It came in a breath.
Not a vision.
Not a dream.
A flicker.
For a heartbeat, he wasn't in Blackstone.
He was standing in the middle of a narrow alley, rain falling soft and steady. Neon lights bled across slick pavement. The door of a Lawson convenience store chimed behind him — that familiar electronic bing.
Curry bread.
Vending machines.
The hum of Tokyo's midnight heart.
Rei blinked—
And the world shattered.
Back.
Chains.
Stone.
The weight of exhaustion pressing into his spine like a curse.
He gasped as if surfacing from deep water, chest heaving. Sweat clung to his skin. His hands trembled.
Kaia stood beside him in the dim-lit cell, one brow raised, silent. Watching.
They had survived the Trial.
But that flicker?
That wasn't memory.
It was something waking up.
Later — when the guards shoved moldy bread and stale water through the grate — Kaia finally broke the silence.
"You screamed."
Rei looked up, voice hoarse. "When?"
"In your sleep. You said… 'Lawson.' Then 'Why now?'"
A short laugh escaped him — hollow and cracked.
"Lawson's a place. A store back home. Cheap snacks. Warm lights. I used to go there… when I still had a home."
Kaia tilted her head slightly, her ears flicking.
"You remember it."
"Yeah," he murmured. "It's like… I'm standing in two worlds. One foot in each. And I don't know which one is real anymore."
She didn't reply. But her golden eyes lingered. Softened. Just for a moment.
**
Below Blackstone, in the bowels of the keep, Overseer Malrec watched the scene unfold in silence — projected through a scrying crystal suspended in runes of void-ink.
"He's remembering," Malrec whispered, more to himself than to the figure beside him.
The one beside him wore robes of bone-white. Face unseen. Voice like paper over flame.
"Good," the figure said. "The Riftbound must remember who he was…
before we break who he is."
**
Rain again.
Asphalt. Neon. A crumpled plastic bag in his grip.
The memory didn't unfold — it snapped, sudden and violent, like a glitch in the world's code.
One breath, and he was curled in the cinders of Blackstone.
The next—
Tokyo.
Not the skyline. The corners. The quiet places.
Cracked sidewalks. Glowing vending machines. Curry steam drifting from alley kitchens.
He stood under a Lawson sign, the hum of halogen above him, hand clutching a bag of onigiri, canned coffee… and the same curry bun he always bought.
His hands were clean. Pale. Unscarred.
Unbranded.
"Watanabe-san?"
He turned. A co-worker. Her name was… Sayaka? No — Misaki?
He couldn't remember.
She smiled gently.
"You okay? You spaced out."
"Yeah," he heard himself say. "Just tired."
But the voice felt distant. Hollow. Not his.
He looked across the street — saw his reflection in a shuttered storefront window.
Rain-soaked hoodie. Messy hair. Empty eyes.
Not a weapon.
Not a Riftborn.
Just Rei.
Then—
The burn.
Violet. Violent. Alive.
He staggered, the bag fell. The world twisted — buildings warping, colors bleeding into stars, Tokyo melting into ash—
He screamed.
He awoke gasping.
Not in Tokyo.
In chains.
In Blackstone.
Kaia crouched beside him, one hand gripping her blade, the other resting against his forehead.
"You left," she said quietly.
"What…?"
"You weren't here. Not really."
He tried to sit up, chest tight, breath ragged.
"I remembered…" he rasped. "Home. Who I was."
Her ears twitched.
"And?" she asked. "Who were you?"
He hesitated. A beat. Two.
"…No one."
Long silence.
Then — unexpectedly — her voice softened.
"You're not 'no one,'" Kaia said. "Not anymore."
She stood — tall, defiant, still bleeding — but her words lingered, quiet as snowfall.
"Next time you vanish like that… come back faster."
"I'll try."
He blinked. The firelight behind her caught in her hair — silver strands glowing like frost in a forge. Her golden eyes narrowed, not in warning, but in… concern.
Her figure, framed in shadow, felt grounded — elemental. Strong, but not unkind. A presence.
He looked away — not out of shame.
But because he'd remembered something.
Something human.
"You're staring," she said flatly.
He coughed. "Sorry."
She flicked dust from her leggings with a sharp motion.
"You've got enough shadows to fight, outsider. Try not to add me to them."
But as she turned away, he caught it.
A flicker — not of memory.
Of something else.
A smile.
Small. Real.
Gone before it could grow.
**
Below Blackstone, the figure in bone-white robes whispered:
"It begins."
Malrec licked dry lips.
"Do we accelerate the schedule?"
"No," came the reply. "Let him remember in pieces. Let him fracture slowly."
The crystal dimmed.
The shadows pulsed.
And something vast began to stir.