The night carried no stars. Only the sound of the wind moving through the hollow veins of a dying city.
Kurogane District had become a maze of smoke and fire. Drones hovered overhead, their red eyes scanning the ruins, searching for one man. Shinomiya Reiji.
The Court had declared him the first traitor of the new war—and the first name to be erased from the record.
He moved through the wreckage in silence, the whisper of his blade against its sheath the only sound that betrayed life. Every step was measured, every breath disciplined. The rain from earlier had turned the dust to mud; his boots left no trace. The city seemed to breathe with him, slow and broken.
Somewhere above, the mechanical growl of Cerberus echoed. Three engines, three pilots, one purpose—hunt, isolate, exterminate. He knew them all. He had trained them.
From a distance, a flare arced into the sky, turning the smoke crimson. The hunt had begun.
Reiji crouched behind a shattered pillar, eyes narrowing as the sound of footsteps approached. Two soldiers swept the alley, their visors glowing faintly blue.
"Zone clear," one muttered, scanning with his rifle's light.
"Command says he's close," the other answered, nervous. "They said he killed an entire patrol in the south block."
"That's propaganda. Nobody moves like that."
Reiji moved.
He emerged from the dark like a ripple through water—silent, fluid, precise. His blade whispered once. A thin line of red appeared on the soldier's throat before the man even realized he was dead. The second turned, shouting something incoherent; Reiji caught his wrist, twisted, and drove the hilt of his sword into the man's chest. The body fell against the wall, leaving a smear of light from the visor as it dimmed.
He dragged them out of sight. No noise. No trace.
Only silence, thick and patient.
Above him, one of the Cerberus units descended. The machine's feet crushed the debris like bones. Searchlights cut through the smoke, scanning, dissecting. Reiji pressed himself against the cold concrete, breath shallow. He could almost feel the vibration of the engines through his spine.
A voice crackled through the machine's speaker—distorted, inhuman.
"Shadow-One, confirmed heat signature. Proceeding to engage."
Reiji glanced upward. Shadow-One. The call-sign was familiar.
Haru Tachibana. His former lieutenant. The boy who once said Reiji was more myth than man.
The machine's cannon rotated, locking onto the alley.
Reiji broke cover a heartbeat before the blast hit. Fire erupted behind him, swallowing the alley in molten light. The shockwave hurled him across the street; he rolled, came up in a crouch, sword drawn. The mech turned, its massive arm sweeping through the wreckage.
He sprinted toward it.
The first swing of the cannon missed by inches, tearing apart a building facade. Reiji leapt onto the falling debris, running along the collapsing wall toward the cockpit. He moved like a shadow given flesh. The mech's pilot tried to adjust, but Reiji was already there—his blade struck the joint beneath the armor plating, sparks and blood and steel screaming in one voice.
He landed, rolled, and drew a second knife. The machine's arm collapsed, leaking steam.
"Still fast," Haru's voice came through the comm. "But slower than before."
Reiji didn't answer. He circled, searching for weakness.
"I learned from you," Haru continued. "You taught us to kill without hesitation. Don't expect mercy now."
"I never asked for mercy," Reiji said. "Only memory."
The mech's chest opened slightly—revealing the pilot's cockpit behind layers of armor glass. For a second, Reiji saw Haru's eyes: bright, burning, uncertain.
Then the machine roared again.
He dove aside as twin barrels fired. The blast scorched the pavement, sending debris flying. Reiji used the momentum, sliding beneath the mech's legs, slashing the hydraulic lines. The beast stumbled. He climbed its side, slicing through cables, punching through vents, every motion rehearsed from years of training the very weapon now hunting him.
The final strike came as he jammed his blade into the cockpit's seam. Sparks exploded. The machine convulsed, red lights flickering madly before dying with a shriek of metal.
Reiji landed as the mech collapsed behind him. Steam rose from its corpse, hissing like something alive.
Inside, Haru coughed weakly, trapped but alive. Reiji approached, breathing hard, rain mingling with sweat and ash.
He wrenched open the cockpit. Haru's face was pale, blood running from a cut above his brow. The younger man looked up, almost laughing. "Still… faster than the others."
Reiji said nothing. He looked at him—the boy he'd trained, the soldier the Court had twisted.
"You could finish it," Haru whispered. "End me. That's what the Shadow would do."
Reiji sheathed his blade instead. "The Shadow's dead."
Haru smiled faintly. "Then maybe there's hope left."
He pressed something into Reiji's hand—a data chip, smeared with blood. "The Court's next move. You'll want to see it."
Reiji nodded once. "Rest."
He stepped back as Haru closed his eyes. The flames consumed the wreckage slowly, painting both of them in orange light. The rain began again, soft, steady, merciful.
When he turned away, Kaede's voice cracked through the comm.
"Reiji! We picked up a massive energy signature—did you just—"
"I stopped one," he interrupted, voice calm. "Two more remain."
She hesitated. "You can't take them alone."
"I'm not alone," he said quietly, looking down at the whispering blade in his hand. The steel trembled faintly, catching the glow of firelight as though remembering the lives it had taken.
Behind him, the city groaned under the weight of war. Airships moved across the sky like slow predators, dropping fire into the veins of Kurogane. The rain turned black with soot.
Reiji walked north, his silhouette swallowed by the smoke. Every step echoed like the tolling of a distant bell.
Somewhere above, lightning flashed—brief, cold, and merciless.
And the whispers began again.
Voices from the dead, from the past, from the shadows he could never outrun.
Reiji… when the blade falls silent, will you still know who you are?
He didn't answer. He simply kept walking.
Because in the world now unfolding, silence was the only truth left.