Saturo was used to bad mornings.
The kind where he woke with his heart pounding too fast and his chest refusing to expand, like something invisible had wrapped fingers around his ribs.
He stood at the pier, breathing slow, steady breaths.
"In… out…" he whispered to himself.
If you collapse again, the old man will yell for hours.
He rubbed the center of his chest, feeling that too-familiar tightness coil there.
A voice echoed in his memory—his grandmother's, soft and worried:
"Breathe slowly, Saturo. Don't force it. You're not weak… your body is just stubborn."
Another voice followed, harsher:
"That boy's sick. His lungs don't work right. Keep him indoors."
Saturo exhaled sharply, pushing the memory away.
This dawn felt wrong.
Too still. Too quiet.
He stepped closer to the edge of the pier.
Then the sky cracked.
Not thunder.
Not lightning.
A glowing fracture, thin and bright like a blade slicing through clouds.
"What the hell…?" Saturo whispered.
The crack widened. A dull, vibrating hum rolled through the air.
Doors slammed open behind him. Villagers shouted.
"What's happening?!"
"Everyone inside!"
"Don't look at it—!"
Saturo didn't move.
His chest tightened—not from sickness, but from something colder.
Fear.
A shadow fell from the rift.
A person.
Falling fast.
Saturo's pulse spiked. "He's not gonna make it—!"
"Leave him!" someone yelled. "Get away from the pier!"
But Saturo was already running.
His grandmother's voice echoed again:
"Saturo… you have to stop trying to save everyone. You're going to break yourself."
He jumped.
Cold water crushed him. For a moment he couldn't tell up from down. But he forced his eyes open—
—and saw the boy sinking deeper.
"Come on!" Saturo's voice was muffled in the water. He reached, grabbed cloth, then an arm.
His lungs burned.
The tightening in his chest brought back the memory—
A younger Saturo curled on the clinic floor, choking for air while adults hovered above him.
"He won't breathe!"
"His chest—look at it—!"
"Saturo, stay with me, please!"
He remembered the feeling: the darkness, the panic, the hollow fear of dying alone.
He wasn't letting someone else drown like that.
He kicked. Hard.
They broke the surface, gasping. Villagers dragged them onto the pier.
Saturo coughed violently, clutching his ribs.
"Idiot!" a fisherman barked. "You'll kill yourself doing things like that!"
"Shut… up," Saturo rasped, pushing hair from his face.
He looked at the boy he'd saved.
Still unconscious, but breathing.
He reached out and shook him. "Hey… don't die on me after all that."
A woman pointed at the sword strapped to the boy's back. "What kind of blade is that? He's not local."
"I don't know," Saturo said, "but—"
The sky cracked again.
Red this time.
Everything froze.
A villager whispered, trembling, "Not again… please not again…"
A shape fell from the rift.
It landed on the pier with a sickening crunch.
It wasn't human.
Saturo stared.
Thin limbs.
Gray skin.
Claws instead of nails.
Eyes glowing red like dying embers.
A monster.
It sniffed the air, shivering.
"Fear… warm and sweet…"
Its voice sounded like two people whispering at once.
"RUN!" someone screamed.
Villagers scattered, pushing past each other.
Saturo didn't move.
His gaze flicked to the unconscious boy beside him.
Everyone was running.
Every instinct screamed to follow them.
A memory hit him—
A younger version of himself lying on the ground as kids ran away from him in panic during one of his breathing attacks.
"He's dying—don't touch him!"
I'm not dying… don't… don't leave…
That loneliness cut deeper than the pain.
So this time—
He wasn't leaving someone behind.
The creature's gaze snapped toward him.
"You."
Its pupils shrank in interest.
"Your scent is… wrong. Not human. Not anything I know. Broken. Mixed."
Saturo's jaw tightened at the word broken, even as he hid his reaction.
He stood slowly, placing himself between the creature and the unconscious stranger.
"Don't come closer," he said softly.
The creature grinned, baring too many teeth. "Or what, little human?"
Saturo's fingers twitched at his side.
"You'll regret it."
The creature lunged.
Saturo reacted without thinking—his hand darting to the stranger's sword. He tore it free and raised it clumsily.
Claws sliced toward his face—
He inhaled.
Deep. Sharp.
The breath didn't hurt.
For the first time in his life, it felt natural—
like his lungs finally understood what they were meant to do.
The world slowed.
His chest expanded without pain. His limbs felt lighter.
His mind sharper.
He stepped forward and slashed—too wide, grip all wrong—but the timing was perfect.
Steel met flesh.
The creature's forearm flew off, black blood spraying across the pier.
It shrieked.
Saturo stared at the sword in disbelief.
"…What… did I just…?"
His arms trembled.
He'd never used a sword.
He'd barely fought anyone.
But that breath—
It made everything clear, simple, instinctive.
The creature snarled, regenerating rapidly.
"You're interesting," it hissed. "I'll enjoy breaking you open."
Saturo tightened his grip, stepping in front of the boy again.
"I'm not… running," he said.
The creature laughed.
"You think you can protect him?"
"No," Saturo whispered. "I know I can't protect him alone."
Then his eyes hardened.
"But I'm still not moving."
The creature lunged again—
And a weak voice behind Saturo suddenly spoke:
"Your breathing… it's helping you…"
Saturo's eyes widened.
The boy—
His eyes were half-open.
Brown, gentle, but fierce beneath exhaustion.
"Don't stop," the boy whispered. "Don't stop breathing."
Saturo didn't understand why those words felt right.
But he inhaled again.
The fear dulled. The world narrowed.
All that was left was the swing.
AUTHOR'S NOTE — BONUS & EARLY ACCESS
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