The bus hissed to a stop just as the first real sunlight started warming the streets. Everyone stepped out like survivors of a cramped battlefield, stretching, rubbing their eyes, mumbling about stiff necks. The air smelled different here: salt, grilled fish from a nearby food stall, and something floral drifting in from somewhere inland.
Their hotel was a five-minute walk, past shuttered storefronts and vending machines humming against the quiet. Souta led the way, dragging his duffel along the pavement instead of carrying it. "This better have breakfast included," he muttered.
The hotel wasn't fancy, whitewashed walls, narrow balconies, a small front desk where a woman in her fifties slid them keys without much small talk. They dumped their bags in their rooms, splashed water on their faces, and decided to skip the beds entirely. The beach was right there.
By midmorning, sandals slapped against the wooden boardwalk. The ocean was the kind of blue that made you stop without realizing it, like your brain needed a second to recalibrate. Rin stood with her hands behind her back, staring at the horizon. "It's weird," she said, "how it looks the same everywhere, but it's not."
"Deep," Souta said, tossing a stick into the shallows. "We should get lunch before she starts writing poems about it."
They roamed the small streets behind the shore, past shops selling sea glass jewelry, shaved ice stalls with hand-painted signs, and a tiny arcade where Itsuki got sucked into a crane game war with a group of middle schoolers. Noa found a shop that sold ridiculous beach hats, and soon half of them were wearing straw brims so wide they couldn't stand next to each other without colliding.
Mio insisted they try a shaved ice place with mango syrup "because it's famous here," and they sat on low plastic stools outside, syrup dripping down paper cups onto their wrists. Ren leaned back against the wall, letting the sunlight hit his face, half-listening to Souta explain why soft-serve in coastal towns "just tastes better."
By early afternoon, they were in the water, well, some of them. Rin and Mio waded in up to their knees, shrieking when waves splashed higher. Souta tried to dunk Arata, failed, and ended up getting shoved under instead. Ren floated on his back for a while, watching the sky through the blur of water in his eyelashes, feeling the current tug at his ankles.
Later, they wandered farther down the beach, finding a breakwater to climb. From up there, the whole bay spread out, dotted with fishing boats and a ferry in the distance. Itsuki pulled out his phone for a group selfie, everyone squinting into the sun.
They didn't rush anywhere. They ducked into shops just because the door was open. Bought drinks from vending machines because the cans looked interesting. Stopped to watch a stray cat wash its paws. Everything was slow in the good way.
No one mentioned earthquakes. Or the headlines. Or the strange heaviness Ren had felt last night on the bus.
It was just them, the salt wind, and a town painted in every shade of blue.
The day stretched the way only coastal days can, time loose around the edges, sunlight shifting slow across rooftops. After they dried off from swimming, they drifted toward the small market near the harbor.
The place was cramped but alive: crates of squid still dripping from the morning catch, old men shouting prices over the sound of knives on cutting boards, the faint hum of a radio playing enka. Arata stopped to watch a fishmonger work, his knife sliding so close to the man's fingers it made Mio flinch.
"You think he's ever cut himself?" Souta asked, leaning over the stall.
The fishmonger didn't look up. "Once. You only need it to happen once." He held up a hand with one finger missing its tip. It didn't feel like a joke. Nobody said anything for a second. Then Noa changed the subject, pointing to some skewers by the grill.
They ate walking, dripping soy glaze on their shirts. The air was hot enough that the sea breeze barely took the edge off, but it carried the smell of salt in a way that felt grounding. Ren noticed how Rin kept stopping to look at small things, shells wedged in cracks between stones, the faded lettering on an old warehouse sign, a child's sandal abandoned by the seawall.
By midday, they'd ended up in the old lighthouse at the far end of the harbor. The spiral staircase inside creaked with every step. From the top, the ocean felt endless, but not in a romantic way, more like if you stared long enough, you could fall forward and never hit bottom.
"Looks like the edge of the world," Itsuki said, leaning on the railing.
"Yeah," Arata murmured, "and we're all standing right on it." He didn't smile when he said it.
A gull screamed overhead, and the wind took his words before anyone could respond.
They kept moving, sunburn starting to sting, hair crusted from dried salt. Back in town, the narrow streets twisted inland, away from the tourist stretch. They found an old shrine half-hidden behind leaning houses. The wood was blackened from age, the stone steps split in places by roots.
Mio clapped twice, bowing her head in front of the offertory box. "I'm wishing for good weather tomorrow," she said.
"Better wish for the trip to end without Souta losing our train tickets," Noa muttered.
Ren tossed in a coin, not making a wish. He looked at the ema plaques hanging from the frame. Most were written in neat, careful characters, but a few were messy like they'd been scrawled in a hurry. One, darker than the rest, had the words Let us be safe this time. The handwriting looked like it belonged to someone young.
He didn't point it out.
In the afternoon, they rented bikes and followed a path along the coast. The road hugged the cliff in places, waves smashing against the rock below. Every turn showed them something new, tidal pools glittering like mirrors, a field of sunflowers bowing toward the sea, a collapsed section of fence where the land had slipped a little closer to the water.
"Feels like if the road gave out here, we'd just go straight down," Souta said, riding no-hands and looking over the edge.
Rin told him to stop tempting fate. He laughed, but grabbed the handlebars again.
They stopped at a beach cafe just before sunset. The owner, a man with a sun-leathered face, brought them iced tea in sweating glasses. "You're lucky," he said, nodding toward the horizon. "This stretch of coast is calm most days, but when it isn't…" He trailed off, his gaze fixed on the line where the sky met the sea.
Ren followed his stare. The horizon seemed too still, like it was waiting for something.
The light faded slow, the sky turning from gold to indigo. They returned the bikes and walked the last stretch along the beach. The sand was cool now, and the sound of the waves had that deep night rhythm that made you feel small.
No one talked much. Just footsteps and the occasional burst of laughter when someone tripped or the water surged higher than expected.
Ren glanced at his friends, Souta skipping stones, Arata kicking at driftwood, Rin with her hair catching the last traces of light. They all looked… anchored. As if the world couldn't touch them here.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that wasn't true.
And the sea, dark and endless, knew it too.
The sand was littered with sandal prints and half-buried seashells when they dragged the bags of fireworks down from the convenience store. Nothing big, just sparklers, little fountains, and the kind that popped with a tiny flash and hiss. The tide was low, leaving a wide stretch of wet sand that reflected the glow like a black mirror.
Souta was the first to light one. A crackle, a spray of green sparks, and his grin lit up brighter than the firework."Bet mine lasts longer than yours," he said, holding it out like a sword.
Noa lit two at once, crossed them over her head, and made explosion noises. Rin rolled her eyes but was already crouched down to get her own going.
Ren didn't say much, just stood with a sparkler burning slow in his hand, watching the embers drip and die in the sand. Rin caught him staring at the sparks and waved hers in front of his face. "Don't zone out. It's summer, not a funeral."
Arata set off one of the small fountains, the hiss filling the night air before it shot bursts of white up into the dark. Mio clapped like she was five again.
By the time the last fuse burned out, the air smelled of gunpowder and salt. They shifted to the makeshift grill Souta had been babysitting since sunset, meat skewers sizzling over glowing coals, thin slices of onion and pumpkin lined up around the edges.
"You burned mine," Itsuki said, pointing with his chopsticks.
"It's called extra flavor," Souta replied, handing it over anyway.
Rin was sitting on the cooler, flipping skewers like she'd been doing it all her life. "If you keep complaining, I'm eating yours," she told Itsuki.
The night was warm but not heavy. Somewhere down the beach, a group of kids they didn't know were laughing and setting off louder fireworks. The bursts lit the waves for half a second at a time, like someone flicking the world on and off.
Ren took a bite of perfectly grilled meat and leaned back on his hands, looking up at the stars. Souta passed him a can of soda and then cracked his own open with a hiss.
They didn't talk about tomorrow, or next week, or when they'd go home. Just food, laughter, the glow of the coals, and the low rumble of waves in the dark.
Somewhere beyond the black horizon, the sea moved in ways none of them could see.
The coals were dying down when a low hum started behind them, not the ocean, not the wind.
At first, Ren thought it was a fishing boat far offshore. But the sound thickened, multiplied. One by one, they looked up from their plates.
Dark shapes swept in from the horizon, their blinking lights barely visible against the moonless sky. The thumping rhythm was unmistakable once it got close, rotor blades, heavy and fast.
"Whoa," Souta said, shading his eyes even though it was night. "That's… a lot of helicopters."
Then came the jets, sharp, angular silhouettes cutting across the stars, the roar following a beat later. The air seemed to vibrate in their chests.
Noa tried to play it off. "Probably a drill or something."
But they all kept watching. The helicopters were low, their searchlights sweeping in wide arcs over the dark ocean, as if looking for something too big to miss.
Ren noticed Rin's gaze linger longer than the rest. She didn't say anything, just turned back to the grill and poked the last skewer, the metal tongs shaking slightly in her hand.
Far out at sea, a flash lit up the horizon. Not fireworks this time.
The night air was warm but crisp, the kind that makes your skin tingle when you step away from the fire. The group moved slowly along the narrow streets, their laughter spilling out like spilled beer, a mix of tired voices and easy teasing. The soft hum of the ferry behind them faded as they put more distance between the beach and their hotel.
Souta was in the lead, animated as ever, recounting a story about a local prank he'd pulled earlier in the day. "And then I swear, the old guy just lost it, shouted something about 'kids these days' and chased me half a block with a broom." He laughed, the sound rich and loud, drawing smiles from everyone.
Mio rolled her eyes but grinned. "You're such a troublemaker. I swear you're gonna get us kicked out of this town before we even settle in."
Noa skipped ahead, kicking a loose stone, her carefree energy sharper than usual. She stopped suddenly, looking back with a sly smile. "Hey, you two," she called out to Ren and Rin who were walking side by side a bit behind the others. "Stop hogging the sidewalk."
Ren shifted, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks when Rin's elbow brushed his arm as they stepped closer to avoid a stray cat darting between their legs. Their hands touched, just the backs brushing briefly before they both glanced away, pretending it hadn't happened.
Rin's jaw tightened a little but her eyes softened, catching Ren's for a moment before she looked ahead again. There was something quiet in her stance, strong, steady, but beneath it a weight neither of them talked about.
Itsuki caught up with them, carrying a half-empty water bottle and shaking his head. "You two gonna walk hand-in-hand or just keep bumping into each other like awkward penguins?"
Mio laughed from a few steps back. "C'mon, Rin, let the guy try. You might be surprised."
Rin's smirk was quick and sharp. "Try all you want. I'm not the one who gets tongue-tied."
Ren cleared his throat and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Okay, okay, enough. We're all just tired. Let's get to the hotel before someone falls into a ditch or something."
The group picked up pace, the easy chatter turning into a comfortable quiet. Somewhere down the road, a streetlamp flickered then went out, casting a brief shadow that seemed to stretch too long before the next one caught up.
Noa was the first to break the silence again, her voice low but teasing, "So, what's the verdict on Okinawa? Better than you expected?"
Souta kicked at a pebble, thoughtful. "Yeah. Feels like one of those places where the normal rules don't apply. Like you can actually breathe."
Arata nodded, eyes scanning the darkened skyline. "But places like this… they carry history you don't always see right away. Quiet, but waiting."
Itsuki shrugged. "Maybe we're just paranoid."
Mio snorted. "Paranoid's just a fancy word for paying attention."
Ren felt a chill run down his spine, but not from the night air. He looked at Rin, who was staring at the sky, the dark clouds rolling in soft, slow waves.
For a second, everything felt fragile, waiting for something no one dared name.
The group reached the hotel entrance, laughter resuming as the weight of the moment lifted just enough to keep them moving forward. But deep down, each of them carried a quiet shadow, a small pulse of something they couldn't shake. Not yet.
The elevator jolted. First a shudder, like a distant tremor, then a sharp lurch that threw everyone off balance. Ren caught Rin without thinking, shoulders pressed together, a breath caught between them. The lights flickered, the hum died, and the walls seemed to close in.
Voices tightened in the small space, breaths quickening.
The ground shook beneath them, harder this time. The metal groaned like it might snap. Phones buzzed and beeped all at once, national alert. The shrill warning tone cut through the panic, voices on the screens shouting warnings in clipped Japanese:"大地震発生!津波注意!安全な場所へ避難してください!"("Major earthquake! Tsunami warning! Evacuate to safe areas immediately!")
Ren's heart hammered as the elevator shuddered again, violently, a deep roar vibrating through the cables. The walls rattled as if the building itself was flexing under a monstrous force.
Outside, somewhere distant but no longer far, the ocean churned, a vast wall of water beginning to rise.
A harsh voice crackled over the radio on Souta's phone: "Multiple epicenters detected... tectonic plates shifting... coastal areas at high risk..."
The elevator stalled, lights flickering but holding. The group huddled close, breaths shallow and fast.
Ren felt Rin's hand tighten briefly on his arm, steady, sharp like a lifeline.
The earth was moving beneath them, unstoppable and unforgiving.
The car shuddered again. Metal screamed. The elevator juddered and stopped with a final, awful thud. For a second there was only the ring of blood in Ren's ears and the slap of their breathing.
"Emergency button," Souta said, pressing it like a reflex. A thin, tinny voice answered after a long beat, automated, then a real operator. "This is building control. Help is on the way. Stay put. Don't open the doors."
"Help?" Noa spat. "Help takes time." Her fingers moved to the strap across her chest. She'd packed a small tool pouch for the trip, gloves, a cheap screwdriver. She had been joking about being ready for everything; now she unfastened the pouch with hands that didn't shake.
They crowded the little panel of lights. The digital floor readout flickered blank. Phones screamed alerts again. Outside, a deep rumble rolled through the building, then another aftershock hit and the car rocked so hard Ren nearly fell.
"Listen," Itsuki said. "We can't wait where we are if the building collapses. Stairs are safer. We need out." His voice was steady, surgical. No one argued.
The operator's voice came back, muffled by static. "We've got reports of collapsed stairwells. Rescue crews are mobilizing. Please—"
"No." Noa cut through the line. "We can't trust them to get here fast enough. We get out now." She set the screwdriver on her palm, eyes hard. "If the manual release works, I can get the shaft door open. But if the car shifts we're risking a drop. We do it together, slow."
They looked at her. Rin's jaw tightened. Ren felt the heat behind his eyes, panic edged with something that wanted movement. "Tell us what to do," he said.
Noa crouched, teeth clenched. "There should be a small hatch at the top of the inner doors. I'll try to pop the lock. If I get it, pry the outer door enough to step into the landing. Brace with belts. Move fast but careful."
Souta handed over his belt without asking. Arata reached into his bag and handed Noa a slim multi-tool. Itsuki found a coin and wedged it for leverage. Ren stood by the seam between the doors, fingers ready to grab anyone who slipped.
Noa forced the screwdriver into the tiny slot above the inner doors. It took three tries, a burst of sparks when the metal slipped, and an aftershock that rattled their teeth. The latch gave a small, honest click.
The car shuddered. Metal creaked. A gap opened, no more than a fist-wide, but it was enough to see the dark hallway of the second floor outside, warped ceiling tiles, a flicker of emergency light. Dust drifted through the crack.
"Brace," Rin said, voice low. She slid down to shoulder level so she could push with both hands. Souta jammed his belt into the gap like a wedge. Itsuki looped his jacket over a metal bar to pad Ren's grip.
Noa worked the gap wider, prying with the tool, sweat streaking down her temple. The space grew another inch. Arata shoved his shoulder against the outer door from the other side, he had the angle to press and make it move a fraction more.
The next aftershock hit like a hammer. The elevator lurched, the gap pinching shut for a heartbeat. Everyone flinched. Noa hissed through her teeth, shoved the tool again, and the seam opened.
"Now!" she snapped.
Ren crouched, grabbed Rin's wrist with one hand and pushed with the other against the sill. Rin planted her boot on the lip, jammed her shoulder into the frame, and heaved. Her breath came loud in his ear. For a breath they didn't move then the car shifted, and Rin's foot found the landing.
She hauled herself up, then bent and reached back. Ren grabbed her hand. She gripped him and hauled him up beside her. He felt the scrape of concrete under his palms, the slight give of the corridor tile. He rolled onto the landing, chest heaving.
One by one they pulled each other out. Souta went next, elbowing through on a grunt. Itsuki kept his face calm as he rose, then helped Arata. Noa was last, slipping her tool back into the pouch with hands that trembled but didn't falter.
They lay on the hallway floor for a beat, breathing heavy, the elevator car dark behind them. The corridor smelled of dust and ozone. Distantly, something groaned, wood or stone settling.
"No crawlspace," Itsuki said, standing up to peer down the hall. "Stairs that way, emergency exit. We move now, slow and tight. Watch for falling debris."
They moved as a unit, feet slipping over scattered plaster. Every step the building gave them a warning, tiles popping, a distant collapse, the sharp metallic ping of things settling under new weight. The national alert repeated in the sky outside, thin and angry.
On the stairwell they found others, shoes, a broken suitcase, a single child's shoe lying on its side. A man in a blue uniform waved them past, eyes wide and hollow. They kept moving. No dramatic heroics. Just people pushing forward in a building that was changing beneath their feet.
Ren kept glancing at Rin. Her shirt was smudged with dust, a streak across her cheekbone. She didn't look at him much. When she did, her eyes were steady, too steady, like someone who'd just chosen what to focus on and removed the rest.
They descended into the lobby and out into the open where the air hit them with salt and smoke and a sound like far-off thunder. Sirens cut the night. Lights from vehicles swept the plaza. People shouted, some in cries, some in orders. Somewhere beyond the harbor, a great wall of water was waking, shadow on the horizon, a slow bruise growing in size.
They kept moving. They kept their faces set. Not because they were fearless, but because doing anything else would have been worse.
They poured out of the hotel like a ragged handful of survivors, coughing, wiping faces, stumbling over loose concrete. The night air hit them hard, full of dust and something oil-sweet that set the back of Ren's throat on fire. Behind them the hotel made a sound like a living thing tearing itself apart. Screams rose and cut off; somewhere under the din, alarms still tried to squeal.
"Arata?" Ren shouted, voice hoarse. His throat felt raw. He expected Arata's calm answer, the slowness that always made Ren think the world might hold still long enough for a pencil stroke. No one answered.
"Noa, check the lobby," Souta said, pushing through a gathering crowd. His voice was tight, too loud. "Itsuki, get people moving away from the building."
They obeyed, moving with a practiced panic. People shoved past in that ugly, necessary way, clutching children, grabbing jackets, someone hauling a suitcase by a broken wheel. Concrete dust hung like fog, thick enough to taste. A slab of façade crashed to the pavement where the main entrance had been, sending a plume that turned the nearest faces into ghost masks.
"Where's Arata?" Ren asked again. His legs moved before he could think, pushing him toward the open doorway. He felt Rin's hand catch his sleeve like a clamp.
"Don't go back in," she said. Her voice was low and urgent, the command of someone who'd been in charge without meaning to be. "There's falling debris."
"He could be inside," Ren said. The words came out ragged. Heat hammered his face where the dust hadn't stuck. Behind them, a second aftershock rattled the pavement, a deeper, angrier tremor that made a line of pots on a balcony tumble and break.
Rin's fingers dug into his arm. "If you go in, you're dead. If you go in and get buried, no one can save you. We get help. We get a crew. We do it proper."
Ren looked at her, at the sharp set of her jaw, the way she forced her breath steady. He wanted to argue. He wanted to step around her and run on pure muscle and blind terror. Instead he felt his knees wobble, because running wasn't a plan. It was panic packaged as motion.
"Arata!" Noa's shout cut across the plaza. People turned. A shape moved at the edge of the dust, limping, pushing through the crowd. Arata. He came out of the lobby with a hand over his face, coughing. He clutched something against his chest, Ren saw the familiar sketchbook strap. For a second relief slammed into Ren so hard his stomach rolled.
"Arata!" Ren started forward, breath bleeding out of him. Rin's hand left his sleeve, but before she could push she slipped and then grabbed the rail of a fallen sign. Her mouth opened, a sound that might have been a curse or a prayer.
Arata paused, head bent. He looked at them at Ren, at Rin and there was that small, private smile, the one that said, I'm okay, see? He lifted a hand as if to wave, one finger smudged with graphite. His shirt was streaked with dust; a thin red line ran down his forearm where something had grazed him. He was raw and ridiculous and alive.
Then the ground shuddered. The sound came from everywhere at once, a long, tearing groan that pulled at everything fixed to the earth. The hotel behind Arata gave a terrible, final, animal sound. A corner of the upper floors folded like cardboard. A chunk that looked like a whole balcony tore free and fell straight down.
The world narrowed to a single, impossible slow moment. Arata didn't have time to move. The slab hit with a violence that pushed air out of Ren's lungs. He lunged and found only emptiness where Arata's shirt had been.
"No!" Ren's voice broke. It wasn't a roar so much as a piece of glass inside his ribs. He scrambled forward, hands scraping across hot concrete. Rin was beside him in a heartbeat, nails digging into his back. She shoved him down, hard, onto the ground. Her face was inches from his, eyes wide and unblinking.
"He's—" Ren tried, but his words came fractured.
People screamed in a way that made Ren feel like his chest had been hollowed. Dust filled his mouth and nose. Somewhere to the left, a woman was crying, and a child's small foot thudded as it ran. The plaza was chaos, but even inside the noise there was a cold, tight sense that something had been broken beyond repair.
"Get back!" a voice barked. A man in a fluorescent vest with dirt-streaked face was blocking the crowd. "Stay off that side. Rescue crews!" His command lost meaning as the second wall of the hotel collapsed inward with a sound like glass breaking in slow motion.
Ren pushed himself up, hands slipping on grit. He crawled toward where Arata had fallen, ignoring the heat of the pavement under his palms, ignoring the stitches of pain in his knees. Ren's lungs wanted air. He reached the collapsed shape, a mound of concrete and metal, the dust settling like gray snow.
"Arata!" he screamed until his throat burned. He shoved his hand into the rubble, fingers raw, finding only a crumbled corner of a sketchbook cover. The strap broke under his grip and the book flopped free, pages torn and streaked with dust. He pried the pages apart with shaking hands. A page half-torn showed a quick line of a ferry, a horizon. Beneath it, in a cramped scrawl Arata had written something that made Ren's fingers go cold: Don't drown in the sun. — A.
Rin was there, hands at his shoulders, shaking him like a tether. "Stop," she said, urgent and flat. "Ren, stop. Listen to me. If you don't get back now, you're dead. If you're dead we can't bury him. We can't do anything. We get out. We get help. Please."
Ren's eyes kept going back to the smear of concrete that had been Arata. He wanted to wail, to pull the building apart with his own hands. His whole body felt like an animal.
Beside him, Souta's voice had turned brittle. "We have to move. There's water." He pointed toward the harbor, and Ren looked up.
The horizon had changed. In the distance, the sea had a shape that shouldn't exist, a dark, slow rise like a wall, moving toward the shore. It pushed itself forward with a sound that didn't belong to water: a deep, rolling, hungry noise. Boats that had been bobbing now tilted like toys. Someone pointed, voice thin and sharp.
"Tsunami," someone said. No one around them argued. It was a word like a verdict.
Panic spread faster than the aftershocks. Orders flew and splintered into a dozen useless routes. People ran. Rin grabbed Ren's arm with a force that made his teeth ache.
"We move," she said, not allowed to be anything else. Her voice had become steel. "We go up. We go now."
Ren licked dust from his lips, tasted iron and salt. He wanted to look back at the mound one last time, to memorize the shape of what had been him. He forced his feet to obey. They ran toward higher ground, the plaza under their feet vibrating with heavy, distant thumps as the wave rolled with its slow, unstoppable intent.
Every step was a betrayal. Every breath a small theft from the moment they had lost. Behind them, someone screamed Ren's name. He didn't stop. The air smelled of smoke and salt and a strange, chemical tang that made his eyes water. The sketchbook lay open where he'd dropped it, pages fluttering uselessly in the wind like broken leaves.
They climbed a short flight of stairs, the kind that led to the old city road that wound up from the harbor. People pushed past, some carrying the injured, some only themselves. Souta's hand was white on Ren's shoulder. Noa's face was a hard line. Itsuki moved with an odd, cold efficiency, pulling people aside, pointing them up narrow alleys where the road rose.
Behind them the roar grew. The sound filled everything, not only noise but pressure, a force that pressed on their chests and made the world seem smaller. When Ren dared to look back, he could see the dark wall of water lifting the smaller boats like pebbles. A fishing trawler flipped, hull cracking with a sound that made Ren's knees go weak.
Rin's hand tightened in his. "Run," she said, and this time there was no argument in it.
They ran. Dust scraped their faces. Laughter, yesterday's small and cheap, felt like an echo from another life. The city around them frayed into shouting, into people who had switched from living to surviving in the space of a single breath.
At the crest of the road they stopped, pushed up against a low concrete wall. Below, the harbor was a toy disaster, water climbing fast and wrong. Above them, lights began to blink out in the hotel like a heartbeat being lost. Someone sobbed quietly, close enough to hear.
Ren's hands were bloodied where he'd clawed at concrete. He pressed them to his face and tasted dust. His chest ached with the shape of Arata's smile, the memory of the sketchbook strap in his fingers. He felt hollow in a way that had nothing to do with air.
Rin stood beside him, shoulders set, eyes wide but empty of tears. She looked like someone who had already decided what to carry and what to leave. For a single, intimate second she looked at Ren, not with the old refusal, not with the childhood lines between them, but with a look that said: we are the ones left to keep moving. Keep the story going.
Below, the water hit the breakwater and climbed the bay in a clean, brutal line. Houses nearest the shore were swallowed in one long, terrible fold. The sound hit them like a physical thing, a wall of water hitting land and turning everything into a single, screaming note.
Ren's heart thudded hard enough that he felt it in his teeth. He pressed his palm to his mouth to hold in a sob and failed.
The sketchbook pages fluttered in the wind at his feet, open to the ferry drawing. A single graphite line trailed into the smear of dust, and Ren blinked hard, the world narrowing to that one line like a memory burned into a page.
They stood frozen while the sea climbed. The group clustered together, a small island of bodies in a rising ocean of sound and fear. Around them, the city was folding, the hotel a ruin, Arata a shape under rubble where the world had chosen to be cruel.
Ren wanted to go back. Rin's hand tightened again, grounding him. "No," she said, low, as if sealing fate into a box. "We survive. We do what we can."
He looked at her and the ground shifted under his feet, a tremor that ran like a promise or a warning depending how you wanted to hear it. Behind the line of people on the road, the sea darkened and came, slow and immense.