Legacy's Wake

The morning sun ascended over Cascade Cradle, its golden light spilling across the city and stirring its people from slumber. Within the household, the warm glow illuminated a scene of quiet tension.

"This insolence knows no bounds," Damien muttered, his tone measured but laced with restrained ire. "Once more, Stitch has vanished into the night, and with her, Temoshí, Chiaki, and Shanya. What folly drives them to such reckless abandon?" His sharp gaze swept across the room as he sought answers, his frustration concealed beneath his disciplined demeanor.

Behind him, Ralphie stood at the basin, diligently washing the remnants of the previous night's feast. "I would wager that Tim had his reasons for withholding his departure," Ralphie mused, placing a clean plate aside before reaching for another. "Chiaki and Shanya likely had their own motives as well."

Nathaniel, seated at the table beside Celeste and Kou, exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. "Of course, he did. Typical. The life of our captain—vanishing without a word, as always."

Kou, resting his elbow upon the table with his chin propped in his palm, lazily chimed in. "Not exactly a surprise. That's just how he is. Comes and goes, never staying long."

With a decisive step forward, Damien approached the table and set both hands upon its surface, his imposing stance commanding attention. "Your captain is not the concern here," he declared, his voice firm and resolute. "It is Stitch who tests the limits of my patience. She acts with reckless disregard, as though she is free of consequence. If she persists in this folly, I shall have no choice but to enforce discipline. Her repeated transgressions can no longer be ignored."

His words hung heavy in the air, a knight's decree of unwavering duty.

Kyora took a breath before speaking up, her tone carrying a hint of curiosity. "Damien, why are you so fixated on Stitch? She's more than capable of making her own decisions. Why do you insist on being so protective of her?" Her words, though casual, carried an edge that prodded at Damien's patience. Yet, despite the slight irritation flickering in his gaze, he maintained his composed demeanor.

"She may be an adult, but that changes nothing," he replied, his voice steady but firm. "She is ill."

That single word—ill—sent a ripple of concern through the room. Kyora's expression shifted, brows knitting together as she processed the revelation. The weight of Damien's statement drew the silent attention of the others. Joker, who had been listening with mild amusement, now sharpened his focus. Tarot, mid-bite into a peach, let the fruit slip from his grasp as his eyes darted toward Damien, suddenly invested in the conversation.

With measured steps, Damien clasped his hands behind his back and strode toward the grand window, his gaze fixed beyond the glass, watching the world outside as the gravity of his words settled over the crew.

"Well, she is not afflicted by any ordinary ailment," Damien declared, his voice carrying the unwavering resolve of a knight sworn to duty. "Yet, she bears a curse most grievous."

The word curse rang through the hall like the toll of a somber bell, casting an air of unease upon all who listened.

"The doll she carries—Mendy—is no mere child's trinket," he continued, his arms now clasped behind his back, posture as rigid as steel. "No, it is a wretched tether, a fiendish force that calls her ceaselessly into peril, as though the very hands of fate conspire to draw her toward doom. It has been with her since the moment she first awakened her abilities, though not by her choosing. No, this was no gift—it was a shackle, a shadow bound to her soul."

His gaze drifted toward the grand window, his expression unreadable as he beheld the world beyond. "We—her family—swore an oath to safeguard her. To shield her from the unseen specter that guides her toward destruction. It is why she has been kept within the walls of our household, why we have sought to anchor her to safety, even as she yearns to break free."

His voice, though composed, carried the weight of solemn duty. "But she is not one to be tamed. Her heart beats with the spirit of an explorer, one destined to tread where none have dared before. She is not content to merely see the world—no, she must chart it, claim its mysteries upon parchment and ink, etch its every hidden corner into existence. And yet…"

His hands clenched into fists, his jaw set with quiet frustration. "Fate is cruel. The world she so longs to traverse remains beyond her reach, held at bay by forces neither she nor we can hope to fully comprehend. She is bound to this land, watching time slip by, watching the tides carry others toward horizons she may never touch."

Damien turned, his gaze unwavering, his voice carrying the weight of both protector and prisoner. "It is for this reason she flees—not out of disobedience, nor folly, nor defiance, but from desperation itself. The very dream that breathes life into her soul is also the one that chains her to misery. Every moment she lingers within these walls, she feels that dream slipping further from her grasp. And that, my comrades, is what truly grips my heart with dread."

A heavy silence fell upon the room, his words settling like the last note of a knight's solemn vow.

"I never saw this doll," Elliott remarked from his seat at the far end, his curiosity evident.

Damien turned his gaze toward him, his expression unwavering. "Nor shall you, for none but she may perceive it. And it is for this very reason that we deem it a curse most vile."

He took a measured breath before continuing, his voice steady yet grim. "Whenever Stitch dares to set foot beyond the walls of her home, she is assailed by creatures of nightmare—phantoms that lurk unseen, ever waiting to tear her asunder, to reduce her to naught but blood and ruin. These wretched apparitions bear no true form in our world, and yet… to her, they are as real as the very ground upon which she treads. It is not that they exist, but rather that the doll makes them so in her mind. And therein lies the cruelty of her fate."

He clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze fixed forward as if peering into the unseen forces at play. "To those of us untouched by this affliction, these fiends are but shadows, specters we may glimpse yet never feel. But Stitch does not know this truth. She is blind to the illusion, unable to discern the false from the real. And thus, she is hunted by horrors none may fend off, save for herself."

His jaw tightened, his voice laced with the weight of an unsolvable burden. "If we are to free her from this cruel fate, we must sever the doll's hold upon her—remove this wretched entity that binds her to suffering. And yet, such a task is far from simple. For the doll—Mendy—is not merely a cursed object. No, it is a fragment of her very soul, forged from the depths of her childhood despair, her unwavering determination given form by fear and pain alike. It is no mere possession—it cares for her, in its own twisted way."

A heavy pause hung in the air before he spoke once more. "To separate her from Mendy is to strip away a piece of herself. And yet, if she does not part with it, she shall walk a path lined with suffering for as long as she draws breath. We have sought countless means to break the curse, to unravel this dark bond, but as of yet… we have found no way to erase her ability. And therein lies the cruelest truth—Stitch, for all her torment, does not wish to be rid of Mendy. She holds it dear, cherishes it as one would a lifelong companion."

His voice grew softer, yet no less resolute. "But the longer she clings to it, the heavier her burden shall become. If left unchecked, this curse will consume her. And that, my comrades, is a fate I cannot allow."

"Could you ease up on the formal talk? It's a bit hard to follow," Elliott remarked, with the others nodding in agreement.

Damien let out a small sigh, his posture shifting as he cleared his throat. "Ah, my apologies," he said, adjusting his tone. He looked around at the group, his expression somber. "As I was saying, Stitch is trapped by Mendy's curse. I do have a way to break it, but getting her to go along with it won't be simple. We need to help her see just how dangerous Mendy truly is. She needs to forget the doll, or at the very least, separate it from her very being. The trouble is... none of us have the heart to tell her such a harsh truth. And yet, given the dangers we're now facing with Hollow's crew and others around us, I fear the time has come to make her understand."

"Stitch..." Ralphie said, his voice soft but filled with genuine concern for her well-being, not just because she was a woman. "I believe I know how we can help her understand the truth. Once we find her, Stitch needs to come to the realization on her own. If these phantoms always appear around her, like something out of a twisted fairy tale, then we need to make her see that there's something about her situation that's not normal. She's been kept indoors all this time, unaware of Mendy's curse, and it's that ignorance that's kept her trapped."

"Indeed, you are right, my friend," Damien replied. "However, our first priority is to locate Stitch. That won't be an easy task, especially since she's already disappeared twice in one night."

Ralphie then turned his gaze to the others, asking, "So, does that mean the 'friends' Stitch believes she has, the ones Chiaki mentioned, are also a result of the curse? In other words, you've been pretending they're real to protect her?"

"Exactly," Damien confirmed. "Sometimes, making Stitch believe that her 'friends' are real is the best way to keep her safe. But now, it's time we change that."

To be continued...