Arc 5: The Looming Storm
The rain had started long before Ren realized he was lost.
It came in thin, whispering sheets that barely touched the ground before vanishing into mist. The streetlights along the old district flickered like dying embers, their glow struggling to pierce the curtain of drizzle.
Ren's breath came out pale and uneven as he walked down the narrow path between the old buildings. Each window was closed, each door sealed, as though the entire neighborhood had fallen asleep decades ago. Even the sound of rain couldn't drown the strange rhythm echoing somewhere ahead—soft, deliberate footsteps.
He stopped.
The sound stopped, too.
"...Hello?"
His voice felt small in the empty night. Only the wind answered, carrying a faint metallic scent that reminded him of the hospital corridors he'd once wandered as a child.
Ren tightened his grip on the umbrella. He didn't remember why he came here—only that he had to. Something inside had pulled him from his room, down the empty streets, to this place that smelled of rust and forgotten prayers.
Then, behind him, a faint click.
He turned sharply.
A single paper talisman was nailed to the wall. The ink had almost faded, but when lightning flashed, he saw something glimmer beneath its surface—symbols drawn in dark red, smeared as if by trembling hands.
Ren stepped closer. His fingertips brushed the paper.
And in that moment—
—the air broke apart.
He saw a flash: a room covered in talismans, the floor slick with blood. A figure sat at the center, back turned, muttering something he couldn't hear. The voice was low, pained, almost human. Then a whisper reached him.
"You shouldn't have come here."
Ren gasped and stumbled backward, crashing into the wall. The world snapped back into the present—rain, cold, darkness. The talisman now hung limp and lifeless, as if it had never moved.
His pulse hammered.
"Not again…" he whispered.
The echoes came again—footsteps, slow and heavy.
He turned toward the sound, heart pounding.
A silhouette stood at the far end of the street.
Tall. Still. Watching.
For a moment, Ren couldn't move. The light from the streetlamp flickered across the figure's face, but its features remained hidden—blurred by the rain and the distance.
"Who are you?" Ren shouted.
The figure tilted its head slowly, unnervingly calm.
Then it turned away and walked into a narrow passage between two buildings.
Ren followed without thinking. His shoes splashed through puddles, his breath uneven. The passage smelled of wet earth and old incense. Somewhere in the dark, he could hear water dripping in irregular beats, like the ticking of a broken clock.
At the end of the path stood a rusted iron gate. Beyond it lay a courtyard that looked untouched for years. Weeds crawled over the cracked stones. In the center stood a small wooden shrine, half-collapsed, its roof sagging under the weight of moss and rainwater.
On the gate, someone had carved words into the metal. The letters were uneven and deep:
"帰るな — Don't come back."
Ren felt a chill crawl up his neck.
He could turn back now. Pretend he never came.
But then he heard it—a sound faint enough to make him doubt himself.
A lullaby.
Soft, slow, like a memory long buried.
He climbed over the gate.
The air changed the moment his feet touched the courtyard. The world felt muted, the rain quieter, as if he had stepped into a place that didn't belong to time. The song continued, echoing from the shrine.
He approached carefully. The door was slightly open, creaking with every gust of wind. Inside, the air smelled of dust and iron. Candles lay melted on the floor, their wax hardened into strange shapes.
Ren's hand trembled as he pushed the door open wider.
Inside, the shrine was filled with old talismans—hundreds of them—covering the walls, the floor, even the altar. Each was written in red ink that looked too dark to be paint.
In the corner, under a broken window, sat a small wooden box.
Ren knelt and opened it.
Inside lay a faded photograph.
His father, Hana, and himself—smiling in front of their old house.
But behind them, half-hidden in the photo's shadow, was another figure.
The same one from the alley.
Ren froze.
His fingers tightened around the edges of the picture until they shook.
"…No."
He dropped the photo, stumbling backward as cold air rushed through the window. The candle stubs around him flickered, one by one, then burst into pale blue flames. The talismans began to twitch, their ink bleeding as the symbols distorted.
Ren turned and ran.
He crashed through the door into the rain, slipping on the wet stone as he fled the courtyard. Behind him, the flames went out all at once, leaving only silence.
When he reached the main street, he stopped and gasped for air.
The rain had grown heavier now, washing the ink from his hands. His reflection trembled in a puddle at his feet—eyes wide, face pale.
And then, faintly, from behind the walls of the old district—
—the lullaby began again.
This time, it whispered his name.
"Ren…"
He didn't look back.
He couldn't.
The footsteps returned, pacing slowly in rhythm with his heartbeat, following him through the rain until he disappeared into the dark.