The first light of dawn slipped through the thin curtains of Arthur's bedroom, brushing his face with muted gold. The world outside was quiet, soft morning air drifting through the slightly open window, carrying the faint hum of cars starting their day and the chirping of birds in the distance. Arthur's eyelids felt heavy, yet his mind refused to rest. He had tried to sleep, had tossed and turned for hours, but every time he closed his eyes, his thoughts spiraled back to his family — to their faces, their safety, and the impossible weight of what lay ahead at the Curu Mountains.
Finally, with a groan that felt too loud in the still room, he pushed himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His feet hit the cool floor, sending a small shiver up his spine. Seven a.m. The flight was at eleven, but despite the early hour, his family was already moving, preparing for the journey that would inevitably change all their lives.
Arthur's mother moved quietly but efficiently in the kitchen, the smell of toasted bread and brewed coffee wafting into the hall. Her hands worked with practiced rhythm, buttering bread, arranging plates, and occasionally calling out instructions or reminders with her usual soft firmness. It was ordinary, domestic — a stark contrast to the tension knotted in Arthur's chest. He stood for a moment at the doorway, taking it in: the soft sunlight warming the kitchen tiles, the hum of the toaster, the quiet murmur of his mother humming a tune he didn't recognize.
His sister Olivia, ever organized, was already dressed in a neat travel outfit. She moved with confidence, brushing her hair and checking her backpack with the meticulousness only an fifteen-year-old could manage. She glanced at him as he entered, raising an eyebrow in that playful yet knowing way siblings often do.
"You finally awake," she said, her voice carrying that light teasing tone that normally would have made him smile. But Arthur only gave a small nod, forcing a tight-lipped smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He was too heavy with thought to meet her energy with anything but a fraction of acknowledgment.
"Breakfast will be ready soon," his mother called from the kitchen, a note of concern in her tone that he barely registered. He could hear her worry behind the practiced calm, even though she tried to hide it. Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself to move toward the table. His suitcase, half-packed the night before, still waited in the corner, and he knew that after breakfast there would be the final checks, the boarding passes, the last-minute adjustments that made leaving feel painfully real.
He sat at the table quietly, watching his mother arrange food and Olivia poke at a plate with mild impatience. Every movement reminded him of what he was trying to ignore: the risk, the danger, and the fact that despite this being framed as a "family trip," the reality was far darker. This was not an ordinary vacation. This was a journey that had been forced upon them by circumstances they had no control over, a forced compliance with Kuro's manipulations, a path lined with uncertainty and peril.
---
Across town, Alia faced her own morning. The sun filtered through the curtains of her room in soft streams, illuminating the polished floor and the neatly arranged clothes she had selected for travel. She moved slowly, methodically, brushing her hair back and checking her appearance in the mirror. Her parents were downstairs, their voices carrying up in low murmurs as they organized their own travel bags and discussed minor details in hushed tones.
Alia's gaze lingered on herself in the mirror, noting the pale color of her face, the faint circles under her eyes. She had not slept well either; the weight of what was coming pressed down like a constant hand on her chest. Unlike Arthur, she had no siblings, no younger person whose energy or levity might cut through the gloom. She was alone in her own thoughts, facing the long, quiet morning that would soon spiral into an impossible day.
Her parents, as always, focused on logistics rather than mood. They were meticulous and loving, but unaware — or perhaps unwilling — to acknowledge the quiet tension she radiated. Alia's father adjusted his tie while her mother fussed with the travel itinerary, neither stopping to notice the shadows in her eyes. She wanted to speak, to voice her unease, but the words felt trapped in her throat. There was no outlet here, only the pretense of readiness for the journey ahead.
She sighed quietly, straightening her jacket. Her thoughts drifted involuntarily to Kaito — the danger he faced, the uncertainty of his current state, and the sheer weight of responsibility they had all been thrust into. She felt a wave of guilt mixed with fear. If something happened, if Kuro succeeded, it would fall back on them. And yet there was nothing she could do — nothing she could change until they reached the mountains.
---
Meanwhile, Sui, Kaito's father, moved through his own morning with a different sort of tension. Hiroshi Ayaka, his wife, prepared breakfast with quiet efficiency, the smell of simmering miso soup and grilled fish filling their home. Sui adjusted his jacket and checked the time on his watch, feeling the weight of his son's absence like a physical pressure on his shoulders.
"Please," he said, stopping by his wife's side and lowering his voice, "be safe. Don't do anything reckless." His words were calm but firm, carrying the authority of a parent who had watched his child face danger before, and survived only by careful guidance. "You're the only one going. You don't need to risk yourself unnecessarily. Don't involve anyone else. Understand?"
. "I have already lost Kaito," she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. "But now… I don't want to lose you too."
Ayaka nodded, and said
Sui glanced toward the front hall, where Hiroshi was adjusting his tie for the trip. "Just… please," he repeated, "remember that your family is waiting. We don't want to see you thrown into unnecessary danger. Be careful. That's all I ask."
---
Back in Arthur's house, the clock ticked relentlessly. Seven-thirty. Breakfast was finishing, and the small chatter between his mother and Olivia filled the room, a warm background against the tension spiraling inside him. Arthur mechanically ate, every bite measured, his thoughts divided between the mundane — what he would wear, whether he had packed everything — and the impossible — the looming threat at the Curu Mountains, Kuro's manipulations, and the uncertain state of Kaito.
Olivia chattered , oblivious to the darker realities threaded through every adult concern. Arthur smiled faintly at one of her comments, though it did not reach his eyes. He felt as though he were moving through a normal day, but each movement, each sound, was filtered through a lens of danger and anticipation.
He glanced at his mother, who offered a small, tired smile. There was worry there, restrained but undeniable. She tried to make the morning feel ordinary, to create a sense of safety and stability — yet Arthur knew, better than anyone, that ordinary no longer existed. Every plan, every meal, every casual conversation was now threaded with the uncertainty of what awaited them.
---
Alia descended the stairs quietly, her bag slung over one shoulder. Her parents were adjusting last-minute items, checking passports, and confirming flight details. She moved to the table, her expression still somber, and picked at a cup of tea her mother had poured. Her gaze flickered toward the window, where the first real rays of sunlight began to stretch across the streets.
For a brief moment, the world outside seemed calm and predictable — birds hopping along the sidewalks, distant traffic, and neighbors moving about their day. But Alia knew the calm was deceptive. The threat was already moving toward them, like a shadowed tide she could not stop.
Her father glanced at her once, frowning slightly. "Are you feeling alright?" he asked, though the question was gentle, not pressing.
"I'm fine," she replied, her voice steady despite the tight knot in her chest. She could not let them see the fear. Not now. Not ever.
---
By eight-thirty, everyone was nearly packed. Arthur's bag was ready, Alia's parents had double-checked the tickets, and Sui had ensured Kaito's preparations were complete despite his son's absence. Each household moved in mechanical coordination, a fragile balance of normalcy and hidden dread.
Arthur stood by the door, taking a final breath, his heart pounding in rhythm with the clock. Alia tightened the straps on her bag, forcing herself to move with a composed precision. Sui adjusted his jacket for what felt like the hundredth time, a faint tension tightening the line of his jaw.
It was a quiet, ordinary morning on the surface — yet beneath it, the weight of decisions, fear, and inevitable confrontation pressed down like an invisible storm. Every family, every movement, every breath was now a prelude to the impossible journey that awaited at the Curu Mountains.
And in that fragile, tense calm, the morning of September 23rd carried the quiet echo of destiny — a reminder that even the smallest preparations, even the calmest smiles, were shadows stretched across the edges of danger.
---
The terminal was alive with movement — the rhythmic drag of suitcases, the chatter of travelers, the hum of boarding announcements echoing through the polished hall. Morning light filtered through the airport's tall glass panels, painting the crowd in a haze of gold and motion.
Arthur walked slightly ahead of his parents, his duffel slung over his shoulder, trying to hide the exhaustion behind his calm expression. His mother checked their tickets for the third time while his father compared flight numbers on his phone. Olivia, still sleepy but excited, swung her backpack around, humming softly to herself.
"Arthur, are you sure this is the right gate?" his mother asked.
"Yes, Mom. Gate A14. The board says Curu City, flight 2137," he replied, forcing a small smile.
The sound of rolling luggage and airport chatter filled the air. It felt like an ordinary family trip — almost peaceful, if not for the storm of unease sitting quietly behind Arthur's eyes.
Just a few meters away, Alia and her parents were finishing their own check-in. Her father spoke with the airline clerk while her mother adjusted the scarf around her neck. Alia stood beside them, hands folded, eyes downcast. The noise around her barely reached her thoughts.
She had barely slept. Her mind kept looping through Arthur's words in the park — "We can't escape, even if we want to." Each hour that passed made those words heavier.
Her mother noticed her silence and frowned slightly. "You should be a little more cheerful, Alia. It's not every day we get to fly together."
Alia nodded faintly, forcing a polite smile. "Yeah. I guess so."
It was at the baggage counter that fate made its quiet move.
Arthur's family arrived just as Alia's father was handing their passports to the attendant. Their mothers turned at the same time — a moment of recognition followed by polite surprise.
"Oh! You're Alia's parents, right?" Arthur's mother said, smiling. "Arthur has mentioned Alia a few times. I didn't realize you were traveling today too!"
Alia blinked, caught off guard. Her father's polite laugh filled the brief silence. "Yes, that's right. Small world, isn't it? We're heading to Curu City for a short trip."
Arthur's mother chuckled softly. "Us too! Curu Mountains. The kids insisted we go — something about a school break adventure."
Her words lingered in the air with strange irony. Arthur looked sideways at Alia, their eyes meeting for half a second — an unspoken exchange heavy with dread.
He knows, her eyes said.
Yeah. Don't react, his look replied.
The parents, oblivious to the tension running between their children, continued chatting with easy smiles. It didn't take long before someone noticed the coincidence that would soon feel less like fate and more like design.
"Wait," Alia's mother said, glancing at the boarding passes, "your flight number… is it 2137?"
Arthur's father looked down. "Yes, it is."
A small laugh escaped her lips. "Well, what are the odds? Looks like we'll be on the same flight."
"Really?" Arthur's mother said. "That's… quite a coincidence."
Arthur and Alia both stiffened at the same moment. Coincidence. That word had long lost its meaning in their lives.
The announcement soon came: "Passengers of Flight 2137 to Curu City, please proceed to Gate A14 for boarding."
The group moved together, chatting politely. Alia walked slightly behind her parents, her gaze flickering to Arthur every few seconds. Neither spoke. Neither needed to. The air between them was already heavy with what they couldn't say aloud.
Inside the airplane, the world narrowed to the hum of engines, the scent of recycled air, and the orderly shuffle of passengers finding their seats.
Arthur helped his mother with her carry-on and looked down at his ticket: Row 11, Seat B. Alia, glancing at hers, froze — Row 11, Seat A.
Their eyes met again. A quiet, stunned pause.
Their parents noticed and smiled at the coincidence. "Oh, perfect! You two can sit together," Alia's mother said cheerfully.
Arthur forced a small nod. "Yeah. Perfect."
They sat down, side by side, each carrying the unspoken weight of knowing this arrangement wasn't random. The faint whir of the ventilation filled the silence between them as their parents settled into the adjacent row.
Somewhere farther back, unseen but watching, Sui — Kaito's father — stepped into the plane. His eyes scanned the rows, and for a moment, he froze.
Arthur's family. Alia's family. Together.
He felt a ripple of recognition and dread. He didn't approach. He couldn't. Instead, he continued walking down the narrow aisle, past rows of travelers chatting or checking their phones. His own seat was much farther back — Row 27.
He sat down heavily, his mind calculating, connecting dots he didn't want to believe were connected. His phone buzzed.
He looked down. A message.
From: Kuro.
> "You're there. I made sure your seat is behind the others. You're a Catherine — you might not blend in well with Arthur and Alia's parents. But don't worry. You'll have your part soon."
Sui's jaw tightened. The message was precise, cold, calculated. Kuro had placed him deliberately. Watching, but not interfering.
At that exact moment, two more phones buzzed — one in Arthur's hand, one in Alia's.
Arthur's screen lit up first.
From: Kuro.
> "He's in the plane. Kaito's father. Don't worry. Just sit tight and do what you're told."
Alia's phone vibrated with the same message. The text was identical — except for the last line, the one that twisted like a knife.
> "It's time for you to go. Let's dive into hell."
For a moment, both of them sat frozen, eyes wide, breath shallow. The quiet hum of the airplane engines suddenly felt too loud, too constant, like a heartbeat that wouldn't stop.
Alia turned to Arthur slowly. "He… he's in here. Kaito's father."
Arthur's fingers tightened around his phone. "Yeah," he said softly. "Kuro planned everything "
He leaned back against the seat, staring at the ceiling as the voice of the flight attendant filled the cabin. "Cabin crew, prepare for takeoff."
The engines roared to life, and the floor trembled beneath them. The world outside the window began to blur — the city shrinking, the sky expanding, the horizon widening into the unknown.
Arthur closed his eyes for a brief second. Alia's reflection flickered against the window glass, her face pale, unreadable.
Up in the air, the world below disappeared beneath clouds, leaving behind only the hum of the engines — and the haunting thought that Kuro's words weren't a warning.
They were a promise.
---
The flight landed smoothly, the bright sun above the clouds giving way to a darker shade as they descended. The city below was vast, but what truly caught everyone's eyes was what stood beyond it — the colossal silhouette of the Curu Mountains, their jagged edges piercing through clouds like the teeth of an ancient god.
Arthur pressed his face against the window. "That's… huge," he muttered, half to himself. Alia, sitting beside him, didn't respond. She simply stared at the mountains, their shadows crawling over the city like a silent omen.
They had landed in Kaiser, a quiet yet sprawling city built right beneath the base of the mountains. Despite its serene appearance, the air held a kind of heaviness — the type that made even a gentle breeze feel cold against the skin.
The moment they stepped out of the airport, the wind carried a strange chill. Arthur's mother wrapped her scarf tighter, glancing at the distant fog hanging over the slopes. "It feels… unreal," she whispered.
Their transportation arrived soon — black shuttle vans lined up for tourists heading to the resorts high above. Their driver, an elderly man with a wrinkled face and sharp eyes, smiled faintly when Arthur's father mentioned the name of their destination.
"Ah, that one," the driver said. "The highest resort in Kaiser. You'll need to take the cable car from the mid-point. No road reaches that place."
The words only added to the weight Arthur already felt in his chest.
---
The drive through Kaiser was quiet. Through the glass, Alia watched the distant marketplace fade behind them. People walked, talked, laughed — yet something about the city felt… staged, as if every smile hid unease.
After about an hour, they reached the mid-base station — a wide platform surrounded by pine trees and rising fog. A cable car line extended upward into the mist, its silver wires vanishing into the clouds.
Arthur's mother gasped softly. "We're going that high?"
The driver nodded. "The only way up. The view is beautiful… if you don't mind heights."
Arthur forced a smile for his sister, Olivia, who clung to his arm. "It's fine. It's safe," he reassured her, though his eyes betrayed the same nervousness.
Nearby, Alia and her parents stood waiting for their turn. Her mother held her shoulder lightly. "You've been quiet all day," she said gently.
Alia gave a small nod. "Just tired, that's all."
But her eyes… they weren't tired. They were anxious, almost fearful — as if something inside her already knew what was waiting ahead.
---
When their turn came, both families stepped into separate cable cars, the metallic doors sliding shut behind them with a mechanical hiss. The car jolted once, then began its slow ascent.
The world outside transformed as they rose — the city shrinking below, the fog growing thicker. At first, they could still see the distant shimmer of what the guide called Lake Vern, said to be the largest lake in the world. But soon, it vanished beneath layers of fog so dense it looked like a rolling sea of smoke.
Arthur leaned close to the glass. "You can't even see where the lake ends…"
Alia glanced outside too. "It looks like something's sleeping under it," she murmured.
The words made Olivia frown. "Don't say that, Alia," she whispered.
And then — silence again. The car creaked and swayed slightly, making everyone tense. The fog brushed against the windows like hands searching for entry.
Up there, where sunlight barely reached, the air grew colder. Arthur's breath fogged the glass. Alia's parents sat stiff, her mother quietly clutching her husband's hand.
---
Far below, another cable car ascended slowly — separate from theirs.
Inside sat Hiroshi Sui, Kaito's father. He rested his elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the gray abyss outside. His phone buzzed once, and a message appeared from Kuro:
> "I've placed you in the rear cable car. The others are ahead — safer that way.
Hiroshi exhaled through his nose, expression unreadable. "Blend, huh?" he murmured. He looked down at his gloved hands. "I'm not here to blend, Kuro. I'm here to end this."
Another notification blinked briefly on the screen — this one locked to the same sender but marked with a strange seal only Catherine agents used:
> "Stay silent.
Hiroshi leaned back and shut his eyes. The cable car groaned against the steel as it kept climbing higher.
---
By the time they reached the top station, night had fallen. The sky was a deep violet, and the mountains looked like endless shadows rising over the resort below them. The air was thinner, colder, yet the entire view was breathtaking — lights from Kaiser flickered faintly far below, like fireflies trapped in a glass jar.
The resort stood on the edge of a cliff, built of pale stone and black steel — elegant yet strangely lifeless. Lanterns lit the pathways leading to the main entrance, and inside, a faint piano melody echoed through the lobby.
Arthur's family checked in first, followed by Alia's. Coincidentally — or perhaps not — their rooms were just across the hallway from each other.
As they unpacked, Arthur walked to the balcony. The wind carried the scent of snow and pine. He stared down at the fog swirling beneath the cliffs, unable to shake off the unease crawling up his spine.
From her own balcony across, Alia leaned against the railing, looking at the same view. Their eyes met briefly in the dark. Neither waved — they simply stared for a moment, as if confirming that both felt it — that silent pull of dread that hung in the mountain air.
---
Meanwhile, Hiroshi checked into a separate wing of the resort. His room was smaller, darker. He didn't bother turning the lights on. He stood by the window, watching the same fog devour the horizon.
The clock on his phone showed 11:47 PM.
Another message arrived from Kuro — the final one for the night:
> "When everyone sleeps, at 1:00 AM, meet me at the back of the resort. The gate will be open. Don't wake anyone.
Let's begin the descent. Into the hell we made."
Hiroshi's eyes narrowed. The words burned into his mind like a curse.
Down the hall, Alia's phone vibrated at the same time. So did Arthur's, and their parents'. Each message carried the same cryptic line, ending with the same chilling sentence —
> "Let's dive into the hell."
Arthur stared at the glowing screen, his stomach tightening. Alia's eyes widened as she read it too, her hand trembling.
Outside, the fog thickened until even the nearest trees were just silhouettes. Somewhere deep in the mountains, thunder echoed faintly — or maybe it wasn't thunder at all.
And as the resort lights dimmed, one by one, the night of Kaiser began.