Narrated by Hinata Hoshino
•••
> I'll tell you something I shouldn't.
Something you won't find in books... nor hear in temples.
This world... is not what you think.
Don't trust gods who smile too much.
Nor heroes who never hesitate.
Don't believe in truths carved in stone,
Because every stone can be carved by the wrong hand.
This world is made of broken memories,
Of cycles that repeat,
Of choices that seem meaningless... but change everything.
And you—by hearing my voice—are already inside.
It doesn't matter if you believe in angels, in fragments,
In a soul that could change everything.
This is a world where even love can become a curse.
Where hope can be born in blood.
And if you ever dream of a starless sky...
Perhaps you're remembering the same thing I am.
So if you choose to keep reading this story, do so knowing this:
> Here, even the sweetest dream… may be the prelude to the end.
•••
Sometimes I dream of a place that doesn't exist.
A sky without color. A sea with no reflection.
A land without a horizon, shattered into pieces floating in a nameless eternity.
All of it shrouded in a mist that breathes, that whispers... that watches.
There, time doesn't flow...
It just repeats, like a song no one can stop playing,
Even though no one remembers why it began.
And in the middle of that non-place, I hear a voice.
A voice that isn't mine, but is born inside me.
It doesn't speak in words.
It speaks in echoes.
In memories that don't belong to me.
In scars I didn't live... but still feel.
I don't know when these dreams began.
Maybe before I was born.
Maybe before my brother was born.
Maybe...
Before the world itself opened its eyes for the first time.
In them, I see things I shouldn't see.
A war.
But not a war of armies.
Not of men or monsters.
A war of light against light.
One truth against another.
One will against another.
A being with infinite wings falling with a heart in flames.
Another who remains above, with a hidden face and absolute silence.
One weeps for what was lost.
The other waits... and says nothing.
They say it all began when the most beautiful angel desired the throne of the heavens.
That he was punished.
That he was cast down.
That his fall brought darkness to the world.
But in my dreams... I see something else.
I see love.
Pain.
Guilt.
A desire to protect, not to rule.
I see a soul. A single soul.
A soul so pure that everything else seemed small beside it.
And I see how it shattered.
Like a mirror falling from on high,
The soul burst into seven fragments.
Seven stars that rained down like a cursed storm upon the earth.
And wherever they landed... the world changed forever.
Each fragment hid within a race.
And what was meant to be salvation... became perdition.
Virtues turned into sins.
Memories turned into curses.
A story told a thousand times...
But always told wrong.
I've felt those fragments.
Moving beneath my feet.
Breathing inside the world.
Dead roots trying to grow again.
And sometimes...
I hear them.
Their voices are broken.
Confused.
Forgotten.
They call me by names I do not know.
Show me lives I never lived.
Demand things I don't understand.
And always... always they repeat the same thing:
> "When the bearer awakens, the world will tremble for the eighth time."
I don't know who I am in these dreams.
Sometimes I'm a girl, afraid to wake up.
Sometimes I'm a reflection trapped between two mirrors.
Sometimes... I am a key.
One that turns on its own, seeking a lock no one remembers building.
But I'm always there.
Waiting.
Listening.
And I hear that voice.
Not the voice of the fallen angel.
Not the voice of the false god who speaks through golden temples.
A voice much older.
Softer.
More real.
A voice that doesn't want to be worshiped... but understood.
That doesn't demand obedience... but remembrance.
And it calls to me.
By a name I forgot long ago...
Or haven't remembered yet.
A name that makes my heart tremble.
I wake each time drenched in sweat.
With a wet pillow.
Trembling hands.
And a single question dancing in the echo of my soul:
> If this has already happened seven times...
Why do I keep dreaming as if I could change it?
Maybe...
Because I am the eighth fragment.
Maybe...
Because someone believed in me.
Or maybe...
Because even if every thread is broken,
There is still one left uncut.
And that thread… leads straight to him.
To my brother.
My name is Hinata Hoshino.
And this story... isn't about me.
It's about my family.
About my older brother.
About a book that was never meant to be opened...
And a name that was never meant to be remembered.