Consciousness returned in a flood.
Pain. Crushing weight. The taste of blood that had been there long enough to go stale. And Jessica's voice, screaming for help, filled with the specific quality of anguish that cuts through everything else.
Kelvin.
Something had happened to Kelvin.
His little brother. The kid who'd looked up at him with absolute trust since the first cave. Who'd called him big brother when they'd barely known each other. Who'd trained every day to get stronger. Who'd stepped in front of his sister without hesitating because that was simply who Kelvin was.
The debris around Satou began to shake.
Not from external force. From the pressure building inside him.
Rage.
Pure. Crystallized. The specific kind that doesn't burn hot — it burns cold and total and permanent. Not the fury of a warrior in battle. Not the anger of someone losing. This was the wrath of a protector who had failed, arriving at the exact moment that failure was becoming irreversible.
