The days didn't stop.
They moved forward like a river that didn't care what it washed away.
Yor couldn't remember when he had last smiled. Not really. Maybe it was weeks ago — when Yuna managed to eat half a bowl of soup on her own. Back then, he had thought that was a sign of hope. But now, even that felt like a cruel joke.
Her condition was worse.
And every time the morning light crept into their home, it brought nothing but more silence, more stillness.
Akari barely left Yuna's side now. Her hair had lost its shine, tied messily each day. She had become quieter, thinner. Sometimes Yor caught her whispering prayers to the ancestors under her breath, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Hiro was no different. He barely spoke. Each night he still sat outside with his sword, staring at it as if waiting for it to speak back — as if the steel remembered the days when his name carried meaning. When he still had power.
Yor would sometimes stand behind the curtain and watch him. Part of him wanted to ask, What were you like back then, Father? But he never did. Because he already knew the answer would hurt.
---
On the fourth day since Yuna stopped speaking altogether, Yor tried to sell his jacket.
It was the good one — the one his mother had stitched patches onto when he was twelve, after he'd torn it falling from a rooftop.
The shopkeeper at the edge of Sector 13 laughed when Yor placed it on the counter.
> "You'll be lucky if a beggar takes it for free," the man sneered.
Yor didn't reply. He just picked it back up and walked out.
As he stepped into the street, he caught his reflection in a shattered glass pane. A boy with hollow cheeks, cracked lips, and sunken eyes stared back at him. The same boy who once dreamed of taming a beast. Of rising through the ranks. Of being a protector.
Now he just wanted to keep his sister breathing one more day.
---
That night, the rain returned — soft at first, then heavy.
It drummed against the old wooden roof of their home, leaking through in three spots. Yor used pots to catch the water, trying to stay quiet so he wouldn't wake Yuna.
But she was already awake.
She blinked slowly at him, lips dry, voice barely a whisper.
> "You're still here…?"
He turned quickly, moving to her side. "Of course I'm here."
> "You should sleep."
> "I will. After you do."
She tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You've always been stubborn…"
Her hand trembled as it reached for his. He took it gently, holding it like it might shatter.
> "You remember the phoenix?" she murmured again.
Yor nodded, tears already forming.
> "Then remember the ashes too."
Her fingers tightened weakly. "Even ashes have warmth."
---
After she fell asleep again, Yor remained sitting by her side.
Something was changing inside him. Not power. Not yet. But weight. A heavy, invisible weight pressing into his chest. The kind that made your soul ache. The kind that made people break.
He stepped outside after midnight, the rain still pouring.
He walked toward the edge of the sector — not to escape, but because he didn't know what else to do. Each step felt heavier than the last.
He ended up at the border fence. Beyond it was nothing but old wasteland and monster-infested ruins. They used to call it the Hollow Spine. A place where no one returned from.
Yor stood there for a long time.
And for the first time in his life, he considered it.
> Should I cross?
Not to die. But to find something. Anything.
Maybe a miracle.
Maybe a monster.
Maybe himself.
---
Back at home, Akari stood at the window, watching the rain.
Beside her, Hiro finally spoke after what felt like days.
> "It's beginning," he said softly.
She didn't turn. "You think it's really him?"
> "I don't think. I know."
> "But the seal—"
> "It's cracking."
He walked over, placing a hand on her shoulder.
> "He'll find the truth soon."
She closed her eyes. "And when he does?"
> "He won't be the same."
---
Far beyond Sector 13, deep within the Hollow Spine, a presence opened its eyes again.
Not fully.
Not yet.
But it had stirred more than before.
Something was waking.
Not with fury.
But with memory.
It remembered a boy whose ancestors once walked with fire and storm. Whose blood once roared like thunder.
The boy didn't know yet.
But the world… was beginning to remember him.
And in the quiet that followed the rain, even the monsters paused.
Because a storm was building.
But its roar… was still a whisper.
---