She smiled through the blood.
"Run, Arin… Live. For me."
Her voice echoed.
He reached for her—
But she faded into smoke—
And he was falling—
Gasp!
He jolted awake.
The alarm screamed beside him. Arin slammed it off and sat up, breath ragged, drenched in sweat.
The same dream. Every night.
It had been six months.
He was seventeen now.
No longer the quiet boy who hid in corners.
But he still felt like one.
Dragging himself out of bed, Arin stepped into the bathroom. The cold water stung his skin as he splashed it on his face.
He looked into the mirror.
A scowl met him—eyes dark, tired, and hollow.
He clenched the edge of the sink, jaw tight.
Then, wordless, he grabbed his jacket and stepped outside.
The city had moved on. But he hadn't.
He pedaled through the early morning fog, weaving between traffic with a delivery box strapped to his back.
Another package. Another stop.
Another day pretending everything was fine.
He now lived under a different name, in a government shelter for orphans of the gate incident. It kept him hidden. Anonymous.
He made his rounds quietly, like always.
Meanwhile, in a sleek, high-security Scout Division office—
"Sir," an assistant called, stepping into Vale's office. "We've recovered the old footage. The security cam data around the area of the breach — it's been restored."
Vale, the regional Scout commander, turned from the glass window.
"Show me."
Clips flickered across the screen. Most were ruined. Blurs. Static. Heat damage.
Then—one, clearer than the others.
A boy, sprinting through the smoke and chaos.
Running toward the restaurant. Toward where the Gate had opened.
Vale leaned in.
His brows knit. He didn't say anything. But something in his gut tightened.
"That's the one who made the call," the assistant said. "We still haven't found him."
Vale stared at the image.
The boy was already gone by the time rescue teams arrived.
Vanished.
---
Back on the streets—
Arin completed his final delivery just before dusk. The clouds above rumbled, gray and heavy.
He steered his bike toward the edge of town.
To a quiet hill with a small cemetery.
He walked, slow, the delivery bag slung over his shoulder.
Then he stopped before the grave.
Mira's name etched into the stone.
He knelt, placing fresh flowers there—lilies, her favorite.
The first drops began to fall.
The rain poured softly, mixing with the tears already running down his cheeks.
Fifteen seconds.
Silence.
Then a whisper—
"I'm sorry," Arin choked, voice breaking. "I wasn't strong enough… I should've saved you..."
He knelt lower, forehead touching the wet stone, crying in the rain.
A hand rested gently on his head.
Arin froze.
He looked back.
Vale stood behind him.
Arin quickly turned his face away, wiping at his eyes.
He sat up straighter, swallowing the sobs, forcing the tears back.
Vale didn't move his hand. His voice came gently.
"It's okay to cry."
Arin stayed quiet.
Vale crouched beside him.
"I've come here before," he said softly. "Watched you leave the flower."
"I know what you're thinking. That it was your fault."
He paused, letting the rain fill the silence.
"But it wasn't."
"Sometimes… no matter how hard we try… we still lose the ones we love. It hurts. It feels unfair. But that pain… doesn't mean you failed her."
Arin's fingers curled into fists.
"I should've been stronger," he whispered. "Faster. Something. Anything…"
Vale looked at him—not with pity, but with understanding.
"I used to think the same thing," he said. "Every day. About my wife. My son."
Arin turned, startled.
Vale's eyes were steady but distant—like he was staring at a ghost.
"I wasn't there in time. And when I did get there… there was nothing left to save."
A moment passed.
"I nearly drowned in that guilt. But then I asked myself… if I couldn't save them, could I at least stop it from happening to someone else?"
He exhaled.
"That's why I do what I do now. It doesn't erase the past—but it gives it meaning."
He stood slowly, the rain dripping from his coat.
He looked down at Arin.
"I've been watching you, Arin. I know what you did that day. You ran toward the danger—toward her—not away from it. That's not weakness."
He offered his hand.
"You don't have to carry it alone. You still have a choice."
Arin stared at the ground.
"...You're just wasting your time on a loser," he muttered. "I couldn't even save the person who mattered most to me..."
"I'm sorry."
He stood without taking the hand.
And walked away—
Down the muddy path.
Away from the grave.
Away from the choice.
Vale didn't follow.
He just stood there, watching Arin disappear into the mist.
---
Arin returned to the shelter as the sky deepened into dusk.
He dropped his bag on the table without a word.
His clothes were damp. His shoulders heavy.
He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Not asleep. Just… still.
Then, faintly — outside the window — came laughter.
Children's voices. The creak of swings. A mother calling her son back from the slide.
Arin sat up and glanced toward the window. The small neighborhood park across the street was still alive with movement.
He stepped outside.
He sat on a park bench, alone.
Just a quiet kid in a hoodie, blending into the world.
The city felt strangely calm.
Children played on swings. A little girl tugged her mother toward the slide.
Someone's old radio played a soft song from the 90s.
Arin had always loved parks.
Not for the noise or the rides — but for the memories.
He watched a small boy laugh as his father pushed him on a swing — back and forth, feet kicking the air.
And for a moment, he saw a different image:
Himself, years ago…
And Mira, smiling behind him, her hands on the chains, gently pushing him just like that.
The memory stung — but it brought warmth too.
For a moment, Arin imagined disappearing into this normalcy—
Just a face in the crowd.
Just a kid again.
Then—
BOOM.
The ground trembled.
A blast tore through the air. Car alarms screamed. Birds scattered in a flurry.
People froze.
Then came the screams.
Smoke began rising — thick, dark — from between two distant buildings.
A second explosion hit — closer this time.
Arin jumped to his feet, eyes wide.
Cracks split the sky with a sound like shattering glass — glowing blue veins pulsing near the playground fountain.
A gate had opened.
Right in the park.
And something was coming through.