The rain had turned the streets into rivers of mud and moonlight.
Kyle walked with his hands in his coat pockets, hood half up, boots splashing through shallow puddles that reflected the crooked lanterns overhead.
The town was quiet — too late for merchants, too early for thieves.
Then it hit.
A flicker — faint, distant, but powerful enough to make the clouds tremble.
Up beyond the far hills, over the horizon, the sky cracked open for just a heartbeat.
A pillar of light, gold and red, rising from the direction of the Imperial Capital.
Kyle stopped in the middle of the street, water dripping from his hood, and watched the glow fade into the storm.
"...Ah. So they finally did it," he muttered.
That particular kind of light — the kind that didn't belong to this world — he hadn't seen it in centuries.
The Summoning Flare.
The same one that had scorched the sky the last time a "Hero" arrived to save the world.
He still remembered that one.
Bright kid. Thought he could outsmart fate.
Died screaming in a field of fire when the Demon King tore the capital in half.
Kyle sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess history's running out of ideas."
He stopped by the old bulletin board next to a food stall, water pooling around his boots. The barkeep had been too drunk to deliver fresh news, but the paperboy wasn't.
A few damp sheets were nailed under a cracked lantern, headlines bleeding from the rain:
ELVEN KINGDOM RETALIATES – SLAVE TRADE ROUTES DESTROYED, HUNDREDS DEAD.
DWARVES UNVEIL GOLEM TITANS – "STRONG ENOUGH TO TEAR WALLS DOWN."
EMPIRE SUMMONS HERO FROM ANOTHER WORLD – CROWD REJOICES AS LIGHT DESCENDS.
There it was — the photo.
Some artist's magical capture of the Empire's central plaza, fireworks frozen midair.
In the middle of it all: a young man, maybe twenty at best. Black hair. Modern clothes barely replaced with ceremonial robes.
Smiling like he'd just woken up in his favorite story.
Hand raised, crowd cheering, the words "The Savior Has Come" in bold beneath it.
Kyle stared at it for a few seconds, rain hissing against the parchment.
Then he laughed softly under his breath.
"Ahh, another kid who thinks he's the main character," he said. "Hope the world doesn't eat him too fast."
He rolled the paper up, tucked it under his arm, and turned toward the forest road.
The rain thinned as he left the town, boots crunching against wet gravel.
The path ahead was a dark line between trees, fireflies blinking in the fog.
Somewhere far behind him, the last echoes of the summoning light faded from the sky.
Kyle shoved his hands back into his pockets and grinned faintly to himself.
"Another demon king, another hero, another cycle of idiots dying for someone else's idea of 'peace'... Let's see how long this one lasts."
The forest wind answered with a low, hollow whisper — not quite words, but enough to make the air colder for a moment.
He didn't flinch. Just kept walking, head tilted back slightly, humming to himself.
Because for the first time in a long, long while,
the world had started moving again.
After some while Kyle reached the inn he was staying at.
The bell above the door gave a tired cling as Kyle pushed into the inn.
Warm air, faint ale smell, and the familiar flick of orange firelight greeted him. The rain was a muffled noise behind him now, dripping off his coat as he shook it out.
Behind the counter, Dave — broad, balding, gruff — was mid-lecture. Lia, the cat-eared receptionist, had her tail puffed in irritation, ears flat, arms crossed like a sulking child.
Kyle grinned, walking up and tapping the counter twice.
"Well, ain't this my favorite evening entertainment. What'd Lia do this time? Burn down the kitchen? Lose another room key?"
Lia shot him a glare that could melt iron. "I didn't do anything this time."
Dave snorted, rubbing his temple. "She 'forgot' to note down a merchant's room number. Poor bastard ended up sleeping in the stable with the damn horses. Woke up smelling like one too."
Kyle let out a whistle, smirking. "Damn. Guess that's one way to get close to nature."
Lia's ears twitched. "You're one to talk, old man. You haven't paid your tab from last week."
Kyle leaned on the counter, pretending to think. "Right, right... remind me again, was it me who saved you from that drunk noble swinging a chair two nights ago? Or some other 'old man'?"
"Doesn't mean you get free drinks!"
He chuckled, tapping his chest. "No, no. It means I get discounted ones. Hero's discount, yeah?"
Dave groaned. "For the love of the gods, you're both giving me a headache."
He poured Kyle a mug anyway — dark ale, smooth, same as always — and slid it across the counter.
Kyle caught it one-handed and raised it slightly. "To stable-sleeping merchants and overworked innkeepers."
"Cheers to your nonsense," Dave muttered, but his lips twitched.
Lia turned away, tail flicking. "I hope the demon lord eats you first."
Kyle smirked. "Oh, sweetheart, if he ever tries, I'll make him choke."
That earned him a barely hidden smile before she stomped off toward the back room.
He took a slow sip, the warmth settling deep in his chest. The laughter, the little bickering — it all felt… nice. Human. Familiar.
He'd watched empires rise and fall, seen kingdoms burn for less. But this — the small noise of people living — it was what he always came back for.
Outside, thunder rolled low and distant.
Somewhere far beyond the forest line, a hero's story was beginning.
Here, in the dim light of a cozy inn, Death himself leaned back on a barstool, smiling like a man with no cares in the world.