Raizen's room was small, dark—bed sagging in the middle, a rickety table jammed against the wall, one window with cracked shutters banging soft in the night breeze. He flopped onto the mattress, springs groaning like old bones, didn't bother with the blood crusting his shirt or the gash in his side, still leaking sluggish and warm. The fabric stuck to him, damp with sweat and red, tugging at his skin as he shifted.
He stared up at the ceiling—wood beams splotched with damp, spiderwebs dangling in the corners, swaying faint in the draft. Breath came slow, ragged, his mind churning like a wheel stuck in thick mud. Horden's ash—gray, fine, drifting off in the wind—kept flashing back. That voice—"Monster." It gnawed at him, circling, relentless. He scratched at the wound absently, fingers brushing crusted blood, wincing as it stung—then let his hand flop back down, heavy on the blanket. What was he supposed to do with this shit? Couldn't outrun it, couldn't unsee it—those screams, that fire, lodged deep like a splinter he couldn't dig out. Sleep slid in, heavy and slow, dragging him under despite the mess in his head.
He wasn't Raizen no more. Dream pulled him somewhere else—stone walls, old and slick with damp, moss creeping into the cracks like green veins threading the rock. The air hung thick, sour with smoke and sweat, a faint tang of rust cutting through—blood or old iron, didn't matter which.
Torches sputtered on the walls, spitting greasy light that flickered over the floor, pooling in shallow dips where the stone sagged, wet and glistening. Shadows stretched and twitched, long and jagged, clawing at the edges like they wanted out. He stood taller, different—silver hair tied back loose, strands slipping free, tickling his neck, red eyes sharp and cold—reflecting the torchlight like wet blood smudged on glass.
His hands felt steady, heavy—fuel shimmered at his fingertips, slick and tar-black, oozing slow, catching the light in oily glints that slid down his knuckles.
A man knelt in front of him—middle-aged, robes of velvet and gold all crumpled, edges frayed and caked with mud where he'd been dragged. Noble, no doubt—his face slick with sweat, streaked with dirt, tears cutting pale tracks through the grime, pooling under his eyes.
"Please," he begged, voice cracking, hoarse like he'd been yelling for hours, throat raw. "Spare my children—do anything to me, anything, just let them live,I'm begging you!" Two kids huddled behind him—girl, maybe six, boy a couple years older—clinging tight, their breath hitching loud in the damp air.
The girl's hair was matted, stuck to her cheeks with snot and tears, a tangled mess of brown; the boy's knees scabbed and bloody, peeking through torn pants, his bare feet smeared with dirt. Kezess's subordinate loomed over the noble, a broad slab of a man in black armor, dented and scratched—chains rattled in his grip as the noble thrashed, boots scraping the stone, kicking up wet dust that clung to the air, bitter on the tongue.
The shadow tilted his head, lips twitching into a tight smirk—sharp, bitter, like he'd bitten something sour. "Nah," he said, voice low, a rough edge scraping through, thick with something dark. He stepped past the man, boots scuffing the stone, crunching over grit and loose pebbles that skittered off into the gloom, swallowed by shadows. "W-wait—" the noble stammered, chains clanking as he lunged, voice breaking into a garble—"I didn't—back then,I—" trailed off into wet sobs, words lost in the echo, just noise bouncing off the walls.
It shot him a look—eyes narrowing, glinting hard—and grabbed the girl's arm. Her scream sliced through, shrill and jagged, scraping the air, bouncing off the damp stone. Fuel flared, bluish-purple, spitting sparks—flames licked up her frame, catching her tangled hair first, a quick sizzle as it shriveled black, then her patched dress, curling the edges into charred flakes before swallowing her whole.
She thrashed, a sharp whiff of burnt cloth and flesh hitting the air, thick and acrid—The smirk on its face widened, just a little, watching her turn to ash fast, a smoldering pile flecked with singed scraps, still smoking faintly.
The boy bolted, feet slipping on the slick stone, sobbing loud—messy, snot-choked wails that echoed back. It caught him by the neck, fingers sinking into soft skin, hauled him up—legs kicked air, scabbed knees scraping nothing, his torn shirt flapping loose. "Quit it," he snapped, voice rougher now, a bite to it—fuel sparked as the kid's "N-no,don't—" drowned in a gurgle, half-lost in the crackle. Fire washed over him, bluish-purple, eating his shirt first, threads smoking and peeling away, then his thin arms, skin blistering red before crumbling—Kezess held him a second longer, eyes glinting, then let him drop as ash, scattered quick, mixing with the girl's in a gray heap at the noble's knees, warm and stinking, curling faint tendrils into the damp.
The man wailed, pulling at the chains, voice splintering—"No—no,you bastard,why—my babies—" dissolving into raw noise, too torn to make sense, a choked mess of sobs and spit. It turned, red eyes glinting dull in the torchlight, and crouched close—close enough to smell the noble's sour breath, see the spit flecking his chin, the sweat beading on his brow. "Told you to watch," he said, low, a hiss under it, voice thick with something heavy.
Fuel dripped from his hand, pooling on the floor—thick, black, stinking like oil and rot, glistening wet under the flickering light, slick as it spread. He stood, slow, rolling his shoulders like they'd stiffened, and drove it through the noble's chest—not fast, dragging it out. Robes split, gold threads fraying under the tear—blood bubbled up dark, soaking the velvet, dripping thick as the fire sparked, slow burn, bluish-purple curling inside, flesh charring black, veins popping under the heat. Screams faded to wet gurgles, then silence—its lips twitched again, sharp, then ash crumbled soft, mixing with the kids', a faint mound streaked with red, still warm on the stone.
He wiped his hands on his cloak, smearing red and black into the rough weave, wet streaks catching the torchlight, and walked off—boots scuffing, cloak brushing the floor, snagging on a jagged edge. Didn't look back—just a low grunt, like he'd finished some chore. Subordinate followed, armor clanking soft, heavy steps fading as the torchlight dimmed behind them, leaving the air heavy with ash and stink.
Raizen jolted awake, breath hitching, room dark as pitch. Shutters rattled—middle of the night, cold seeping in, chilling the sweat on his skin. Chest heaved, shaky, tears already there, stinging his eyes, spilling over onto his cheeks. "W-what...what was that?" he whispered, voice trembling, small, barely audible over the rattle. Hands grabbed the blanket, twisting it tight—knuckles white, shaking hard. Horden's ash. Those kids—hair sizzling, scabbed knees kicking air. Same fire, same hands—his, but not. Was it him? Some old him? He kicked at the bedpost, foot thumping loud, then again—wood creaked, stung his toes, didn't shake the memory, just made his breath catch harder.
He curled up, knees to his chest, breath ragged, uneven. "I didn't...I wouldn't..." he mumbled, voice breaking, but it stuck—Kezess's smirk, that rough hiss, noble's choked "W–why." Tears dripped onto the pillow, quiet sobs slipping out—messy, snot mixing in, soaking the rough fabric, leaving it damp under his cheek. Monster, that voice said. Maybe it was right—maybe he'd always been this, waiting to spill out.