Night deepened, but the city did not grow darker. It only layered itself—light over light, noise over noise—until meaning dissolved into motion. Ashen walked as he always did, neither hiding nor announcing himself, a presence that slipped through the city's systems without resistance.
She remained beside him.
At times, her reflection appeared in the glass of storefronts. At times, it did not. Ashen noticed both. He did not comment on either.
They entered a district abandoned by its owners but not by its machines. Towers rose half-lit, their upper levels swallowed by mist. Maintenance drones drifted without destination, repeating tasks long after their purpose had expired. This was a place built to function, not to live.
Ashen preferred it.
The girl slowed, her steps faltering as she stared upward. "This place feels… familiar," she said. "Like I've been here before."
Ashen stopped beneath a broken streetlamp. Its light flickered, stuttering against the wet ground. "You haven't."
She frowned. "Then why does it feel like I'm remembering something?"
He did not answer.
Memory, he was learning, did not belong to time.
They stood there longer than necessary. Wind threaded through the empty streets, carrying the faint echo of distant sirens. Ashen rested his hand against the hilt of his sword, not in preparation, but habit. The metal was cool beneath his fingers, reassuring in its simplicity.
That was when the pressure returned.
Not the city's attention.
Something closer.
Ashen felt it behind his eyes, a tightening, as if the world were trying to focus on him and failing. He turned slowly.
At the far end of the street, three figures emerged from the fog.
Not thugs.
Not patrols.
Their movements were precise. Deliberate. Too clean for criminals.
Corporate operatives.
Their coats bore no visible markings, yet Ashen recognized the subtle geometry of their gear—adaptive armor, signal-dampened helmets, weapons designed for targets that should not exist.
The girl's breath caught. "They're not here for me."
"No," Ashen said.
The operatives stopped several meters away. One of them raised a hand—not in threat, but in acknowledgment.
"Subject," the figure said through a filtered voice. "You are interfering with protected systems."
Ashen said nothing.
The operative continued. "You are causing irregularities. We are authorized to contain or eliminate you."
The girl glanced at Ashen, fear flickering across her face. "You should go."
He did not move.
One operative adjusted their visor. "There is no second subject present," they reported calmly.
The girl froze.
Ashen stepped forward.
The sword cleared its sheath with a sound too old for this world.
The operatives reacted instantly. Weapons powered up, humming with restrained force. The streetlamp above them shattered, plunging the street into shadow.
The fight was brief.
Not because it was easy.
Because Ashen did not waste motion.
Steel met synthetic flesh. Sparks burst against rain-soaked concrete. One operative fell, then another. The third managed to fire—energy tearing through the air where the girl stood.
She screamed.
The blast passed through her.
It struck the wall behind her, leaving scorched stone and nothing else.
The remaining operative hesitated.
That hesitation was fatal.
When it was over, silence reclaimed the street.
Ashen stood still, breathing evenly, sword lowered. The girl stared at the blackened wall behind her, hands shaking.
"They couldn't hit me," she whispered.
"No," Ashen said.
She turned to him, eyes wide with something worse than fear. "They couldn't even see me."
Ashen sheathed his blade.
From the fallen operatives, devices continued to blink, trying and failing to record what had happened.
ENGAGEMENT LOG: CORRUPTED
TARGET CONFIRMATION: SINGLE ENTITY ONLY
The girl hugged herself, voice trembling. "What am I?"
Ashen looked at her.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, carefully, he answered.
"You are what remains."
The city's systems struggled to process the aftermath. Somewhere, far above, something recalculated paths it had never needed before.
And Ashen understood one thing with quiet certainty:
This world was not built to survive her.