The second time he woke up, he didn't scream.
He had no more screams left. Just silence. And a dull ache that lived in every part of his body like a tenant who refused to leave.
He sat up slowly. The world was the same. Wrong. The sky cracked like fragile eggshells. The air was dense but moved like water. Nothing made sense here. Not the trees. Not the dirt. Not the silence.
And definitely not the man standing exactly twelve steps away from him.
Same white cloak. Same silver eyes. Same stillness that felt like the world was holding its breath.
But this time Shigure didn't ask who he was.
This time he said nothing.
The man waited. Or maybe watched. There was no way to tell what was happening behind those cold, timeless eyes.
Shigure rose to his feet. His clothes were tattered, drenched in blood both dried and fresh. He checked his chest. No stab wound. No pain.
But he remembered dying.
Not the act. The feeling.
Like being erased slowly with a dull blade.
He breathed in.
The air tasted like metal.
"You came back," the man said.
His voice was calm, but not kind. Not harsh either. Just…certain.
Shigure clenched his jaw. "Did I ever leave?"
The man tilted his head. "Interesting question. One most never get to ask."
Shigure stepped forward, only once. "I want to remember."
"You say that now," the man replied. "But you've said it before."
Something about that hit different.
Shigure opened his mouth, but the man raised one hand.
"You've said it in other loops. Other deaths. Other timelines. The words are familiar even when your soul is torn clean. That's how stubborn you are."
The man turned, walking away without sound. His cloak didn't rustle. His feet didn't disturb the ground. He moved like light sliding off a mirror.
Shigure followed.
Even though he knew better.
Even though something deep inside screamed at him to run the other way.
They walked through a forest of statues. No birds. No wind. Just towering stone figures with featureless faces, all of them in poses of agony. Some reached upward. Some knelt. Others held their heads like they were trying to scream.
"They look like they're in pain," Shigure whispered.
The man stopped. "They are."
He turned to face him again. "They were you."
A chill stabbed through Shigure's spine.
He looked closer. The shape of the shoulders. The way the arms bent. The slight tilt of the head.
They were all him.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Frozen in stone.
"How?" he asked.
The man looked up toward the cracked sky. "Every time you remember too much, the world tries to freeze that truth. Your body can't contain the memory. So it solidifies. Locks itself away."
Shigure stared into the empty eyes of a statue version of himself.
This one had its chest caved in.
The next had no head.
The one after that was curled up on the ground, hugging its knees.
"What happens if I remember everything?" he asked, not knowing why.
The man didn't answer.
He just kept walking.
Shigure followed again.
Eventually, they reached a clearing. In the center was a mirror, tall and wide, but warped like the surface of a still lake.
The man stood beside it. "Look."
Shigure hesitated.
Then he stepped forward and peered into the reflection.
He saw himself.
Not just one version.
Thousands.
Flickering rapidly.
A boy covered in chains. A soldier with a hole in his chest. A man on a throne of corpses. A child crying in the snow. A murderer. A priest. A lover. A monster.
All him.
Some screaming. Some laughing. One whispered a name he couldn't quite hear.
"Why are there so many?" Shigure asked, throat dry.
"Because you refused to stay dead."
Shigure reached for the mirror. His fingertips brushed the surface and it rippled like water.
From inside, one version of himself stepped forward.
The mirror shimmered and bent, allowing this alternate Shigure to emerge. He looked older. Paler. His eyes were sunken and dark. His lips were sewn shut.
He didn't speak.
He just raised a hand.
And pointed a blade at Shigure's heart.
There was no time to think. Shigure jumped back as the blade cut across his chest.
Pain exploded through him. It wasn't deep, but it wasn't physical either.
This was soul-deep.
"Fight," the man said calmly.
"I don't want to fight myself!"
"You always do."
The doppelgänger rushed forward again. His movements were smooth but desperate. Like someone trying to end something they could no longer carry.
Shigure dodged, barely, stumbling into a statue that shattered on contact.
He rolled to the side, grabbed a rock, and threw it.
The other Shigure caught it in one hand and crushed it to dust.
"This isn't fair!" Shigure shouted.
"No. It's truth."
The mirror Shigure lunged again, and this time, Shigure grabbed the arm.
He felt everything.
All the pain.
All the deaths.
All the memories.
He saw a world where he burned alive to save a city that forgot his name.
He saw a timeline where he lived peacefully…for one day…before it all burned again.
He saw a version of himself who made the wrong choice and lost everything. And another who made the right one and still lost it all.
He screamed.
The mirror version grinned with sewn lips.
And whispered a word directly into his soul.
"Forget."
Shigure fell backward.
But he didn't let go.
He gripped tighter.
"I won't forget," he growled. "I can't. I don't care how much it hurts!"
The reflection snarled.
The man watched silently.
Shigure grabbed the blade.
Pulled it into himself.
And the mirror version froze.
Cracks appeared in its face. Then the eyes. Then the entire body.
It shattered like glass.
And Shigure stood alone again.
Bleeding.
Shaking.
Alive.
The man finally spoke again. "You remembered your resistance. That's one piece."
Shigure dropped to one knee. "One piece of what?"
"Of yourself."
"How many are there?"
"Too many. But you'll find them."
The mirror rippled again.
This time it showed only one thing.
A girl.
Her silver hair danced in the wind.
She was walking away.
And Shigure felt like someone had tied a chain to his lungs.
The man turned. "You have another choice now."
Shigure looked up.
"What?"
The man nodded toward the edge of the clearing, where a narrow path formed in the dirt. "Go after her."
Shigure stood.
Even though his legs were weak. Even though his body screamed no.
He walked forward.
Every step heavier than the last.
Until the clearing was behind him.
And the memories started crawling back in again.
But this time…he let them.
Even the pain.
Especially the pain.
Because now he knew.
Every death left a piece behind.
And he would not stop until he put himself back together.
Even if the whole world shattered around him.