The rain had stopped, but the silence that followed was far louder.
Smoke hung low over Kurogane District like a shroud. The city's neon veins were dead; its rhythm, broken. Every alley, every shattered window reflected the aftermath of something greater than victory or loss—it was the quiet realization that nothing would be the same again.
Reiji stood atop the remnants of the old bridge, his coat torn, his blade still dripping with the rain and blood of the night before. He had not slept. The war had been born, and with it came the ghosts that refused to rest.
Below him, the river carried fragments of the city downstream—papers, glass, a single child's toy drifting between the reflections of burning towers. The smell of smoke and metal lingered in the air like a wound that refused to close.
"Reiji…"
Kaede's voice was softer now, carried through static on the cracked radio. "Are you still there?"
He pressed the earpiece closer, his tone almost unreadable. "Still breathing."
She hesitated before answering, "They've sealed the northern gate. The Court's soldiers are fortifying the upper wards. You won't make it through if you stay."
"Then I'll move through the ruins," Reiji said simply. "They don't watch what they think they've already destroyed."
The rain started again—thin, almost fragile. It hissed quietly as it met the fires still smoldering below. For a moment, he let the sound drown everything else, his gaze fixed on the horizon where towers bent like dying trees.
"Kaede," he said quietly. "Do you ever think we're the ones who lit the wrong fire?"
Her silence was answer enough.
He sheathed his blade and began walking north, through the hollow streets where the dead had no names. The city murmured beneath his steps—distant cries, the crackle of burning signs, the whisper of ash brushing against broken walls.
Each corner felt like a memory trying to reach him. Faces, voices, moments that no longer belonged to the living.
He turned into what used to be a marketplace. Half the stalls were gone; the others still stood like tombstones. Blood mixed with rainwater on the cobblestones. He crouched beside a collapsed vendor's table and brushed away the debris. A broken photograph lay there—a family smiling under the sun. It felt unreal, like a lie the world had told itself before waking up to the truth.
He pocketed the photo.
From the rooftops, a faint metallic creak echoed. Reiji's hand instinctively moved to his blade.
"Show yourself," he said, voice low.
A shadow dropped down silently—a figure cloaked in gray, mask cracked, movements sharp but hesitant. A survivor. Or perhaps, a remnant.
"Shinomiya Reiji," the stranger spoke, voice filtered through a broken respirator. "You're a hard man to find."
Reiji didn't raise his weapon yet. "Depends who's looking."
The figure removed the mask slowly. Beneath it was a young soldier, face marked by grime and exhaustion, eyes reflecting something between fear and admiration.
"I fought against you last night," he said. "You could've killed me. Why didn't you?"
Reiji's expression didn't change. "Because I saw someone who didn't understand what he was fighting for."
The soldier exhaled shakily. "And now I do. The Court lied. They told us we were purging traitors. But all we did was burn our own city."
Reiji said nothing. The boy's voice trembled.
"I want to help. There's a network under the old archives—the resistance is using it. They need someone like you."
The word resistance hung in the air like a fragile hope. Reiji turned his gaze toward the smog-filled horizon. The Court, the banners, the iron towers—it was all still there, waiting, watching.
He finally spoke. "If you want to help, survive long enough to remember what this costs."
He walked past the soldier. The boy called out, "Wait! What do I tell them?"
Reiji stopped. His answer was almost a whisper.
"Tell them the shadows are moving again."
The words lingered long after he disappeared into the smoke.
---
Hours later, he reached the northern ruins—once the industrial spine of the city, now a graveyard of machinery. The sky above it glowed red from the fires that refused to die. Broken cranes loomed like skeletons over the horizon. He could hear distant artillery in the east—small bursts, testing the silence.
He found refuge inside a derelict train station. The walls were covered in graffiti: "No gods. No kings. Only silence."
He sat on an overturned crate, unstrapping his gloves, blood drying beneath his nails. The exhaustion in his eyes was no longer physical. It was something heavier—the weight of understanding that war wasn't a battle, but a repetition.
Kaede's voice broke through the static again.
"I saw the reports. The Court's blaming you for the detonations. They're calling it treason."
Reiji chuckled dryly. "They always do that when someone stops obeying."
"They've deployed a new unit," she continued. "Codenamed Cerberus. They're hunting survivors, no distinction between civilian or soldier."
He didn't react at first. Then, quietly, "Cerberus… I trained that unit."
Silence. Even the rain seemed to hesitate.
"Then you know what they're capable of," Kaede said. "Reiji, listen to me—"
But he was already standing. He slid his gloves back on, the sound of leather cutting through the still air. "I do," he said. "And that's why I can't run."
He looked out at the horizon once more—the towers of the Court rising like black monoliths against the blood-red sky. The thunder that followed wasn't from nature anymore; it was artillery, drawing closer, echoing like a heartbeat in the distance.
The first sparks of war had become embers.
Now, they were spreading.
Reiji picked up his blade and stepped into the rain again. Every drop hissed against the steel like whispers in the ashes—remnants of those who still remembered what it meant to fight for something human.