Kaito didn't go to school.
It had been a quiet choice, not forced, not begged for—simply agreed upon by his mother after his exhausted words and the growing darkness under his eyes. Two days passed like that, resting in the quiet walls of his home, a time when the ticking of the clock felt louder than the outside world.
The girl from his visions had not appeared in those two days. That alone gave him a strange sense of breathing room, like the universe had granted him a pause, a reprieve before something weightier arrived. His parents seemed to recognize that as well. His mother would cook his meals with an unusual gentleness, sliding plates across the table with soft encouragement. His father, normally reserved and stiff, returned home early both days, as though guarding the house itself. And whenever their eyes landed on him, they carried no impatience, no pressure—only careful steps, like people moving around a fragile vase.
Kaito wasn't fragile, though. At least he told himself that. But he didn't argue against their kindness either. He let it wrap around him, because he knew they feared what they couldn't quite name: that his mind might shatter, or that his strange existence as a Catherine might bring danger back to their door.
Now it was August 29th. A Sunday.
The day of the eclipse.
Kaito sat near his window with a book he hadn't really been reading, flipping pages only to hear them move. The afternoon sun was strong but distant, as though even the heavens were preparing to dim. He sighed, tracing a fingertip over the desk where dust had settled. That was when his phone buzzed, startling the silence.
Arthur.
He answered quickly. "Yo."
"Kaito!" Arthur's voice came bright and energetic through the speaker, as if he carried the whole world in his lungs. "Listen, bro, today's the day. The eclipse! On the moon luna ,Let's watch it together."
Kaito leaned back in his chair, glancing at the pale ceiling. "You sound more excited than me."
"Of course I'm excited. It only happens once in years. And besides—" Arthur paused, his tone dropping into something quieter. "It's better if you don't watch it alone. I'll come pick you up at four, and we'll head to the old tower building in the old city. Lots of people go there—it's safe, open, perfect view."
"The old tower, huh…" Kaito murmured. He remembered the place vaguely: a structure abandoned since his parents were children, but with its wide grounds and rooftop access, it had become a popular spot for events, fireworks, or even silly teenage dares. A place where time hadn't been erased, only left behind.
"My parents already said I can go," Kaito replied.
"That's good. Saves me from having to convince them myself." Arthur chuckled.
But then there was a sound in the background—faint, muffled voices. Sharp, nagging. Arthur sighed heavily. "Yeah… except now it's my parents' turn. They've been giving me hell all morning. 'Why do you hang out with Kaito? He's a Catherine, isn't it dangerous? Shouldn't you keep your distance?' That kind of garbage."
Kaito froze at the words. For a moment, something cold ran down his spine, though it wasn't new. He had always known. People whispered. Catherine wasn't a word that belonged to safety—it belonged to fear, stigma, and stories passed in hushed tones.
Arthur's voice turned firmer, louder. "But listen, don't mind them. I don't. I told them straight—I don't care if you're Catherine or whatever else. You're my friend, Kaito. That's all that matters."
Kaito pressed his lips together, his throat tight. "…Thanks."
"No need to thank me. Just be ready at four. And wear something comfortable. If it gets crowded at the tower, we might have to climb a little." Arthur laughed again, easing the moment, as though nothing in the world could bend his spirit.
When the call ended, Kaito stayed still, holding the phone loosely in his hand. His heart felt conflicted—warmth from Arthur's unwavering loyalty, bitterness from the reality of others' doubt. He placed the phone down slowly, looking out the window again.
The sky seemed brighter now, though the clock read only half past one. Brighter because soon, that light would be taken away.
---
The hours passed in unspoken anticipation. His parents checked on him occasionally—his mother peeking in with her apron still tied, his father asking, "Do you have your glasses for the eclipse? You mustn't look directly at it."
"I'll be fine," Kaito reassured them, though he wasn't sure what "fine" meant anymore.
At quarter to four, he stood at the doorway, shoes on, hair combed half-heartedly. His mother handed him a small packet of snacks, pressing it into his hands as if he were still a child. His father gave only a curt nod, though his eyes lingered with an unspoken "be careful."
Then Arthur's voice called from outside. "Kaito! Let's go!"
Kaito stepped out. Arthur stood there, casual as always, hands in his pockets, grin stretched wide despite the faint tension in his eyes. They exchanged no long greetings—none were needed.
The walk to the old city wasn't short, but it wasn't long either. Streets were busier than usual, children tugging at their parents' hands, teenagers gathering in groups, old couples carrying folding chairs. Everyone moved with one purpose: to see the sky darken. To witness a spectacle both ordinary and mystical.
Arthur filled the walk with chatter. "Remember when we tried to sneak into the tower back in middle school? And the guard chased us halfway down the street? Man, I thought we were done for."
Kaito cracked the faintest smile. "You tripped over the fence."
"And you pulled me back up. See? That's exactly why I don't care what people say—you've always had my back."
Their laughter echoed briefly, swallowed by the crowd noise.
By the time they reached the outskirts of the old city, the tower rose before them, skeletal against the sky. Its stone walls were weathered, windows long shattered, but the place was alive today. Dozens of people already gathered around, some climbing the lower steps, some setting up small picnics.
Arthur stretched his arms, breathing in. "Perfect. Just perfect."
They climbed together, weaving through strangers until they reached a balcony on the third floor, half-exposed to the sky. The sun was still strong, but it felt thinner now, as though some veil had been draped over it. The air grew oddly cooler.
Arthur leaned on the cracked railing. "It'll start soon. You can feel it, can't you?"
Kaito nodded slowly. The atmosphere had shifted—the air electric, alive with murmurs of awe and expectation. Children's laughter mixed with hushed voices, and everywhere eyes lifted to the heavens.
For a moment, Kaito let himself relax. The tower, the people, Arthur beside him—it felt normal, ordinary. A fleeting illusion of belonging.
Then Arthur's phone buzzed. He frowned, pulling it out. "Ugh, my mom again." He read the screen, rolled his eyes, and shoved it back into his pocket. "Doesn't matter. I told you, I don't care."
But Kaito caught the flicker of frustration in his friend's eyes. He knew Arthur was torn—between loyalty to him and the weight of his parents' fear.
Kaito looked up at the horizon. The sun was bleeding its last colors into the sky, sinking lower, staining the clouds in gold and crimson. And opposite it, the pale round moon had already climbed into view—bright, silver, heavy with promise. Not the kind of eclipse most people imagined in daylight, but the one that belonged to night: the lunar eclipse.
The crowd stirred in low voices. Someone whispered about how rare it was, how the earth itself would cast its shadow across the moon's surface, drowning its silver into copper-red. The eclipse hadn't begun yet, though. It would be at least thirty minutes before the first touch of shadow marked the moon. Until then, the anticipation only thickened the air.
Arthur leaned on the railing beside Kaito, eyes flicking between the vanishing sun and the waiting moon. "We've got time. But once it starts… it'll be unforgettable." His grin held steady, but in Kaito's chest, there was an odd weight—a quiet pulse telling him that when the moon darkened, something in his life would darken too.
----
The tower grounds grew busier as the sky slid deeper into twilight. The air itself seemed suspended, holding its breath for the moment to come.
Kaito and Arthur had found a spot on the outskirts of the crumbling structure, leaning against a half-broken wall that overlooked two breathtaking views at once.
In front of them sprawled the neon veins of Viace City, flickering to life as the sun retreated fully behind the horizon. Entire blocks lit up in electric blue, pink, and violet, advertisements and holographic billboards stretching into the skyline. Cars streamed across elevated highways like glowing serpents. From a distance, it looked less like a city and more like a living constellation of human ambition, pulsing with endless energy.
Behind them, the opposite view couldn't have been more different. The mountains of Viace rose jagged against the darkening sky, their outlines painted indigo by the last remnants of sunlight. Between the ridges, faint motes of light shimmered—rim particles, drifting lazily in the thin air like fireflies. They were tiny, subtle, but unmistakably unnatural, proof of the strange energy that threaded through this world. Their glow was soft, pale blue, as if they were trying to mirror the stars not yet visible.
The tower itself loomed in the center, tall but weathered, bricks chipped, railings bent. Even so, it was alive tonight, filled with clusters of people claiming their own perches to witness the lunar eclipse. Families unfolded picnic mats, students laughed too loudly, and vendors had even set up at the base selling glow sticks, drinks, and cheap eclipse-themed souvenirs.
Arthur stretched, glancing around. "Not bad, huh? We've got the best view in the whole place. City lights in front, mountains at our back. Feels… bigger than us."
Kaito nodded faintly, though his eyes stayed on the moon overhead. The eclipse hadn't started yet, but the moon was impossibly sharp tonight, as if carved into the sky. His chest stirred with unease he couldn't name.
It was then that a flicker of white caught his eye.
On the second floor balcony of the same tower, leaning slightly against a cracked column, stood a girl whose hair gleamed like snow under the rising moonlight. Alia. She didn't look toward them at first, her posture calm and watchful, as if she were listening to the earth itself.
Beside her, laughing softly at something, stood Mina—black-haired, sharp-eyed, and comfortably animated. Her expressions shifted easily as she gestured with her hands, the neon lights of Viace behind her outlining her profile.
Arthur blinked, recognition lighting his face. "Wait—Alia? Mina?" His voice was louder than he meant it to be, cutting through the nearby chatter.
Mina turned her head first, her eyes catching the faint light. "Arthur? You're here too?" She smiled, familiar, casual.
Arthur grinned and waved, the kind of friendly wave he never used with strangers. "Of course! Where else would I be on eclipse night?" His voice carried its usual warmth, but Kaito noticed the shift: Arthur had become more open, more talkative, the way he always did when he was around people he knew.
Without hesitation, Arthur jogged the few steps across the balcony to close the gap, slipping easily into conversation with Mina. He asked about her family, whether she'd come here alone, teased her about carrying snacks that were clearly too heavy for one person. She rolled her eyes but laughed back, swatting his arm lightly. The rhythm between them was natural—cousins who had grown up with both familiarity and occasional annoyance, now finding a comfortable middle ground.
Kaito stayed where he was.
That left him beside Alia.
They hadn't spoken more than once before—back when she had come to his house to deliver school notes at the request of their teacher. She had stood at his door, polite but distant, handing over the papers with only a small nod before leaving. No conversation had followed.
Now, here they were, standing under the rising moon, silence pressing awkwardly between them.
Kaito shifted, unsure whether to say something first. Alia's hair, caught in the faint breeze, shimmered like it carried the reflection of both moon and rim particles. Her eyes—he realized with a quick glance—were an unusual gray, like stone smoothed by river water.
She glanced at him once, briefly, and for a second their eyes met. Then she looked away again, resting her gaze on the mountains.
Kaito exhaled quietly, trying to find words. "…You came for the eclipse too?"
It was a clumsy start, but it broke the silence.
Alia turned her head slightly. "Yes." Her voice was calm, measured. "t's rare for luna to go through an eclipse . Wouldn't make sense to miss it."
He nodded, feeling the weight of simplicity in her words. "True."
The silence stretched again, but not as heavy this time.
Arthur's laughter carried from a few steps away, Mina's voice weaving with his in easy conversation. Their tone rose and fell like a rhythm Kaito and Alia didn't share, leaving the two of them standing in the quieter current of the evening.
The moon climbed higher.
The sun was gone now, fully swallowed by the horizon. The city of Viace in front of them glowed brighter, colors deepening in the absence of daylight. Neon blues cut sharp lines through the night, pinks shimmered across billboards, and a great digital ad flickered briefly before stabilizing. To anyone standing here, it looked as though the city itself was another sky beneath their feet.
Behind, the mountains had darkened further, their ridges now only black outlines against the fading orange edge of dusk. But the rim particles were brighter now, hundreds of them drifting in faint trails like embers caught in invisible wind. They glowed with an ethereal steadiness, hinting at forces beyond human control.
Kaito found himself speaking again, softer this time. "The rim looks stronger tonight."
Alia's gaze followed his, settling on the particles glowing in the mountain air. "Yes," she murmured. "It reacts on nights like this. Maybe because the earth itself changes when the moon does."
Her words lingered strangely with him, heavy with something more than simple observation. He wanted to ask what she meant, but hesitated.
The clock ticked past 8:45.
Only fifteen minutes left before the lunar eclipse would begin.
The air seemed to thicken, not just with human anticipation but with something deeper—like the world itself leaning closer to watch. The conversations around them grew quieter, people's attention turning upward. Children tugged at their parents' hands, pointing at the moon.
Arthur finally turned back from Mina, carrying her laughter with him like a flame. He joined Kaito and Alia again, cheeks faintly flushed from his animated talk. "Fifteen more minutes," he said, looking up at the moon that hung fat and silver in the darkening sky. "Then the show starts."
Kaito looked at him, then at Mina, then at Alia again. The four of them stood there now, together yet divided by the threads of familiarity and distance. Arthur's warmth bound Mina easily, Kaito's silence left him at the edge of Alia's world, and Alia herself remained poised, her expression calm but unreadable under the moonlight.
And overhead, the moon waited—bright, whole, almost daring them to witness its slow transformation.
---
The air in the prison of Viace was thick with rust, sweat, and despair. Each corridor was a tunnel of shadows, broken only by the yellow torchlight licking against the damp stone walls. Somewhere in the distance, a prisoner coughed and the sound echoed like a dying animal.
Samuel sat hunched in the corner of his cell, his fists trembling against his knees. His anger was so heavy it made his vision pulse red every time he blinked. Betrayed. By Guren. By Kuro. They had thrown him aside, left him to rot in this forsaken cage. And yet, even within betrayal, Samuel clung to a single sliver of hope—his own creation.
Between his hands lay a small vial. Inside was the pill he had spent months perfecting in secret: a jagged, crystalline capsule that shimmered faintly with amber flecks. Normally it was nothing more than unstable poison, a gamble with nearly no chance of survival. But during the eclipse, when solar and lunar rims overlapped into a perfect concentration of opposing forces, the pill was supposed to shift. It would no longer be mere madness in chemical form—it would become an awakening.
Solar affinity. That was the theory. The dream. His last chance.
The eclipse was near. Only fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes until the world outside darkened and aligned with his desperation. His heartbeat matched the countdown, each thump inside his ribs a reminder that destiny was both close and cruel.
The rattle of keys broke his trance. A guard approached the bars, casual in posture, swinging his baton like this was a stroll and not a duty. His expression was almost mocking, as if Samuel's very existence amused him.
"So," the guard said, leaning lazily against the cell bars, "why'd you have to play with the eclipse experiments, huh? Look where it landed you. Jail. All that brilliance wasted, just because you couldn't stop meddling with things you shouldn't touch."
Samuel glared at him but stayed silent. He wouldn't waste words on insects.
The guard chuckled. "You sit here waiting for what? Redemption? No one's coming to save you, boy. You think Guren or Kuro care about you now? They're out there building empires while you rot."
Before Samuel could spit venom back, the atmosphere shifted. Footsteps approached from the far end of the corridor—hurried, uneven, almost panicked. Another guard appeared, but his demeanor was entirely different. His hat was pulled low over his face, and his eyes never lifted from the ground. Sweat glistened across his forehead as though he'd been running through fire.
The first guard frowned. "What's with you? You look like a rat chased out of its hole."
The second guard's voice trembled. "S-someone's been murdered."
The casual guard stiffened. "Murdered? Who?"
The man lifted his face at last, and his eyes gleamed with something far too sharp to belong to a prison guard. His lips curved into a cold smile.
"You."
In one swift motion, he pulled a pistol from his coat and fired.
The sound thundered through the stone corridors. The casual guard collapsed, a red mist spraying the wall. Samuel's body jolted backward, eyes wide, stomach twisted. He had seen death before, but this—it was too sudden, too raw.
The disguised man walked closer, each step deliberate, predatory. The torchlight revealed more of his face now, and Samuel's blood froze.
"Kuro…"
His throat constricted as he staggered backward until his spine pressed against the wall. "H-have you come to kill me now?!" His voice cracked, a raw scream of rage and fear.
But then—something strange. The air shifted again.
Kuro clapped his hands. A crisp, eerie sound that rang louder than the gunshot itself.
Samuel blinked, and the illusion shattered. The fallen guard was still alive, merely unconscious, his chest rising and falling. No blood. No hole. The pistol had vanished as though it had never existed.
Samuel's breath came ragged. "You… you didn't kill him…"
Kuro was already inside the cell. Samuel hadn't even seen the door open. He was seated casually on the bench beside him, legs crossed, leaning forward with the posture of a man in total control. His crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, watching Samuel like a wolf studying cornered prey.
"I don't waste effort on meaningless murder," Kuro said softly, his voice a razor wrapped in silk.
Samuel swallowed hard, anger and confusion colliding inside him. "Then why are you here? If you came to kill me, you would've already done it. So what do you want?"
Kuro smirked. "Very sharp, my boy. That's why I always liked you. You cut through panic quicker than most. You see the knife hiding behind the smile."
Samuel's fists clenched. "Don't toy with me. I've been betrayed once. I won't be your puppet again."
Kuro leaned back, resting his elbow against the stone wall as if the prison cell were his personal chamber. His gaze flickered to the vial in Samuel's hand. "Ah. The pill. Still clinging to hope, are we? Betting your life on an unstable dream. Fitting. But listen carefully, Samuel. I did not come here for your pill. I came here… to betray Guren."
The words sank into the silence like venom into blood.
Samuel stared at him, disbelieving. "You… betrayed him? Why should I believe that?"
"Because," Kuro whispered, leaning so close Samuel could feel the chill of his breath, "if I wanted you erased, you would already be ash."
The weight of his tone carried a cruel truth. Samuel knew Kuro's strength. If he wanted him dead, he wouldn't need illusions or speeches.
Samuel gritted his teeth. "Then what's your game?"
Kuro's smile thinned. "Guren's ambition is boundless, but blind. He sees soldiers and pawns, not partners. I grow tired of serving the blind. So I've chosen differently." His crimson eyes pierced Samuel's. "You and I, Samuel, are more alike than you think. Betrayed, underestimated, cast aside. But together? We could burn them all."
The torches flickered violently as though the prison itself trembled at his words.
Samuel's hand tightened around the vial. His mind was chaos—anger at Guren, fear of Kuro, desperation for freedom. The eclipse was minutes away. His pill, his last hope, pulsed like fire in his palm.
Kuro extended a hand, sharp and pale under the flickering light. "Join me. Betrayal for betrayal. Let us carve open the eclipse itself and drown the world in something new."
Samuel hesitated, his pulse a storm. Could he trust the devil who once left him to rot? Could he ally with the very man who orchestrated his downfall? But the fire in his chest screamed for vengeance, louder than reason.
He stared at Kuro's hand, then at the eclipse's faint glow seeping faintly through the prison window. Time was almost gone.
The choice would define everything.