He bled.
Not from any wound — not yet — but from within.
Each breath carried fragments.
Soot. Dust.
A life not fully his.
Rei stood in the open courtyard of Blackstone, surrounded by corpses still cooling in the moonlight.
Alarms shrieked behind him.
Bootsteps thundered closer.
And the mark on his chest—
Pulsed.
Once.
And the world shifted.
Suddenly…
He wasn't in Blackstone anymore.
He stood beneath swaying paper lanterns.
Summer wind. Humid air.
Concrete beneath his feet. Neon signs blinking above.
The smell of oden. Rain. Asphalt.
His hands — clean.
No scars.
No blood.
A Lawson convenience store sat quietly to his left.
Across the street, a darkened apartment window blinked with the words:
"New Game +"
"Rei."
The voice echoed.
His own.
But distant — like a memory shouted through time.
Then—
Burn.
Violet.
Violence.
Pain.
Darkness.
**
Back in Blackstone...
Rei staggered.
A spear lunged for his ribs — fast. Precise.
Too close to dodge.
But his body moved.
Not from reflex.
Not from thought.
From something deeper.
Slide. Pivot. Seize.
He twisted the spear from the attacker's grip and drove the haft into his throat.
Another came, curved blade raised.
Overhead strike.
Step in.
Elbow to the jaw.
Blade to the wrist.
Steel clattered to stone.
Rei caught it in mid-air.
The weight was wrong. But familiar.
Like holding a ghost.
He moved.
He flowed.
Each slash was instinct.
Each step — choreography.
Not learned in this world.
Played. Practiced. Perfected
behind a keyboard, in a life that felt more like fiction than this.
Now… it was survival.
Now… it was his.
From the rafters above, Kaia watched in silence.
Her breath caught.
He moved like a soldier.
Like a dancer.
Not refined — but efficient.
Dangerous.
He's remembering.
The mark on his chest glowed — faint violet.
Shadows curled around his feet, trailing his every strike like loyal hounds.
Then — stillness.
Three guards lay motionless around him.
His blade dripped.
His breath trembled.
"I'm not…"
"I'm not supposed to be here…"
The brand flared again.
Once.
His shadow stretched unnaturally — flickering, split at the edges.
And something whispered back.
You are.
Now feed me more.
**
Elsewhere…
In a chamber of glass and mirrors, the robed man in white watched the scene flicker across a crystal sphere.
A slow smile spread beneath his hood.
"So," he whispered. "You begin to remember."
Behind him, a dozen hooded silhouettes knelt — foreheads pressed to the stone.
"The bearer of the wound awakens," the man whispered.
"Praise the Hollow Star. The Feast is near."