The rain had not stopped for three days. It fell in endless sheets, drumming against the broken rooftops and cracked streets of the city's outskirts. Shinomiya Reiji walked in silence, his coat weighed down by water, his steps measured as though each one carried the weight of something unseen.
The stench of smoke lingered in the air — not fresh, but faint enough to tell him that whatever burned here was long past saving. Charred houses lined the narrow street, their wooden beams blackened and warped. The rain hissed when it met the smoldering remains, and for a moment, Reiji swore he could hear faint voices — whispers that did not belong to the living.
He stopped. The sound was coming from the ruins of a small home at the far end. There was no door anymore, just a hollow frame. The whispers grew sharper the closer he came, weaving in and out of the rain's constant rhythm.
> "Do you remember?"
"It wasn't your fault… or was it?"
Reiji stepped inside, boots crunching over burnt debris. His eyes adjusted to the dim interior — a skeleton of a room, with a single, broken mirror still hanging on the wall. He approached it slowly.
The moment his reflection appeared, the voices stopped.
In the silence, he saw not himself, but another figure staring back — dressed in black, face hidden in shadow, but with eyes that burned faintly red.
> "You can't outrun what's already inside you," the reflection said, lips curling into a smile Reiji never made.
The glass cracked without warning, and a sharp pain flared in his chest. He staggered back, clutching his coat. Outside, the rain began to fall harder, as if the sky itself sought to bury the moment in water and thunder.
Somewhere deep within the ash and rubble, the whisper returned — softer now, but persistent.
And Reiji knew… this was not the last time he would hear it.