The night sky was darker than ever before.
Heavy clouds pressed together, thick and heavy like bruises on the sky, blotting out the stars, refusing to budge even an inch.
Sssshhh~
A strange, insistent breeze swept through the darkness, howling like a whisper of something ancient. It stirred the clouds just enough to reveal a single, radiant white moon, glowing like a lonely eye in the heavens.
Its gentle light crept across the sleeping world… and touched the school building.
Windows brightened faintly, like they were slowly waking. Empty classrooms, long-forgotten books, and silent halls gradually emerged from the blackness. On the topmost floor, in a lonely hallway, moonlight spilled over the limp body of a boy sprawled across the cold tiles.
His red hair was wild and messy, damp with sweat, strands sticking stubbornly to his clammy forehead. His face was pale, sickly almost, like someone who had just escaped death's grasp. He wore a school uniform—white shirt, black coat, and matching slacks, though now everything looked dishevelled and clung to his skin with a strange heaviness.
But there—
A deep red stain marred his chest.
Blood?
A dried, cracked patch, nearly black under the moonlight, spread across his white shirt—too close to where his heart should be. The fabric looked stiff, like it had soaked in too much.
He looked lifeless.
No movement... No breath... Just the faint glint of a silver chain—something small and delicate—dangling from a button near his chest, half-hidden beneath his coat, swaying slightly in the breeze coming from an open window.
Moonlight danced slowly across his unmoving face as the clouds drifted again, casting shifting shadows over his skin like a passing memory.
Then—
His Slack pocket suddenly flickered brightly and,
"Arrhh..."
A low, broken groan slipped from his lips, raspy and pained.
His fingers twitched.
His eyelids fluttered, then hesitantly opened, revealing dull, glassy eyes clouded with confusion. He blinked once... twice... but the world remained a warped blur—shapes without edges, light without warmth.
Even his thoughts were scattered, smeared like spilled ink on soaked paper.
He parted his cracked lips, but no voice came out. His throat was parched. Each breath was shallow, almost reluctant. He didn't know where he was… who he was… or why his chest felt so heavy and wrong.
Everything hurt. His limbs felt like they were wrapped in iron. His head throbbed with a dull ache. Even the air felt too thick to breathe.
All he wanted was to lie back down… let the numbness take him again… and disappear into the silence.
Forever.
But something inside him… refused!
His right hand moved first, weak and trembling, pushing shakily against the floor. His arm wobbled as he forced himself up, muscles screaming in protest. His legs buckled underneath him, but somehow—desperately—he reached out and caught the wall beside him, fingers clawing for support.
Clang!
Something metal echoed faintly, maybe from his coat—but he didn't even turn to look. His vision was still blurred, like a fogged window.
The world around him didn't make sense. The hallway, the silence, even the moonlight—none of it felt real. It was like he was inside someone else's dream.
'W-Wh..er. is...th...?' The thought crawled through his mind, sluggish and muffled… like a voice trapped underwater.
Step...
Yet somehow, his body kept moving—one unsure step, then another. His feet dragged across the floor, each step echoing faintly in the quiet hallway.
He reached the stairs.
He descended them slowly, swaying like a puppet with tangled strings, each movement clumsy and out of sync. His hand brushed the bannister, fingers numb, barely feeling the wood beneath them.
The stairs blurred past in flashes of light and shadow.
He reached the front gate.
The silence outside was even heavier. The world beyond the school lay draped in darkness—no people, no lights, no sound. Midnight blanketed the city like a forgotten lullaby, and no one stood there to see the boy stumble into the night.
He moved like someone drunk on pain, his legs unsteady, steps wobbling as if he could collapse any moment. One foot turned north, the other veered west—his path senseless, disconnected from logic or memory.
And still… he didn't stop.
His vision remained foggy. His thoughts were like dust swirling in an empty room... but he walked forward anyway.
'Where... I... Go...?' The question trembled through his mind, fragile and soft like the whisper of a child.
He didn't have an answer.
The world was lost in mist. His mind was broken glass. But his feet kept moving, guided by something he couldn't name.
The city passed in fragments—silent alleys, flickering lamps, abandoned corners swallowed in shadow. Time lost all meaning. Minutes or hours... it didn't matter. He just walked.
Until finally, he stopped.
An old, silent house stood in front of him. Familiar. Unfamiliar. A ghost from a memory he didn't remember having.
'Key…?'
Another question drifted through his foggy mind. Without thinking, his hands moved on their own, trembling as they fumbled through his slacks. He pulled out a small key. The metal was cold against his skin. His hand swayed uncertainly… his vision flickered like a faulty light.
Then—just for a moment—his eyes cleared. Just enough.
He slid the key into the lock, the movement slow, hesitant… like someone handling a fragile truth.
Thud
The door creaked open.
The boy stepped inside. He didn't look around. He didn't need to. Everything was still blurry... but he didn't care.
His legs carried him deeper into the house.
'Why am I here?' The thought rose again, clearer this time. His thoughts were beginning to take shape—slow, heavy pieces of a puzzle falling into place.
He turned into a room. Something about it felt known... like it had always belonged to him.
His room?
He stepped once… twice… then collapsed.
His body hit the floor without resistance, as if whatever had been pulling his strings had finally let go.
The boy lay there, panting softly. His chest rose and fell in small, uneven motions. A faint twitch rolled through his limbs, like something inside was adjusting… shifting.
Then, his eyes opened.
They were no longer glassy. The red in his pupils glowed faintly—dim, but alive. His expression had changed. He didn't look confused anymore.
There was something rational in his gaze now. Something... human.
"I... Where am I?" he whispered, his voice cracked and low.
He blinked one more time. The haze wasn't gone… but it was thinner now. His vision was still unfocused, like waking from a deep sleep—but he was waking.
"Arhh... Wait... Who am I, again?" The boy's face scrunched in a confused frown as he slowly moved his trembling hand over his face.
He stared at his own palm, clenching and unclenching his fingers like he was testing reality itself. He could move now... He could control his body again. The sensation was strange—too precise, too unfamiliar—like his flesh didn't quite belong to him.
The boy blinked, a chill crawling down his spine. Something felt... off. Something inside his body wasn't the same.
And then—just as he focused on the motion of his hand, watching the gaps between his fingers flex open and closed—he noticed something.
In that tiny gap, past the trembling of his hand—
The ceiling cracked.
A hairline fracture split the plaster above, and from it, a golden light flickered—bright, sudden, unnatural.
His eyes widened in shock. A violent shudder passed through his chest.
His instincts screamed.
Run.
His body jolted into motion just as the golden light flared violently from the crack above.
BOOOMMMMM!!!!
The roof collapsed.
Dust and debris exploded across the room as a massive shockwave followed. Chunks of the ceiling smashed into the floor, right where the boy had been lying.
"Hmph… Quick reflexes, kid."
A voice—deep, casual, and annoyed—echoed through the thick dust, like it had no business being calm in a moment like this.
As the haze cleared, the silhouette of a man emerged. He was clad in ancient, battered armour that looked worn from countless battles. A strange, crooked staff rested in his hand, wrapped in old, frayed ribbons that fluttered slightly despite the still air. His forehead was wrapped in a faded cloth headband.
The man stepped forward through the dust.
Jet-black hair fell around his stern face as he turned to glance behind him.
There the boy stood—barely upright, panting heavily, face drenched in sweat.
"W-What is this? W-Who are you?" he asked, voice trembling. His eyes were wide, chest heaving from the adrenaline that still burned in his blood. Whoever this man was—he had nearly killed him without even trying.
The man blinked, "What? You've forgotten me already? Seriously? I'm honestly disappointed, kid."
His voice was dry, tone casual—but there was a strange sincerity behind his words, as if he truly expected to be remembered.
He shook his head, clicking his tongue, and casually lifted his staff. The faded cloth around it unwound slightly, and a golden trail shimmered from its tip—graceful, mesmerising, like it had a will of its own.
The boy found himself briefly stunned by that golden light, his eyes locked on its shimmer as it twisted in the air.
The man pointed the staff directly at the boy.
"I am the one who killed you before."
"... Huh?"
The boy's mouth fell open, but nothing came out. No sound. No reaction. Just a hollow, stunned silence. He couldn't even feel fear yet—his mind hadn't caught up.
The man grinned slightly, eyes sharp.
"And I'll do it again. Most people don't get a second chance to die by my hand."
And before the boy could blink—
He was gone.
The man vanished.
The boy's pupils widened, breath frozen in his lungs. He couldn't understand what was happening, but his body moved on its own.
He crunched to the side.
BOOOMMM!!
Thud!!
Crack!
The staff slammed into where his body had just been, skimming his side. A sharp, bone-cracking sound followed as he was launched across the room, slammed through the door, and crashed against the wall beyond.
Cough, cough...
Blood sprayed from his mouth. His arm throbbed with searing pain—broken, maybe shattered—but it had taken the blow that would've smashed his ribs into powder.
"Hmm... Are you the same person?" the man muttered with mild curiosity. His tone wasn't mocking—just confused, surprised that the boy was blocking and evading this time.
The boy didn't reply. He just breathed heavily, face twisted in agony.
"Whatever..." the man muttered and thrust his staff toward the boy's chest.
The boy stumbled and rolled to the side with what little strength he had. He scrambled, falling onto one knee, and started to run—pain lancing through every joint.
The man let out a soft, amused chuckle.
"Not this again," he muttered. There was no urgency in his voice. He was amused. Like this was familiar.
The boy didn't understand what was going on. Who was this man? Why did he know him? Why did he want him dead?
But one thing was clear.
He had to escape.
Now.
BOOOMMM!!
"ARRRHH!!"
Glass shattered as the boy dove through the window. He fell from the first floor, crashing into the empty yard below.
Shards of glass pierced his body—arms, shoulders, back—blood streamed down in thin, stinging lines.
"Aghh!" he growled in pain, crawling up onto his knees. He tried to stand, staggering, legs shaking.
"W-What do you want from me?! I'll give it to you—anything! Please… just stop!" he shouted, voice breaking as he forced himself upright.
Silence.
The man didn't reply.
The boy's body trembled in pain. He turned around slowly—there was a storage shed behind him. Maybe he could hide. Maybe...
"What I want?"
The man's voice echoed through the air, disembodied, all around him.
The boy's breath hitched. He spun around, looking in every direction, heart hammering in his chest.
"You think you have something I want?"
The voice grew colder, more distant, more inhuman.
"How foolish... A mortal asking what a god desires?"
The boy's blood ran cold. He scanned the yard desperately, eyes flicking across the shadows.
'Where is he?!' His thoughts were spiraling. The voice was everywhere, but the man was nowhere to be seen.
"If anything... it's you who wants your—"
Suddenly, the staff materialised from thin air. It lunged like a spear straight toward the boy's head.
The boy moved—pure instinct.
His body bent backward, spine arching in agony, narrowly dodging the lethal blow. But he didn't stop. Despite his broken arm, his body twisted again, one hand rising to catch the shaft of the staff mid-air.
His grip tightened, redirecting its force to the side. As he caught the staff one end on one end and held it.
The boy blinked in shock, breath heaving.
The man, now fully materialised before him, stared down—genuinely surprised.
"...Life," he finished with a raised brow, eyeing the boy with a new expression.
For a second, there was something almost proud in his gaze.
The boy let out a shaky, breathless laugh.
"Hah... Haha... I caught yo—"
The man smirked, calm and collected.
"Biàn dà."
With that single word, the old ribbons around the staff unravelled.
The weapon extended—like a serpent snapping out.
WHACK!!
The boy didn't have time to move.
The staff slammed into his chest, launching him backwards like a ragdoll. He crashed through the storage room's wooden wall.
Shuckkkk!!
BOOM!
Thud!
Cough, cough...
Blood poured from his mouth. His back was impaled against the inside wall—the staff had pierced clean through his stomach.
His feet dangled, his head drooped. Blood dripped to the dusty floor below.
His eyes fluttered, vision dimming. His fingers twitched weakly, still gripping the air.
But amid that growing darkness—
A flicker.
A memory.
"I... I remember now..." he whispered, voice thin, broken, but clear.
'I-I am a.....'