The night of the explosion didn't end.
It stayed with me—burning, choking, crawling under my skin—long after the flames died out and the streets of Ignis returned to their usual filth and noise.
Everyone else eventually went back to surviving.
I didn't.
I couldn't.
Because the orphanage…
My home…
Rua and Flin…
All of it was gone.
And I couldn't convince myself that it wasn't my fault.
I stayed at the Red Lantern House because there was nowhere else to go.
Miss Heinal offered me a room, soft-handed women tried to comfort me, but none of it reached me. Not really.
My body existed in that room.
My mind stayed at the ashes.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the crater.
I heard the explosion.
Saw Rua's smile vanish in smoke.
Heard Flin laughing one last time before everything was ripped apart.
I kept replaying it.
Was it because I fought back at the brothel?
Because I killed that red tide member?
Because I stood up for myself?
Because I trained?
Because I dared to climb?
If I had stayed weak, stayed invisible, stayed quiet…
Would everyone else still be alive?
The guilt rotted inside me, eating at my chest, turning every breath into something sharp.
People say despair feels like drowning.
They're wrong.
Despair feels like breathing normally…
but hating yourself for every breath.
I stopped talking.
Stopped sleeping.
Stopped eating properly.
Miss Heinal stopped trying to make conversation after the third day.
The other workers whispered about me behind curtains, the way you whisper about a ghost or a curse.
I didn't care.
I wasn't myself.
I wasn't anyone.
I was just someone who should've died with everyone else.
But I didn't die.
And the Red Tides didn't stop.
They kept sending people.
Sometimes one assassin.
Sometimes three.
Sometimes a group pretending to be drunks stumbling in for a midnight visit.
They always came for me.
And I always killed them.
I didn't kill because I wanted to.
I killed because there was no other choice.
Steel flashed.
Blood splattered.
Bodies dropped.
And I walked away.
I didn't feel fear.
I didn't feel pride.
I barely felt anything anymore.
Just emptiness.
Silence.
Despair.
Eventually, Miss Heinal confronted me.
"You haven't cleaned a table in a week," she said, voice tired but worried. "You haven't served a drink, scrubbed the floor, or even picked up your pay. Rain, you can't just—"
"I quit."
The words left my mouth so easily it scared even me.
She stared at me, eyes softening with pity I didn't deserve.
"You don't have to fight alone, child—"
"I quit."
This time, I said it like a blade.
Sharp.
Cold.
Final.
She stepped back.
"…Very well. But if you ever need—"
I walked away before she could finish.
I wasn't staying there to work anymore.
I only stayed because every night another Red Tide dog tried to slit my throat.
And I needed them to keep coming.
Because fighting them was the only thing that kept me from sinking completely.
The days blurred into each other.
I stopped caring what time it was.
Morning, night—it didn't matter.
I trained.
I woke up.
I went into the empty room Miss Heinal gave me.
I practiced my stance.
I practiced footwork.
I practiced drawing my sword.
I practiced swinging.
Over and over.
Hundreds of times.
Until sweat dropped.
Until my legs failed.
Until my arms trembled.
Until my palms bled.
Until my body couldn't move.
Then I slept on the floor.
Woke up.
Did it again.
Training was the only thing that made sense.
The only thing I could control.
The only thing I could cling to.
The orphanage… gone.
Rua… gone.
Flin… gone.
Everyone, I failed… gone.
But the basics?
My stance?
My blade?
Those were things I could still fix.
If I couldn't protect the past…
I would sharpen myself for the future.
Even if I didn't know what future I was sharpening myself for.
Every ember in the orphanage had died out.
But something else inside me had started to smolder.
A tiny ember.
Maybe rage.
Maybe grief.
Maybe a broken attempt at hope.
I didn't know.
But it stayed.
Burning softly.
Quietly.
Patiently.
Waiting for something.
Waiting for me.