Kaito Morikawa sat quietly at his desk.
The office was dim, illuminated only by a single desk lamp whose warm glow barely reached the far corners of the room. Shadows clung to the walls like something alive, unmoving. Papers were stacked neatly in front of him—reports, orders, confirmations—untouched. Too neat. Too deliberate.
His black hair fell loosely around his face, strands casting thin shadows over eyes that glowed a deep, unsettling red. Those eyes stared forward, unfocused, as though watching something that wasn’t there.
The silence was absolute.
Then—
The door slammed open.
“WHY DID YOU SEND ME OUT THERE TO GET KILLED?!”
The shout tore through the room, bouncing violently off the stone walls.
Kaito didn’t flinch.
Sora Amamiya stormed inside, blue hair disheveled, breath ragged. His chest rose and fell with fury as his black eyes burned with accusation. He pointed a shaking finger straight at Kaito.
“You knew what was out there!” Sora snarled. “You knew the royal knights were moving!”
Kaito finally lifted his gaze.
“Sit down,” he said calmly. “And lower your voice.”
The calmness only fueled the fire.
Sora laughed bitterly. “Calm down? You want me to calm down after you sent me straight into a death sentence?”
“You’re alive,” Kaito replied evenly. “So clearly it wasn’t.”
“That’s not the point!” Sora slammed both hands onto the desk, rattling the lamp. “I trusted you. You said it was a simple cleanup—escaped syndicate members. And then—”
He sucked in a sharp breath.
“—Gideon Falk.”
Kaito’s eyes narrowed, just slightly.
“You encountered the First Captain?”
“He was riding back to the kingdom with his men,” Sora snapped. “They spotted me. No questions. No warnings. They tried to kill me on sight.”
The room fell silent again.
The lamp hummed softly.
“…I’m sorry,” Kaito said at last.
Sora froze.
“You’re… sorry?” he repeated, disbelief bleeding into his voice.
“Yes,” Kaito said. “That was not accounted for.”
Sora stared at him, then let out another laugh—hollow this time, cracked at the edges.
“If I’d been a second slower,” he said quietly, “I’d be dead.”
Kaito leaned back in his chair. “Did you regain your memories?”
Sora’s expression darkened instantly.
“I did.”
“…Good.”
“Good?” Sora snapped. “I wouldn’t have them if I died!”
Kaito folded his hands together. “You still have two hearts left. You’ll be fine.”
That stopped Sora completely.
“…You say that like it’s nothing,” he muttered.
The anger drained out of him all at once, leaving exhaustion behind. He dragged a chair back with a scrape and dropped into it, rubbing his temples.
“…Those memories,” Sora said after a moment. “They don’t feel like mine.”
Kaito tilted his head slightly. “What do you remember?”
Sora exhaled slowly, as if steadying himself.
“I remember running,” he said. “Through a forest. Nighttime. Cold air. I was being chased.”
“By whom?”
“Human traffickers,” Sora replied. “A group of them. I could hear their breathing. Their boots. One of them laughed every time I stumbled.”
His fingers curled unconsciously into his palms.
“One of them threw a spear,” he continued. “It hit my head. Went straight through.”
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Kaito didn’t react.
“I should’ve died,” Sora said quietly. “I knew that. But I didn’t.”
He swallowed.
“I kept running. Pulled the spear out myself. Blood everywhere. But… no pain. Not even fear. Just… urgency.”
Kaito’s gaze sharpened, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
“When I finally escaped,” Sora said, “I collapsed. Passed out. And when I woke up…”
He looked up.
“You were sitting next to the bed.”
Kaito nodded once.
“Do you remember your family?” Kaito asked.
Sora shook his head slowly. “No. Nothing. Just the chase.”
“…I see,” Kaito murmured.
Sora frowned. “How strange is that?”
Kaito didn’t answer.
The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.
“…You’re not going to explain, are you?” Sora said quietly.
Kaito remained still.
After a few seconds, Sora stood.
“…Fine,” he said. “I’m done here.”
He turned and walked out. The door closed softly behind him, the sound far gentler than when it had opened.
Kaito remained alone.
“…Too early,” he whispered.
Thousands of Years Ago
In a small, quiet village surrounded by mist-covered hills, a child was born.
His name was Yurei.
At the moment of his birth, the midwife screamed.
The child had no limbs.
No eyes.
Only a small mouth rested where a face should have been.
The villagers recoiled in horror. Some crossed themselves. Others backed away as if the infant itself were cursed.
But his parents did not.
“It’s our son,” his mother said, holding him close despite her trembling hands. “That’s all that matters.”
They raised him with unconditional love.
They fed him.
They sang to him.
They held him when he made soft, strange noises—sounds that almost resembled laughter.
For seven months, nothing happened.
Then one night—
Yurei was breastfeeding.
His mother screamed.
“—AAAAAAHHH!”
It was not a scream of pain.
It was a scream of loss.
Her soul was being torn from her body.
Yurei clung to her, his mouth pressed against her chest as something unseen flowed into him. Light drained from her eyes as her scream faded into a hollow gasp.
The father burst into the room.
“What’s wrong—?!”
He froze.
His wife lay lifeless.
And the thing in her arms—
No.
His son—
Was glowing faintly.
“Yurei…?” he whispered.
The child turned.
And devoured him too.
When it was over, two bodies lay cold on the floor.
Yurei changed.
Limbs formed.
Eyes opened.
A face shaped itself into something eerily familiar.
He stood—now resembling his father.
And he was hungry.
The village did not survive the night.
Screams echoed until there were none left.
When the last soul was consumed, Yurei stood alone among the ruins.
Then he walked.
Into the Everdawn Forest.
The forest was endless.
The sun never set.
Trees towered like frozen sentinels. Leaves did not move. Time did not move.
Yurei walked.
And walked.
And walked.
For a thousand years.
Unaware.
Unchanging.
Waiting.
