Sangetsu: Sins Of Silence

The rain hammered down heavily, its rhythm harsh against the cracked windows of the bar. The air smelled of wet earth and the faint tang of alcohol. Two rat-like aliens, their tails tied together in a strange, unsettling bond, slipped through the corners of the bar. Their small, green bodies darted in and out of the shadows, blending with the dim fragments of neon and the flickering lights from old technology. The bar, a relic from a bygone era, was a place of faded glamour, where the warm hum of old Western jazz mingled with the smell of cigarettes and stale beer.

Behind the bar, an old, thin bartender wiped down a glass with a cloth, his movements slow but deliberate. He glanced up at the door as the aliens passed, but said nothing, too tired to care.

"Another?" he asked, his voice gravelly.

"Comin' right up," he muttered, shuffling away.

The sound of the bartender's footsteps faded into the low jazz, replaced by the sudden whirr of the bar's hologram TV flickering to life. A female news anchor appeared on the screen, seated behind a desk. The background showed a hotel room, swarming with yellow holograms of police and ambulances.

"VIP, and Chief Valmor of Umbra Keep found dead last night, with a missing finger," the news anchor reported, her tone detached, almost rehearsed.

"Hey, old man. Turn up the volume, would ya?" A woman's voice cut through the room, smooth but sharp. The woman, sitting at the bar, leaned forward, her attention fixed on the screen.

"Yes, ma'am," the bartender replied, pushing the volume dial before sliding a glass of alcohol across the counter.

A group of men seated beside her stiffened at the announcement, their curiosity piqued. One leaned in, trying to catch every word.

"Two more, my good sir," the man said, his voice a mixture of interest and expectation.

The woman took a slow sip from her glass, eyes still fixed on the TV, her face calm but her presence commanding. Her shoulder-length hair was damp from the rain outside, and the brown coat she wore clung to her as if it had soaked up every drop of the storm. Her skin was soft, her hands steady as she gripped the cup of rum. When she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper.

"I knew it. You boys did it again, didn't you?"

The men glanced at each other before one asked, intrigued, "Who's 'you'?"

The woman's emerald eyes seemed to glow with a quiet intensity as she looked over the men, her lips curling slightly. "Sangetsu."

The name lingered in the air like a curse, sending a shiver down the men's spines. One of the men, still leaning in toward the screen, turned to face her.

"Sangetsu?" he asked, disbelief creeping into his voice. "You think they did this?"

"I don't think," she replied, her tone colder now, her eyes briefly flicking to the glass in her hand, her face hidden under a curtain of hair. "I know they did this."

The man chuckled softly, skeptical. "What makes you so sure?"

Ayame's eyes never left the glass. "Only a mother knows the presence of her children," she said, her voice low.

The man raised an eyebrow. "Wait. You're saying you're the mother of Sangetsu? The most feared assassins in Umbra Nexus?" His voice was laced with amusement.

"To them, I am," Ayame replied, lifting her gaze at last. Her expression was unreadable, but the weight of her words hung heavy in the air. "I'm the reason they're still alive."

The man froze, his eyes widening as realization dawned. He stammered, "You… you're Ayame?"

Ayame's gaze never wavered. Her green eyes, once bright, were now tinged with emptiness, as though every ounce of light had been drained from them. She leaned closer, her voice quiet but piercing.

"What do you know about Sangetsu?" she asked, her words barely above a whisper.

The man, unnerved but eager, leaned back slightly, his grip tightening on his glass. "What do I know?" he muttered, then scoffed. "They're inhuman beasts. They stand above the law—killing for money, for justice, for whoever pays the price."

Ayame's lips barely moved, but her voice dripped with a dangerous calm. "Mmmmh. That's what they show you, isn't it?"

The man's curiosity deepened. "And what do you see?"

Ayame leaned in, her face close to his now, her emerald eyes unwavering. "Empty shells. They had no past, so they don't have a future. To them, the present is all that matters."

The man's eyes widened, but he held his ground. "Why do you say that?"

"Because to them," Ayame said softly, her gaze hardening, "I was their future."

A tense silence fell over the bar. The men at the table glanced at each other, but no one dared speak.

Ayame, unfazed by their silence, leaned forward, her voice steady. "Do you want to hear the story of Sangetsu?"

The man's grip tightened around his cup, but the curiosity in his eyes betrayed him. "Sure. I'm all ears."

Ayame chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. "Prepare yourself," she said, her voice almost a whisper.

She rested her arm on the hard wooden table, her head leaning against it like a pillow, and for a moment, the room was quiet, waiting for the story that would change everything.