The lights of Tokyo flickered against the fading night, streetlamps bowing one by one to the first blush of dawn. The city stirred beneath a pale orange sky — trains rumbled awake, neon signs blinked their last breaths, and somewhere in the heart of it all, Akira Kurogane buttoned his uniform jacket.
His reflection in the window looked like a ghost of himself — dark eyes, calm expression, and a weariness that didn't belong to someone his age. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he stepped into the chill morning air and made his way toward the station.
The platform was crowded, alive with the usual blur of voices and footsteps. While he was waiting, Akira noticed a man standing a few meters away — dressed in a long gray coat, his posture stiff, his expression completely blank. Something about him felt strangely familiar, though Akira couldn't place why.
Then, slowly, a shadow began to form behind the man — faint at first, then stretching and twisting until a pair of red eyes blinked open within the darkness. Akira's breath hitched. He stared, unblinking, as the shadow seemed to notice him. For a single, unnerving moment, it turned its gaze directly toward him before melting silently into the ground.
Akira didn't move. His heart thudded against his ribs.
"Oh no… another one," he whispered under his breath. He tightly folded his fist.
He kept thinking about it, even as the crowd around him continued their morning rush, oblivious to what had just happened.
A voice broke his trance.
"Oi, Akira! You're spacing out again."
Ren's cheerful tone pulled him back. His best friend handed him a can of coffee with a grin. "You really need to sleep more, man. You look like a zombie."
Akira forced a faint smile. "Yeah… maybe."
They boarded the train together. Ren kept talking about school, games, and the latest gossip, his words fading into background noise as Akira's thoughts wandered. No matter how hard he tried, that red-eyed shadow lingered in his mind — a silent reminder that somewhere, someone's time was running out.
By nightfall, exhaustion weighed heavy on him. He changed clothes, ready to collapse into bed.
As he passed by the mirror, he paused, catching his reflection in the dim light. For a moment, he thought he saw movement behind him — a flicker, a ripple in the dark corner of the room. He blinked, heart quickening.
The mirror quivered, then began to crack. Thin fractures raced across its surface, splintering until it shattered. Glass rained to the floor, scattering light across the room.
And from within the shards came a sound — a low, familiar laugh.
It slithered through the silence, chilling and cruel.
Akira froze. His pulse hammered in his ears.
Then, slowly, a form began to rise from the reflection in the broken glass — not the faint, shapeless shadows he usually saw near the dying. This one was different. Taller. Denser. Smoke twisted into a vague humanoid figure, its edges rippling like black fire. In one hand, it held a long, jagged **scythe** that shimmered faintly red under the dim light.
The shadow's eyes gleamed with malice as it leaned closer, its voice deep and distorted.
"You will watch it again."
"No…" Akira whispered, stepping back. "No, I won't!"
He clenched his fist and struck the floor, shattering a piece of glass with his knuckles. The laughter faded, drifting away like smoke. The room fell silent again — only the faint hum of the city outside.
Akira sank onto his bed, trembling, staring at the ceiling.
"It shouldn't be… not again," he murmured, his voice breaking.
His breathing slowed as exhaustion overtook him. Slowly, his eyes closed, and he slipped into a deep sleep —
a dream waiting to drag him back into the darkness of his past.