The night was heavy with rain. Droplets danced against Toshio's window like a thousand quiet knocks, yet none were loud enough to drown out the storm raging inside his chest.
He jolted awake from another dream—if it could even be called that. His sheets clung to his body, damp with sweat, his breath sharp and uneven. It wasn't the first time he'd dreamed of Aika surrounded by crimson light, whispering his name like it was both a plea and a curse.
But tonight felt… different.
Her last words still rang in his head—soft, desperate, and hauntingly real.
"Run, Toshio…"
He sat up, pressing a hand against his chest. His heartbeat thudded hard, refusing to calm. He dragged himself to the mirror, only to see eyes that looked more like a stranger's—tired, lost, frightened.
A faint flicker caught his attention. His wrist—it was glowing.
A thin crimson thread shimmered beneath his skin, glowing faintly, as though something alive pulsed inside his veins.
"What the hell…?" Toshio muttered, tracing the line with trembling fingers.
It wasn't a cut. It wasn't even drawn. It was inside him.
The same color as the mark Aika bore on her neck.
His mind went blank for a moment. Then panic struck.
He grabbed his phone and dialed Aika's number. Once. Twice. Three times.No answer.
The fourth time, the call connected. Static filled his ear. Then—her voice.Barely a whisper.
"Toshio…""Don't… come here…"
His grip on the phone tightened. "Aika! Where are you? What's going on?"
But the line went dead.
He didn't even put on a jacket.
The storm outside clawed at him as he ran across the wet pavement, the wind biting through his shirt. His sneakers splashed through puddles, water soaking into his socks. Every step burned with fear and urgency.
By the time he reached her street, lightning split the sky, illuminating the world in white for a brief, terrifying second.
Her house stood at the end of the block—small, quiet, the one place that had always felt safe.
Tonight, the front door was half open.
Rain had crept in through the doorway, soaking the mat. The light inside flickered erratically, buzzing like an old fluorescent bulb fighting for life.
"Aika!" he called, stepping inside. "It's me! Are you here?"
No answer.
The silence was suffocating.
Then he noticed the smell—metallic, sharp, cold. It wasn't hard to recognize.Blood.
His pulse raced as he turned the corner into the living room.
The scene made his stomach twist.
Strange symbols covered the walls, drawn in a glowing red substance that pulsed faintly like veins. It wasn't paint. It was alive. The sigils moved—tiny ripples spreading through each curve and line.
And there, at the center of it all, Aika knelt on the floor.
Her long hair clung to her skin, soaked from the rain leaking through the open window. Her hands were trembling as she pressed them against her temples, whispering words that didn't sound human.
"Aika…" he breathed.
She looked up. Slowly.
Her eyes—once a soft brown that reminded him of sunlight—now glowed with two colors. One golden, one crimson. They swirled like fire meeting blood.
"Toshio," she whispered. "You shouldn't have come."
He froze, the room suddenly colder. "What happened to you?"
She smiled faintly—sad, resigned. "I thought I could stop it. I really tried…"
"What do you mean?"
"The goddess… she wasn't alone," Aika said softly. "When she awakened inside me, something else woke too. Something older. It remembers everything—every life, every death. It's called the Second Echo."
Toshio's breath caught. "The Second…?"
Before he could finish, the crimson thread on his wrist pulsed violently. Aika gasped as if she felt it too.
Their eyes locked—and in that instant, something invisible connected them. A rush of warmth, followed by pain, then visions.
He saw fragments. A battlefield bathed in crimson. A girl's scream. A sword breaking.And a whisper—
Our souls are bound.
Toshio stumbled back, grabbing his chest. "What was that? What did you do to me?"
Aika shook her head, tears forming. "I didn't. It was the Echo. It found you through me."
The markings on the walls began to glow brighter. The air hummed, vibrating like the house itself was breathing.
Aika clutched her head. "It's waking again. I can't stop it."
"Then let me help you!"
"You can't," she said, her voice trembling. "It's not just power—it's memory. It's rage. It's everything the old world forgot."
Toshio reached for her hand, desperate. "I don't care what it is! You're not going through this alone!"
Aika looked at him for a long, quiet moment. Her expression softened—gentle, almost loving. "That's why I was afraid you'd come…"
The light from the markings flared, throwing their shadows across the walls. The sound of crackling energy filled the air as the sigils started merging into a circle beneath her feet.
She was at its center.
"Toshio!" she shouted. "Get out!"
"No!" He ran forward, but the force hit him like a wave—throwing him back into the wall.
He coughed, struggling to stand as the floor glowed bright crimson. The sigil pulsed like a heartbeat, rising in rhythm with the glowing mark on his wrist.
Aika's hair floated around her like she was underwater.
"If I disappear," she said, voice echoing strangely, "don't follow."
"What are you saying?"
"I mean it. The blood remembers. And it's coming for you next."
Then the light exploded.
Toshio screamed her name, diving toward her, but everything vanished in the brilliance.
When the glow faded, she was gone. The markings had burned into the floor, leaving only faint black scars.
And in the center of the room—something small and red shimmered faintly.
Toshio crawled toward it. It was a pendant—a blood-red gem on a silver chain.
Aika's pendant.
He picked it up, clutching it tightly in his palm. It was still warm.
The rain outside grew heavier, drowning out everything but the sound of his breathing.
Then a voice whispered in the back of his mind.
The blood remembers… and so will you.
Toshio's body tensed. The mark on his wrist flared again—hotter, brighter. His reflection in the glass window flickered—and for a split second, it wasn't him staring back.
It was someone else.A man with the same face—but older, colder. Eyes like molten gold.
He staggered back, his heart hammering. "What… was that?"
The reflection smirked faintly before fading away, leaving only his terrified face staring back.
And in the silence that followed, a single drop of blood fell from his wrist—glowing, pulsing, alive.