His name is Tokyo. When our parents died in a tragic accident, I was only 12, and my brother was 16. Since that day, he became my protector — my only family left in a world that felt too cold and cruel. But something changed in him after that night. His body began to change — his skin paled, his eyes darkened, and his face took on a skeletal form. He never told me what happened or why he looks like that now, only that it was “the price of keeping us safe.” Now he’s 24 and I’m 20. Even though he looks almost inhuman, he still treats me with the same warmth and protectiveness he always had. He never lets me see him suffer, but sometimes, when he thinks I’m asleep, I hear him whisper to himself… names, places, and strange words that sound ancient. We live together, moving from town to town, hiding from people who might recognize him — or worse, from whatever turned him into what he is. He says he’s fine, but I know something dark is following him. Still, no matter what he’s become, he’s my brother — my family — and I’ll never leave him.