somehow explain how she was all alone in a place she didn’t know, with rather modern belongings, with absolutely no knowledge of where her family could be. Thankfully things had gone smoothly, and perhaps he had taken pity on the young soul that was obviously too far away to simply stray from home.
Kidnappers? Human traffickers?
Charlotte made sure to ask where she was but had only gotten the name of an area that she didn’t recognise.
Perhaps there was an area of Japan that she hadn’t been able to memorise. Surely that was the case. Weird. The books in her parents’ study were always up to date, and excessively detailed.
But perhaps she had remembered wrong.
The growing pit in her gut told her otherwise.
“Lass, these areas are dangerous,” The old man spoke slowly as he kept his gaze on the road, concern flickered in his eyes.
“Demons emerge in the night and eat human flesh, so ya better find a place to stay for the night until morning.” The old man chewed on a piece of dried squid, handing some over to Charlotte.
Taking the dried meat in a daze, she flinched when the man spoke again with a kind smile.
“Wouldn’t want ‘cha to be eaten.”
“Uhm. Demons?” The girl asked quietly. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the old man heard it all too well.
“Yes, demons. A lotta people have gone missing, but they only come out at night, so fear not. Just find a safe place for the night and you’ll be fine.”
Stunned, the girl swallowed, her throat as dry as the hay she was leaning on.
She licked her lips. “Could I ask what the date is? And the year?”
“Hm? Oh,” The old man seemed to be caught by surprise, “Let’s see… Last month was Kannazuki, Month of the Gods, so this month should be Shimotsuki, Month of Frost. It is….. The eleventh day of the month.” He said simply, but really, it was all but simple to Charlotte.
That specific way of addressing the tenth and eleventh month, the differences in surroundings, the fact that she was riding in a freaking wagon.
“Mister,” Charlotte felt the urge to tremble. “Does it happen to be the Taisho era right now?”
‘Demons once riddled the land we stand upon now, the air we breathe, and the sky we exist under. Kamado Tanjirou, a moving piece that contributed to the death of Kibutsuji Muzan was born in 1900, having faced the death of his family at thirteen years of age. His only surviving relative was his sister.’
“Hm? It’s the Meiji era, 1911.” The old man responded with a raise of his brows.
A cold sensation crashed into her lungs as the girl struggled to breathe for a second.
Um. Okay.
She was in the Meiji era. She was in the goddamned Meiji era.
Swarming with demons, with children forced to take up their blades and fight to a bitter end. A land built upon the blood and sacrifices of many. That was where she was.
There was no way. What had she even gotten herself into?
A historical figure that had literally played a pivotal role in fighting the first and strongest demon in the world was now a three-year-old.
There was no way this was happening. She felt faint. Did she really travel back in time? Seriously? To an era before the eradication of man-eating demons?
How does that even work? There’s no way a quirk like that would be simply out in the open in one of the most crime-infested areas of Japan!
(…Was it even a quirk?)
Perhaps it was because she suddenly went silent with a sickly pale face, that the old man seemed to notice something was wrong.
“Where do you come from anyways?” He asked, furrowing his brows, “In all my days, I’ve never seen clothes like yours this far out, usually the city folk wear such things. Is that where you’re from?”
“...Yeah. I come from the city,” She spoke up, trying to keep her voice from quivering and her teeth from biting on her clumsy tongue. “I don’t know how I got here.”
The old man hummed, contemplating, and sighed.
“I’d feel bad leaving a child like you in the next village, so how about I take you to the next town over? I know someone who could use some company, and surely you’ll be safe with him until you figure out a way home.”
Charlotte, with wide eyes and a frazzled mind, nodded in agreement and thanks.
She really needed to sort out whatever was going on.
.
.
.
Omake:
“Gin, open up! I know yer in there! Stop pretendin’ not to be at home! Ya ain’t trickin’ anyone!”
.
.
.