Maki's voice didn't rise, but it carried weight all the same.
"You're five, Anwyll."
"I know."
"Then act like it."
Anwyll's jaw tightened. "I am."
Yuri sat between them, her eyes darting back and forth like she was trying to hold something together that was already falling apart. Maki leaned against the wall, one hand pressed lightly against her chest as she steadied her breathing.
"This isn't acting grown," Maki said, quieter now but firmer. "This is growing up too fast."
Anwyll looked away. "No one else is going to do it."
"That doesn't mean it has to be you."
"It does."
The answer came too quickly, too sharp, and silence settled between them, heavy and suffocating. Yuri shifted slightly, glancing at him before speaking again.
"…You could stay tomorrow," she said softly. "Just for one day."
Anwyll didn't respond. Maki's gaze softened, but fear lingered beneath it.
"You don't understand the kind of people you're dealing with."
"I understand enough."
"No," she said. "You don't."
That was it. Anwyll stood abruptly, startling Yuri.
"I'm going outside."
"Anwyll—"
But he was already gone.
The cold hit him immediately, sinking into his skin as the wind cut through the empty streets like something alive. He walked without direction, his steps uneven, his breathing tight, that familiar pressure in his chest rising again. He hated it—the way they looked at him, the way they talked to him like he didn't understand anything. His hand twitched, and a spark flickered across his fingers, then another. Without thinking, he lashed out.
A bolt of lightning snapped from a nearby line into a metal pole, the sound ringing sharply through the empty street. He struck again, this time a streetlight, which burst into sparks and died instantly, plunging the area into darkness. Again and again, each strike came faster, rougher, less controlled, the energy inside him surging in response to his anger, feeding off it, growing more unstable with each release.
Then—a scream.
Yuri.
Everything stopped. His head snapped toward the building, his body frozen for a fraction of a second before instinct took over and he ran.
The door slammed open as he forced his way inside. The air felt wrong—heavy, still, suffocating. And then he saw it.
A tall figure stood in the center of the room, wrapped in a bright red cloak that almost burned against the dim light. Beneath it, black clothing dissolved into shadow, broken only by the pale surface of a half-mask that didn't look fully human. Its hand was wrapped around Maki's throat, lifting her effortlessly, her body barely resisting. Yuri was pressed against the wall, frozen in terror.
Anwyll didn't think. He moved.
Lightning surged across his arms as he rushed forward, his small frame closing the distance in seconds. "LET HER GO!" The strike came fast, wild and uncontrolled—but it never landed. The lightning bent, curving unnaturally just inches from the figure's body before scattering harmlessly into the air.
Anwyll froze.
That had never happened before.
The figure tilted its head slightly, then turned toward him. Maki struggled weakly in its grip, her voice strained. "A-Anwyll… run…"
But he didn't. Couldn't. The air itself felt heavier now, like something pressing down on him.
Then the figure moved.
Too fast.
Anwyll saw it—the shift, the motion—and reacted, but it wasn't enough. The strike landed anyway, a crushing force slamming into his side and sending him across the room. His body hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs as pain exploded through him.
For a moment, everything went white. Then sound rushed back—Yuri's voice, his own ragged breathing, the low hum of something unnatural filling the space. He forced himself up, shaking, his hand moving to his pocket.
Ball bearings.
Cold metal met his fingers, grounding him just enough. Fight smart.
With a sharp flick of his wrist, he scattered them across the ground. The tiny spheres bounced and rolled in every direction, disappearing into shadows and debris, their movement erratic and unpredictable. The figure didn't move. It simply watched.
Anwyll steadied his breathing, then struck.
Lightning shot from his hand, not toward the man, but toward the farthest bearing. The current split instantly, snapping from one sphere to another, chaining violently across the ground. Sparks leapt in chaotic patterns, filling the room with flashing arcs of light, the air buzzing with energy.
It looked like chaos.
It wasn't.
Anwyll tracked every movement, every angle, every reflection. Then he pulled.
The current shifted.
In an instant, it redirected, snapping from a hidden bearing deep in the shadows and launching forward from a blind angle—a perfect strike.
The man raised his hand.
And caught it.
The lightning twisted violently against his palm, crackling, compressing, writhing—and then it vanished, fading into nothing without resistance.
No reaction.
No effort.
Just gone.
Anwyll's eyes widened.
Then the man stepped forward and kicked.
The motion was simple. Almost casual.
The force wasn't.
The impact hit Anwyll square in the chest, and the wall behind him didn't crack—it exploded. Concrete burst outward as his body tore through it, thrown into the open air in a spray of dust and debris.
He hit the ground hard, rolled, and finally came to a stop.
The world spun.
Sound faded in and out, distant and muffled, his body refusing to respond as pain flooded every nerve. Weak sparks flickered across his skin, unstable, fading fast. His vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges.
And still—He tried to get up.