The church was silent.
No light pierced through the cracked glass, only the cold breath of dusk creeping in through the broken walls. Dust hung in the air like frozen ash. A boy stood before the altar — motionless, head bowed, hands buried deep in the pockets of his black jacket.
Behind him, the world was dying.
The sirens had stopped long ago. The city beyond the shattered doors lay buried in gray mist. No birds. No wind. Only the faint hum of machines that pretended to keep the sky alive.
Mejiro Bright opened his eyes. They were empty — not from grief, but from knowing too much.
He whispered, "If God really lived beyond that Wall… then He's already dead."
He turned toward the cracked altar. A single katana leaned beside it — black as night, its surface reflecting neither light nor life. He reached for it, the metal singing softly as if recognizing its master.
The prayer candles flickered — once.
Then all at once, every flame went out.
Outside, the Wall pulsed.
A low vibration crawled through the earth, deep and rhythmic, like a heartbeat coming from something vast and buried beneath the sky.
Mejiro's voice was cold.
"So it begins again…"
He walked toward the doors, boots echoing across the ruined floor.
And as he stepped outside, the sun dimmed — not setting, but dying.