The world around him blurred into gray.
The thundering rain hadn't let up, but the blood on his face and arms had long since washed away. Only the stains beneath the surface remained—ones no rain could cleanse.
Zazm walked.
Aimlessly.
Through hollow streets lined with broken lights and forgotten buildings. This wasn't the city he once knew—it was the part no one ever looked at. Abandoned, lifeless, yet echoing with whispers.
Voices.
"You're a killer."
"You're just like him."
"You chose this."
Each step dragged.
His legs trembled, screaming for rest, for escape, but he didn't stop.
His fingers occasionally twitched, as if trying to reach for something—anything—but there was nothing. Only emptiness. And the soft squelch of water beneath his every step.
The rain soaked through his clothes.
His Catalyst earring felt like a weight dragging him downward. His powers, now silent, felt distant. Useless.
He kept walking.
Eyes half-lidded. Shoulders slumped. Hair plastered to his face.
Time passed—minutes? Hours? He couldn't tell.
Eventually… he saw it.
A small public park nestled between two towering apartment blocks. The trees there, skeletal and drenched, offered no comfort. The paint on the metal swing set was rusted. The sandbox was flooded.
There were stairs leading down to the park's base.
He took one step.
Then another.
And by the fourth, his legs finally gave up.
Zazm fell forward—face-first into the muddy ground.
He didn't move.
Didn't groan.
Didn't try to lift himself.
His face stayed buried in the dirt, arms limp beside him, fingers barely twitching.
His breath was shallow.
His tears hadn't stopped—but no one could see them anymore. They mixed with the rain, with the mud, with the earth that swallowed his sorrow.
And he just lay there.
Broken.
Alone.
Silent.
Like the last remaining ghost of something that once had meaning.
The mud clung to his cheeks. Cold. Wet. Heavy.
But Zazm didn't move.
His chest pressed into the dirt, rising and falling like the tide of a dying world. The sounds of the city were distant. Muted. Only the rain spoke now—tapping gently against his back like fingers trying to wake the dead.
"I killed 139 people," he thought.
The number echoed. Burned itself into the fabric of his mind. He didn't try to push it away anymore. What was the point?
'You did what you had to.'
'You saved them.'
'You had no choice'
'Besides they were all human scums.
Lies.
He had a choice. He could've hesitated. He could've waited. He could've died instead. Who's he's to dodge anyone?
But he didn't.
He killed. He chose to.,
Zazm closed his eyes, letting the filth and the rain coat him like a shroud.
FLASH
A memory struck—two years ago.
He was walking home from highschool with Jahanox one day and be saw an injured cat stuck on a tree, he told Jahanox the cat would die and when Jahanox tried to save it he stopped him saying it can cause some issues. He could've saved the cat.
But he turned away.
"It might create unnecessary consequences," he had told himself. "I can't risk it."
And then... the screech of tires. A yowl. Silence.
That same cat had returned tonight.
Not alive.
But as judgment.
FLASH
Another memory.
He and Jahanox were eating dinner at his house one night when Jahanox said that he wants to help people, he said he's actually not like Zazm he cares for others.
Zazm remembered nodding. Saying nothing.
But secretly, he wanted that too.
Now look at him.
Face-down in the mud. Blood on his soul. Bones trembling not from cold—but from guilt.
'You're just like him.'
'You also killed people for your own good.'
'How many people you could've saved but refused saying it can cause disruptions in the timeline?'
He let out a small, broken laugh. It caught in his throat and turned into a sob. It hurt. Everything hurt.
"What's the point of saving everyone," he whispered, his voice muffled by the dirt, "if I can't even look at myself afterward…"
His fingers dug into the mud as if trying to bury himself deeper.
Flash.
Jennie
Smiling. Laughing as she painted, offering him a brush. Her voice ringing like light.
"You don't always have to act like you're alone."
He remembered brushing that comment off.
But she was right.
Now… she had cried for him. Tried to reach for him. And he walked away.
"Yeah sorry Jennie....." He whispered his voice low and broken.
The rain had soaked through every layer of his clothes. It no longer mattered. Nothing did.
Zazm lay there, unmoving.
Each droplet hitting his back felt like a whisper. Each gust of wind like a breath from the past, crawling down his spine.
Flash.
Miwa's laughter—loud, chaotic, unstoppable—echoed in his head.
He saw her tugging on Minos's arm, teasing him about his secret crush, while Minos blushed and muttered something defensive, trying to stay serious.
Zazm had watched from the side, smirking"You two are like fireworks and concrete," he had joked once. "One of you is going to explode, and the other's just going to absorb it."
Miwa had laughed until she choked.
He remembered thinking… they're safe here. With us.
Now he wasn't sure if that was still true.
"They looked at me like I was a stranger."
"Like I was the danger."
He gritted his teeth. His fingers curled deeper into the dirt.
Flash.
Kiyomasa, grinning like a dork, holding out a badly made rice ball.
"I made this for you!" he'd said. "It's not poisoned. Probably."
Zazm had stared at it like it was radioactive.
"I don't even like pickled plum," he muttered.
"Exactly!" Kiyomasa laughed. "More for me then!"
Zazm had smiled without realizing it. Not forced. Not fake. Just… peace.
Now Kiyomasa was half-dead, shot, bleeding out because he wasn't there in time. The person who treated like his own younger brother.
"I tried to protect him…"
"But all I did was show up after everything was already broken."
The guilt punched deeper.
Flash.
Minos.
So cold, so quiet, but he always paid attention. Zazm remembered how Minos would linger a second longer when someone looked down or distracted always watching, always calculating not because he didn't trust, but because he cared too much.
They'd once been on a rooftop during a night patrol, and Minos had asked him:
"You're not afraid of dying, are you?"
Zazm remembered staring at the stars.
"Nah," he'd replied. "I'm afraid of dying useless."
Now he wasn't sure what kind of death he had committed that night—if it was part of him, or someone else entirely.
Flash.
Caspian.
The one behind it all.
Not the one who smirked with a gun and mocked their pain.
But the Caspian who sat with him on a rooftop once, legs dangling over the edge.
"I don't believe in good or evil," Caspian had said. "Just in moves. You make a move. The board changes. That's all."
Zazm had scoffed. "That's a cold way to look at the world."
Caspian had smiled. "That's why I like being around you. You pretend to be nice and normal. But you're not. I think that's hilarious."
Zazm let out a shaky breath.
His body curled in tighter.
He whispered, barely audible:
"I didn't like you Caspian but I never wanted you to turn out like that."
His voice cracked.
The tears came again, harder now, mixing with the filth and the cold and the weight of everything.
"I should've stopped you… I should've seen it."
His voice grew louder, more broken.
"You were twisted. You lied. You killed people. But you were still…"
He couldn't finish.
His fist slammed into the mud beneath him. His face pressed back into the dirt.
The tears came again.
Not because he was weak.
Not because he regretted pulling the trigger.
But because it all could have been different.
And he would never get to know what that version of the story looked like.
"WHY?!"
But there was no answer.
Only the rain.
Only the guilt.
And only the terrible truth:
[ Zazm Mystic wasn't their protector—just a boy who played with borrowed power, using friendship as a mask for his selfish need to feel important. ]
Zazm laughed to himself a little before everyone's face once again started flashing Infront of him, in some scenarios he was hated, in some he was left alone, in some he was accepted but it all somehow felt empty. He didn't wanted to face them.
'Zazm....what are you doing?'
'You are pushing them away.'
'Why? because you're afraid they'll hate you if they find out who you really are'
---
Jahanox stepped inside his quiet house, rainwater dripping from his coat as he carried Kiyomasa on his back. The air was still, almost suffocating in its silence. But when he saw his parents—still unconscious on the floor where Zazm had left them—his heart clenched with a sharp ache.
He rushed over, gently laying Kiyomasa down and falling to his knees beside his mother. Trembling hands cupped her cheek.
"Mom… Dad…"
They were breathing. Alive.
A broken sigh escaped him as he pulled them both into a tight embrace, burying his face between their shoulders. He held them for a long moment before activating his healing ability, a faint glow running across their skin.
He could feel the bruises and tension fade from their bodies under his touch. He had already healed Kiyomasa earlier during the chaos, but this—this was different. This was home.
He gently carried them to their room, placing them softly onto the bed like porcelain, brushing strands of hair out of his mother's face.
Then, sitting at the edge, he pressed two fingers to their temples. Slowly, carefully, he began removing the memory fragments from tonight—Caspian's betrayal, the guns, the fear, the terror.
But as he worked, his hand stopped trembling.
What if…
What if he removed more?
What if he made everyone forget? What if no one remembered Caspian? What if he never existed?
Maybe Zazm wouldn't have to carry the weight of that bloodbath. Maybe his friends wouldn't cry themselves to sleep tonight. Maybe—
He slapped himself across the face, the crack echoing in the silent room.
"No," he whispered harshly. "We're not that weak. He's not that weak."
His parents shifted slightly on the bed, peaceful now, oblivious to the torment their son and his friends bore. Jahanox gave them a small, broken smile and stood, pulling the blanket over them.
He left the room, changed into dry clothes, and sank down against the wall in the hallway. His body was warm, but he felt so cold. The events of the night replayed over and over again—Caspian's smirk, Zazm's shattered expression, the rain, the blood.
He leaned his head back against the wall, eyes open but staring at nothing.
And for the first time in years… he felt helpless.
Jennie stepped into her room, hair still damp from the shower, her oversized sweatshirt clinging slightly to her skin. The warmth of the water had faded. The chill remained. She walked slowly toward her bed like she was afraid it would vanish, then sat down and stared at the wall.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
She reached for the blanket with trembling hands and pulled it over herself—completely—burying her face into the sheets. As the world became dark and muffled inside the cocoon of fabric, her breath caught.
She tried to be still.
She tried to be strong.
But her throat betrayed her, tightening as sobs built up inside like a wave she couldn't stop. The first tear escaped without warning, sliding down her cheek and soaking into the pillow. Then another. And then it all came crashing.
"It's all my fault."
The thought rang in her head like a church bell tolling in a graveyard.
She curled tighter, her fingers clawing at the sheets.
"I trusted him. I laughed with him. I— I defended him when Zazm was suspicious. I was stupid."
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. It hurt.
And then her eyes widened — the memory hitting her like a knife.
The restaurant.
After Miwa and Minos had joined.
Zazm had stopped her before entering the portal.
FLASHBACK
The screen had gone blank in her memory then — now it returned. Zazm had stepped in and stopped her from entering the portal.
"Hey," he said quietly, his hand brushing her wrist. "Wait a sec."
She had looked up, confused. "What is it?"
Zazm had glanced toward the others, then leaned closer, speaking low enough that only she could hear.
"You need to be careful around Caspian," he said, eyes serious. "I don't know what game he's playing, but something's off."
She had hesitated, unsure. "He's a little strange but… he's helped us before."
Zazm didn't smile. He just looked at her — deeper than anyone else ever did.
"That's what makes it worse," he said. "You create illusions. You can warp what people see. If Caspian is plotting something, you'd be the first person he'd try to mislead. Or silence"
He had stepped back with a faint smirk, trying to soften the weight of his warning. "Just… watch your back, okay?"
Back in the present, Jennie's tears returned with crushing force. She slammed her fist into the pillow.
"He warned me."
Her voice broke into a thousand jagged pieces.
"He told me. And I still— I still trusted Caspian."
She felt sick.
Her illusions… her power… she was supposed to be the one who could see through lies. And yet she had fallen for them more than anyone. She had let Caspian too close. Laughed when she should've been suspicious. Defended him when she should've questioned him.
And everyone had paid the price.
Not just with blood.
But with something deeper. His light. His soul.
Her stomach twisted violently.
"If I hadn't trusted Caspian… Zazm wouldn't have had to kill anyone. He wouldn't have to carry this alone. He wouldn't be... like this."
The image of him, drenched in blood and rain, eyes void of life, whispering apologies as he walked away, played again in her mind.
She whispered, voice choking. "I failed all of them."
She curled into herself, letting the guilt drown her, whispering over and over as if it would bring him back:
"I'm sorry, Zazm… I'm sorry…everyone...."
---
The room was dimly lit — a single lamp glowing on Minos's desk, casting long, tired shadows against the wall.
Miwa lay curled up on the bed, her eyes wide open, facing the wall. Her hair was still a little damp from the earlier rain, strands clinging to her cheek. She hadn't said a word since they entered the room.
Minos sat on the floor, back against the same bed, arms resting on his knees. His fingers were interlocked tightly — so tightly that they'd gone white from the pressure.
The silence between them wasn't comforting.
It was suffocating.
Time passed. Neither of them moved. They just listened to the ticking of the wall clock and the ringing silence that filled the spaces where their friends' voices used to be.
Then, softly, Miwa spoke.
"…Do you think he hates us now?"
Her voice was almost inaudible, muffled by the pillow.
Minos didn't answer.
She turned slightly, her voice shaking more now. "Zazm. Do you think he blames us?"
Still nothing.
Miwa slowly sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees, her face hidden behind them. "…Because I do. I blame me."
Minos clenched his fists harder.
"I trusted Caspian. I laughed with him. I even told Jennie he seemed cool after we met. I told her to give him a chance. If I had just—if I had just read his mind when I had the chance—"
Her voice broke and she bit her lip, trembling now.
"I'm the telepath! I'm supposed to be the one who sees behind the lies! I didn't even notice he was planning anything until it was too late."
Minos finally spoke, low and broken: "…I knewsomething was wrong too."
Miwa looked at him, startled.
"I didn't say anything," Minos continued. "I saw the way Caspian kept taking notes. How he'd disappear during meetings. The way he avoided direct fights. I… I ignored it. Because I didn't want to be the one to ruin the mood."
He finally turned his head toward her, his eyes glassy.
"I chose to stay silent. And now Zazm's the one who had to do that."
The weight of the memory crushed the space between them. Miwa looked down, her lip quivering.
"…Do you think we're weak?"
Minos's voice cracked. "I don't know. But I know we weren't enough."
Miwa let out a small gasp as tears finally slipped down her face. She wiped at them quickly, like admitting she was crying made it worse.
Minos looked up at the ceiling, blinking fast, fists trembling.
"I've always tried to act like I could handle everything. That I was in control. That I could protect you, Myeong-hwa, everyone. But when I saw Caspian fall, when I saw Zazm holding that gun—"
His voice collapsed into a whisper.
"I couldn't even move."
Miwa scooted closer on the bed and reached out, placing her hand gently over his shoulder. He flinched — not from her touch, but from everything it reminded him of.
They stayed like that for a moment.
Two soldiers.
Two kids.
Two broken hearts grasping for anything that made sense.
"I miss him already," Miwa whispered.
Minos nodded.
"…And I'm scared we lost Zazm too."
The words hung in the air.
Neither denied it.
They just sat there — side by side — in the dim light, as the night dragged on, and the weight of guilt and grief settled around them like dust on old memories.
---
He didn't remember walking home.
The rain had soaked through his skin and deeper. Into bone. Into soul.
He barely got the front door shut before collapsing forward onto the floor of his room, then somehow pulling himself up onto the bed — still dripping wet, mud on his shoes, blood long washed away by the storm but still clinging invisibly to his hands.
He lay there.
He tried to sleep.
But the moment he closed his eyes, it came again—
Bang.
Caspian's head snapping back.
The flash of red mist.
Jennie screaming.
Jahanox turning away.
Kiyomasa, bleeding.
Everyone's eyes, wide with horror, frozen in time.
He jolted awake again and again. Each time gasping, sweating, reaching out into darkness only to find nothing.
No peace.
No escape.
Just guilt. And silence.
Day One.
He sat on the floor of the shower, letting the water run over him.
Hot, then cold.
He couldn't tell anymore.
His clothes still clung to him, heavy with moisture and memory.
He hadn't undressed. Didn't care to.
He stayed there, knees pulled to his chest, eyes blank, lips parted like he wanted to speak—
But there were no words left in his throat.
Just the echo of Caspian's smile.
"You're the same as me."
He bit down on his fist to keep from screaming.
Day Two
The house was dark.
Curtains drawn. Lights off.
His head burned—he could feel the fever now, but his body didn't move to fix it. His stomach growled, but the moment he tried to eat a slice of toast, the scent twisted in his nose—
Blood. Brains.
Mercenaries' torn bodies.
Eyes staring into nothing.
He dropped the plate, hands shaking, and vomited in the sink. Again.
When he looked up in the mirror, he didn't recognize himself.
Pale. Sunken. Eyes bloodshot and shadowed.
A husk.
A shadow of Zazm Mystic.
Day Three
He sat on the floor of his room, clutching the edge of the window, watching rain that wasn't even there.
He hadn't slept in 72 hours.
He hadn't spoken aloud in longer.
Sometimes, he whispered Caspian's name.
Sometimes, he whispered Jennie's.
And sometimes—when the hallucinations got bad—he'd ask forgiveness from people who weren't there.
He clutched the edge of his chest like trying to dig something out.
"I didn't hate him," he whispered into the silence.
"I just… didn't know how to save him."
Then, quieter still—
"Or myself."
The world outside moved on.
But Zazm Mystic didn't.
He remained in a looping void of guilt and ghostly memories, unable to forgive himself for what had been done, and terrified that deep down.
He had done it all because part of him wanted to.
Because maybe Caspian was right.
Because maybe, in the end—
Zazm Mystic was never a hero.
Just a lonely, broken boy… trying to convince himself that power could fix the pieces he'd already shattered.
---
The school bell rang, the doors swung open, and a rush of students spilled out, laughing, talking, free at last.
Among them, Miwa stretched her arms over her head dramatically, letting out a breath of relief.
"Finally! No more exams," she said, letting the sun warm her face. "My brain is officially fried."
Minos chuckled beside her, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. "You say that like you didn't ace everything."
Miwa gave a half-smile, then fell silent mid-step. Her gaze lingered upward, at nothing in particular.
"…Minos," she said after a beat, her voice quieter, more thoughtful. "It's been three weeks."
He looked at her.
"We haven't heard from anyone since that day."
Minos gave a slow nod, his expression growing serious. "Yeah. Not a message. Not even a thread trace. It's… weird."
She stopped walking.
They stepped through together—Miwa drawing her energy forward with a whisper, and the world blinked into darkness and starlight.
The Shadow Realm.
Still, silent, eerie in how untouched it felt.
They walked slowly, almost reverently, through the towering halls of the castle. Miwa's steps echoed faintly. Her eyes scanned the corridors, searching for some sign of life.
Nothing.
No voices.
No footsteps.
No Zazm.
Until—
The throne room doors were cracked open.
A faint light seeped through.
They exchanged a glance—and pushed inside.
Two figures sat quietly at the edge of the platform steps.
Kiyomasa.
Jennie.
Miwa's eyes widened and her heart jumped. "Kiyo! Jennie!"
Kiyomasa turned just in time to be tackled by Miwa in a full-on hug, the kind only she could give—squeezing tight, as if afraid he'd disappear if she let go.
Jennie stood quickly and was immediately embraced by Minos, who gave her a rare, genuine smile.
For a moment, the throne room was filled with nothing but warmth. Four bodies, four souls, trying to remember how it felt to be whole again.
Then the silence returned—heavier this time.
Kiyomasa sat down again, curling his knees to his chest. He was quieter than usual. More withdrawn.
Minos noticed immediately.
"What's wrong?" he asked, sitting beside him.
He hesitated.
"…Zazm asked me to keep an eye on Caspian," Kiyomasa finally said, voice cracking. "I said I would. But I didn't. I trusted him too much. I… I thought we were just being paranoid."
He looked at the ground, shame flooding his features.
"If I had done something sooner—if I had warned him more—maybe Caspian wouldn't have gotten the chance to… to do what he did."
Minos's smile faded.
he leaned in and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Kiyo," he said gently. "You can't blame yourself. You were trying to believe in him, just like we all did. That's not a mistake. That's who you are."
Jennie was quiet.
She looked down at her hands, then spoke without meeting anyone's eyes.
"I should've known too," she said softly. "Zazm warned me once. That night after we left the restaurant. He pulled me aside and told me to be careful. That if Caspian was plotting anything, I'd be the first target because of my illusions."
Her voice broke.
"But I didn't listen. I thought I could fix things. I thought if I showed Caspian kindness—if I believed in him—he'd change. But he didn't. And people died."
Miwa stepped closer, kneeling beside her. Her voice was quiet, but firm.
"You weren't wrong to believe in someone," she said. "That's your strength. Not your flaw."
She shook her head, tears slipping from her eyes.
"But it didn't save anyone."
There was silence again.
A long, quiet pause that weighed heavy on all of them.
Then Miwa stood.
"Okay," she said, wiping her face. "No more of this."
She looked around at the other three—at their guilt, their sadness, their loneliness.
"You know what I see?" she said, her voice rising just a little. "I see four people who went through hell and still made it back. Together."
She pointed at each of them. "You. You. You. And me."
"We didn't fall apart," she said. "We're still here. Even if it hurts. Even if we're angry. That means something."
Kiyomasa looked up, startled. Minos blinked. Jennie wiped her tears.
"You're right," Kiyomasa said, softly. "I… I needed to hear that."
Minos sat down next to them. "Me too."
Jennie gave a weak but genuine smile. "I don't want to keep hurting alone."
Miwa grinned and opened her arms wide. "Then get in here. Group trauma cuddle!"
They all laughed. It was weak, and cracked—and real.
Four people sat in the center of the throne room, arms around each other, holding tightly in a way that didn't need words.
They were more than teammates now.
They were survivors. Scars and all.
They were family.
________________________________