Ash stepped out of the transport vehicle and into the soft neon glow of the intergalactic terminal. The place buzzed with quiet activity, travellers with tired eyes, guards on alert, holographic signs blinking in every language. The world felt busy, yet somehow distant.
Ash stood there for a second, letting the air hit his face. The light rain had started again. Instead of grabbing a cab like he usually did, Ash chose to walk.
The streets were quieter than usual. The rain probably kept people indoors. The silence wasn't empty, instead, it was peaceful. Ash could hear his own footsteps, the gentle tapping of rain against his jacket, and the low, distant sound of life. These were the moments he didn't take for granted. . He smiled faintly to himself as he walked, hands tucked into his pockets.
But beneath the calm, there was something heavy in his chest. He knew this peace was temporary. Everything was about to change.
There was something Ash hadn't told Ken. Something he hadn't told anyone, actually. Just one person knew.
Lord Gabriel.
That day, when he pushed himself too far and burned through everything he had, something broke. And when it was over, when the silence returned, and his vision cleared, the lightning inside him... was gone. Just gone.
No sparks. No static. No surge of power. Nothing.
Ash still had speed, sure. Still faster than any normal person. Still had reflexes that could catch bullets mid-air if he focused hard enough. But without the lightning, he was just that. Fast. A guy with a sword and good legs.
It felt like someone had taken away a piece of his soul. He hadn't accepted it yet. Not really. Sometimes he'd clench his fist and hope something would crackle. Anything. But nothing came. Just silence.
Gabriel had found out quickly. He always did. And he'd insisted Ash stay a hero. Told him the power didn't make the man, the heart did.
Ash didn't believe him. Even with lightning, Ash had struggled. Gotten his ass kicked more times than he could count. Now without it? He was just a hollow version of what he used to be.
He thought about quitting. More than once. Maybe go solo. Pull a Reaper. Hide in shadows, take down low-level scumbags, stay out of the spotlight. No more hero meetings. No more saving the world. Just something manageable.
As if the universe heard him, his wristband buzzed. It was a message from Reaper himself. Just one line.
"I'm alive. That's all you need to know."
No "hello." No "how are you?" No details. Just confirmation.
Ash stared at the screen for a long time. He didn't even know how Reaper had his number.
He considered replying. Maybe asking Reaper if he wanted to grab a drink. Or fight something together. Or even, Ash laughed quietly, maybe train him. Become some kind of dark, broody mentor figure. Teach him how to be useful again.
But he didn't send anything. He just slipped the wristband back under his sleeve and kept walking. As he reached his street, the rain had picked up just a little. Not heavy. Just enough to make everything shimmer.
He saw a small puppy. Curled up on the sidewalk right outside his apartment building. The poor thing was soaked, shivering, and looked more like a ball of fur than an actual dog.
Ash crouched slowly. "Hey, buddy."
The puppy didn't run. Just looked up at him with sad, trusting eyes. Ash exhaled, picked it up carefully, and opened the building door. "Guess you live here now."
He didn't know why, but holding that wet puppy made him feel better. But the feeling didn't last. Because when Ash opened the door to his flat, he stopped cold.
The furniture was different. Not like moved around differently, but completely unfamiliar. There were things everywhere that didn't belong to him. A canvas bag in the corner. An ancient-looking guitar leaned against the wall with careful reverence. A mug on the kitchen counter that read: "Poetry is truth wearing its finest clothes." Ash stared at it like it had just spoken to him.
He blinked. No posters. No messy pile of laundry. No instant noodle packs. Nothing that looked even remotely like it belonged to him. "What the hell...?" he muttered, stepping inside.
The puppy barked once, quietly.
Ash scanned the apartment, heart pounding. Maybe he entered someone else's apartment. But the key he used had worked. The door was the same. The hallway. The floor. The building.
This was his place.
Then he heard the footsteps. A guy turned the corner into the living room. He had snow-white hair streaked with shades of purple. A guitar was slung across his back. In one hand, he held a small notebook, pages fluttering slightly with motion, and in the other, a pen he rotated absentmindedly.
He wasn't taller than Ash, not by much, but there was something... wide about his presence.
The stranger stopped when he saw Ash, blinking once before flashing a smile that felt oddly gentle.
"Who might you be?" the man asked, voice soft but not timid, with a strange lilt, like he was reciting something just out of memory. "You don't look like a ghost, but you have the eyes of someone who's seen too many."
Ash blinked, taken aback, unsure whether to be annoyed or intrigued. "I'm... Ash. I think this is my apartment?"
The guy's eyes lit up. "Ah! So you are Ash. The boy the wind whispered about."
Ash frowned. "What?"
The guy laughed. "I'm Kesher. Been waiting to meet you, kind of. Or at least waiting to see who I'd be sharing space with."
Ash stood frozen. "Wait. What?"
Kesher flipped open the notebook, scribbled something quickly, then closed it again and tucked it into his back pocket. "Let me explain. The owner said this apartment was built for two. Two souls, one space. He gave me the keys. I figured I'd be alone for a few more weeks, but surprise, surprise—you're here too."
Ash groaned. Loudly. "Of course. Of course it had to be this."
He rubbed his eyes in frustration, memories rushing back. When he first moved in, the landlord had told him it was a two-person unit. But no one ever came. No one wanted to. Who would ever want to live with the brother of a traitor?
Only Ken ever crashed here, from time to time. That was different. That was family.
Now?
Now he had to share space with a walking, talking poet with purple hair and a guitar?
Great. Just great.
Kesher, sensing the growing storm of awkwardness, chuckled and extended a hand. "Well, introductions are a ritual, aren't they? I'm Kesher. I write poems, and I sing when the wind is feeling generous."
Ash looked at the hand. Then at the eyes. Then at the guitar. He shook it half-heartedly. "Ash. I work for the Hero Association. Not nearly as poetic."
Kesher nodded solemnly. "Ah. Then you carry the weight of a thousand expectations. I carry rhymes. Between us, we might just make a full man."
Ash didn't know what to say to that. So he didn't. He just moved to the corner, dropping his soaked jacket near the door and glancing around at the rearranged furniture. A rug he didn't recognize. A tea kettle humming on the stove.
Kesher flopped onto the couch, kicking off his boots with theatrical ease. "Don't worry, Ash. I don't bite. I'm just here to write."
Ash gave a cold smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I've had roommates before. Didn't like them either."
Kesher raised a brow and grinned. "Well, then perhaps I'm just a poem waiting to change your mind."
Ash didn't respond. He walked into his room and closed the door gently behind him.