A memory, one that should never have been his, clawed its way into Kaito's mind. It was more than just a memory—it was a dark omen, a wound that had never healed, now reopened.
Sayuri.
He saw her.
But she wasn't alive.
Not in this memory. Not in this nightmare.
She was dying. Again.
He watched, frozen, as her lifeless eyes stared into nothingness. Empty. Hollow. Unblinking. As if her soul had already vacated her body long before her blood began to pool beneath her. It stained the earth in a slow, deliberate cascade, each drop falling with the finality of fate itself. Her last breath—a whisper, fragile and broken—dissolved into the void, as though the universe itself refused to answer her final plea.
No. No. Not her... again. Not like this.
Then, he saw himself.
His own body.
Twisted, discarded, crumpled as though he were nothing more than an afterthought. Forgotten. Alone. A broken shell of a man who had never even mattered.
He was left to rot in a world that had no place for him.
And then—darkness.
A crackling burst of light.
Searing. Violent.
It tore through him, ripping his thoughts asunder, as though the world itself was unraveling. The sharp, overwhelming light seared through his mind, burning him from the inside out. A scream built up in his chest—a scream that never escaped. It was suffocated, lost in the chaos of his mind. All that remained was the deafening beat of his heart, pounding like a war drum.
Then—nothing.
Utter silence.
Not the kind of silence that brought peace, but the kind that swallowed everything.
It was the silence of death.
A death that wasn't his.
A death he shouldn't have known.
Kaito's body jerked as if struck by lightning. His eyes snapped open, but the air that filled his lungs was cold—frigid, biting at him like the teeth of a thousand wolves. His skin tingled with the chill, a harsh reminder of the nightmare that lingered just beneath his consciousness.
The cemetery. Again.
The ground beneath him felt like the earth itself was rejecting him. His hands trembled, pressed against the cold gravel path, as though it were trying to drag him deeper into the earth.
His vision blurred, the world spinning around him like a carousel of confusion and fear. His pulse pounded in his ears, echoing the fury of a storm he couldn't escape.
A scream ripped from his throat—raw, primal. It felt like something inside him was unraveling, a dam breaking, drowning him in grief and anguish.
"Ahhh—"
The sound felt foreign—unnatural. Like something twisted deep inside him was trying to claw its way out.
"Why... why... why...?" His voice cracked, each word jagged and broken, each syllable a jagged piece of glass, cutting into his soul.
His body shook violently, but it wasn't the cold that made him tremble. No, it was something far deeper—a tremor that came from the very core of his being. His heart was pounding, hammering in his chest like a drumbeat of despair.
His fingers dug into his scalp, nails scraping against his skin as if he could somehow claw out the images that refused to leave him. Blood. Death. The faces of those he couldn't save. Sayuri.
"It... hurts..." His voice faltered.
His body was unharmed, no external injuries. But inside? Inside, he was a broken, shattered mess. Every breath was an effort, each thought a searing flame cutting through his mind. He was shaking, his hands trembling, as though his very soul was coming apart.
A laugh bubbled from his chest—a broken, hollow thing.
"Ha... ha... ha..."
It wasn't laughter. It was madness.
"Why... why... why..." he muttered again, weaker, softer, each time more desperate. Each word was a prayer for mercy, a curse to the heavens.
The wind howled around him, but it felt like a distant whisper—an impotent plea to an empty world. His mind was far away, drowning in a sea of questions, none of which had answers. The answers didn't matter anymore. Not in a world like this.
Kaito stumbled to his feet, legs buckling beneath him. He wavered, barely able to hold himself upright, but somehow, some force deep within him kept him standing.
A glimmer. A shred of something. Not hope. Never hope. But something fragile. A whisper that refused to die. It wasn't his will. Not his desire.
It was purpose.
It was the barest of threads, holding him together just long enough to move. Not to escape. Not to stop the pain. But to move.
To keep going.
One step. Then another.
The ground beneath him seemed to pull him down with every step, but he pushed forward. His body screamed for him to stop—to give in to the crushing weight of it all. His soul bled, but his heart, broken and bruised, still beat.
Save them.
The words whispered to him, faint and barely audible, but they were enough. They weren't a command. They weren't a plea. They were just a simple, quiet truth. A tether, pulling him forward.
His legs moved. Weak. Stumbling. But they moved.
And then, he saw it.
The house. His home. The place where his life had shattered.
The door was ajar.
No light. No warmth. Just emptiness.
Kaito's stomach twisted, dread crawling up his spine like icy fingers. His breath caught, his throat closing, as the dark reality clawed at him. He knew what awaited him inside. He had known it before he even stepped forward.
He hesitated.
But there was no choice. He had to know. He had to face it.
He stepped inside.
His foot slid on something wet.
Warm.
Something—someone—was wrong.
He looked down.
Blood.
It was everywhere.
The floor was soaked with crimson, trails leading him forward. The scent of iron filled his nose—thick, suffocating.
And there, in the midst of it all—his mother.
Cold. Lifeless. Her eyes staring into nothing. Vacant. Empty. The blood had pooled around her like a grotesque sea, the thin line of red trickling from the corner of her mouth.
"Mom...?" His voice trembled, a whisper against the storm of his grief. But it didn't matter. She was gone.
His hands shook violently as he reached out, pulling her into his arms. Her skin was too cold. Too cold for a woman who had once cradled him in warmth. The silence of death pressed down on him, suffocating.
"Please... wake up... please don't leave me..." His voice cracked, each word breaking him further.
But nothing answered.
Nothing.
"Riku..." he whispered, and with shaking hands, he staggered to the stairs. His legs felt as though they were made of glass, each step a struggle to keep from collapsing.
He reached his brother's room.
The door creaked open.
Riku.
Lifeless. Cold. A bullet wound in his chest. His eyes stared at the ceiling, unblinking, unfeeling.
"Riku...!" His breath caught, but there was no room left for tears. Only the raw, agonizing truth.
He stumbled to the last room. Aiko.
His sister.
And there she was.
Curled up in her bed, hugging her plush bunny. The bullet wound to her forehead was a cruel, hollow mark. She had died in her sleep.
Hugging her toy, as though it could protect her from the world's cruelty.
"No..." Kaito whispered, the word lost in the suffocating darkness of the room.
Then came a movement—a shadow. A figure clad in black, moving with the quiet grace of a ghost.
Kaito froze. His blood ran cold.
The man. The one from the cemetery.
He didn't speak, didn't offer solace. His movements were deliberate, cold, and calculated. Without a word, he shoved Kaito aside.
Kaito crumpled, his body hitting the wall with a sickening thud.
The man's glove glinted, a star-shaped insignia emblazoned upon it. Recognition pierced through Kaito like a shard of glass.
Him.
"You..." Kaito choked out, voice quivering with anger, fear, and desperation. "You did this. You killed them."
The man didn't respond. He didn't care. His tone was flat, devoid of remorse.
"This isn't personal," he said coldly. "I was paid to do this. You're not special."
"Not special?" Kaito's fury boiled over. "You killed my family! You killed Sayuri!"
The man didn't flinch. He raised the gun.
Kaito didn't flinch.
"Do it," Kaito whispered, voice hoarse. "I don't care anymore. Just end it."
The man's eyes flickered, a moment of hesitation.
He checked the gun.
"Empty," he muttered.
A sigh. He raised his knife.
"Goodbye."
The blade sank into Kaito's gut.
"AHHH."
Pain.
Searing.
Real.
Over and over.
Each stab felt like the end. Until—
Darkness.