### Volume 2: Upper World

  **Sky’s Past Arc**

  **Chapter 20: Gate Has Wings**

  The lunch bell rang like it always did—shrill, impatient, cutting through the chatter of five-year-olds. Sky sat at the far end of the long table, legs swinging because they didn’t reach the floor. His lunchbox was open in front of him: peanut butter sandwich cut into four triangles (mom always did that), carrot sticks he would never eat, a juice box with a bent straw. He poked the sandwich with one finger. Didn’t take a bite. Just stared.

  A boy dropped onto the bench across from him.

  Messy brown hair. Missing front tooth. Grin so wide it looked like it hurt.

  “Hey,” the boy said. “You got cookies?”

  Sky blinked up at him. “No.”

  The boy frowned like Sky had committed a personal crime. Then he shrugged, reached into his own lunchbox, and snapped his chocolate chip cookie in half. One piece slid across the table.

  “Here. You owe me one tomorrow.”

  Sky stared at the half-cookie like it might explode.

  “I don’t have any,” he said again.

  “Then bring one tomorrow,” the boy said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m Taro.”

  Sky looked up. “Sky.”

  Taro nodded. “Cool name. Mine’s boring.”

  They ate in silence for a minute.

  Sky took a tiny bite of the cookie. Chocolate smeared on his lip.

  Taro watched him chew. “Good, right?”

  Sky nodded—small, shy.

  Taro leaned forward on his elbows. “You don’t talk much, huh?”

  Sky shrugged.

  “That’s okay. I talk enough for both of us.”

  Sky smiled—just a little. First one all day.

  The lunch monitor called time. Kids stood, trays clattering, chairs scraping.

  Taro grabbed his lunchbox. “See you tomorrow, cookie guy.”

  Sky watched him go—backpack bouncing, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum.

  He looked down at the half-eaten cookie in his hand.

  Tomorrow he’d bring two.

  ---

  The cafeteria smelled the same seven years later—overcooked rice, spilled apple juice, faint bleach from the morning mop.

  Seventh grade. Sky was twelve, taller now, voice starting to crack when he laughed too hard. Taro was twelve too, still missing that same front tooth (he refused to let the dentist pull it), still grinning like the world owed him something.

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  They sat on the school roof during lunch—technically against the rules, but nobody checked anymore. Sky’s legs dangled over the edge. Taro sat cross-legged beside him, eating chips stolen from the vending machine.

  Sky spoke first. “You ever think about what we’ll be when we grow up?”

  Taro crunched a chip. “Legends. Obviously.”

  Sky laughed—real laugh, the kind that made his stomach hurt. “Yeah? What kind?”

  “You’ll be the strong silent type. Brooding hero. I’ll be the charming idiot who gets all the girls.”

  Sky snorted. “You already get all the girls.”

  “Not all of them.” Taro’s voice dropped—just a little. “There’s this one girl…”

  Sky looked at him. “Who?”

  Taro hesitated. “Library girl. The one who draws. You know her?”

  Sky’s stomach flipped. Same girl he’d been thinking about for weeks.

  “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know her.”

  Taro looked at him—really looked. Then he smiled, small and sad.

  “You like her too, huh?”

  Sky nodded once.

  Silence stretched between them.

  Then Taro held out his pinky.

  “Trust Pact,” he said. “We tell each other the truth. No jealousy. No lies. Whoever she picks, we’re still us.”

  Sky stared at the pinky.

  Then he hooked his own around it.

  “Trust Pact.”

  They shook once.

  Taro grinned again—wide, missing tooth and all. “Deal.”

  Sky smiled back. “Deal.”

  They didn’t talk about the girl again that day.

  But the pact held.

  ---

  After school they walked with Het.

  Het was taller than both of them—already 5’8” in seventh grade, loud, always laughing too hard at his own jokes. He carried a beat-up basketball under one arm.

  “Yo, you two coming to the park?” Het asked.

  Sky glanced at Taro.

  Taro shrugged. “Yeah. But Sky owes me a cookie first.”

  Sky rolled his eyes. “I brought two today.”

  Taro laughed. “You’re learning.”

  They played basketball until the sun dipped low—Het dunking on the bent rim, Sky and Taro taking turns guarding him, all three of them sweating, shouting, laughing until their sides hurt.

  When the streetlights came on, they sat on the curb, passing a water bottle back and forth.

  Het looked at the sky. “You think we’ll still be doing this in high school?”

  Sky leaned back on his hands. “Yeah.”

  Taro nodded. “Legends, remember?”

  Het grinned. “Damn right.”

  They didn’t know it then, but that was the last summer the three of them would play together like that.

  ---

  Eighth grade started.

  Sky’s mom and Taro’s dad became friends—barbecues on weekends, movie nights, the adults drinking while the kids ran around the backyard pretending to be heroes.

  Sky spent almost every weekend at Taro’s house—curry nights that burned his tongue, video games until 2 a.m., soccer in the backyard until the neighbors yelled at them to keep it down.

  Taro came to Sky’s house too—watching Sky’s mom carve moons into wooden spoons, Sky’s dad teaching them how to change a tire, both boys laughing when the lug nuts wouldn’t budge.

  Then Taro’s dad started bringing a friend over.

  Aki.

  Nineteen. Tall. Quiet. Always watching.

  Sky’s mom smiled politely when he arrived, but her eyes flicked to the door like she wanted to leave. Sky didn’t understand why. He just remembered Aki staring at her too long. Too hard.

  One night Sky heard them arguing in the kitchen—his mom’s voice low and sharp, Aki’s low and insistent.

  “You owe me,” Aki said.

  Sky’s mom said no. Loud. Clear.

  Sky peeked around the corner.

  Aki’s hand was on her wrist.

  She yanked it free.

  Sky’s heart hammered.

  He told Taro the next day—whispered it behind the gym during lunch.

  Taro didn’t believe him at first. “My dad wouldn’t let someone like that around.”

  Sky looked at him. “I heard it.”

  Taro looked away. “I’ll ask him.”

  He never told Sky what his dad said.

  But after that, Sky started avoiding Taro’s house.

  Taro noticed.

  He didn’t ask why.

  They still hung out at school—still traded cookies, still played basketball after school—but something had cracked.

  The Trust Pact held.

  But it was thinner now.

  ---

  Ninth grade summer.

  Sky and Taro snuck out to the park at midnight—basketball court lit by one flickering streetlight.

  They played 1-on-1 until they collapsed on the ground, laughing, out of breath.

  Sky stared at the stars. “We’re gonna be legends, right?”

  Taro grinned. “Obviously. You’ll be the strong silent type. I’ll be the charming idiot.”

  Sky laughed—real laugh, first one in months.

  Taro got quiet. “Hey… you still mad about my dad’s friend?”

  Sky looked away. “Yeah.”

  Taro nodded. “I believe you now.”

  They didn’t say anything else.

  Just lay there looking at the stars until the sky started to lighten.

  Sky whispered, “Don’t change, okay?”

  Taro looked at him—really looked.

  “You neither.”

  They walked home in the sunrise, arms over each other’s shoulders.

  It was the last time they did.

  ---

  The memory shattered like glass.

  Sky blinked.

  He was back in the courtyard of the rebuilt Jefferson Academy.

  Rain poured harder now—sheets of it, drumming on the roof, running down his face.

  Taro was still standing across the battlefield—fifteen years older, wearing the Yakima Clan bandana, sword at his hip, face blank.

  Sky’s hand tightened on his mom’s knife.

  The Heart thumped—once, hard.

  *Look at him,* Jane whispered. *The boy who used to share cookies. Now he’s here to kill you.*

  Sky’s throat closed.

  He remembered.

  Lunch every day.

  Two cookies.

  Trust Pact.

  Basketball at midnight.

  The promise.

  And now Taro was here.

  With Aki’s clan.

  Sky’s eyes burned.

  He took one step forward.

  Lana stepped between them—giant form looming, skin cracking with bloodrage, eyes glowing yellow.

  “Enough staring,” she said. “We end this.”

  Then tires screeched.

  The SUV skidded into the courtyard—doors flying open.

  Room 105 poured out.

  Max first—shadows flaring, blood still on his shirt, eyes wild.

  Frosty beside him—frozen hand raised, nails glinting.

  Kira—sword already drawn, red veins glowing bright.

  Hiro—hands ready to heal.

  Cam—shadow wolves prowling.

  Jessica—lightning crackling between her fingers.

  The rest—Taka, Aoi, Ren—fanned out, weapons up.

  Sky looked at them.

  Then back at Taro.

  Taro looked back.

  No smile.

  No recognition.

  Just cold duty.

  Sky whispered, “You changed.”

  The rain kept falling.

  The chapter ended.

  To be continued…