Evening draped the campus in a soft, amber glow. The sky was still bleeding orange and pink as the sun dipped behind the distant city skyline. Lights flickered on one by one, in windows, along paths, across the dorm rooftops. It was peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Blaze walked through the heart of it all, a silent specter among the living.
Students laughed in groups nearby, their voices echoing off brick walls and garden hedges. A couple passed him hand-in-hand, their laughter light, as if the world held no hidden daggers. A guy in a hoodie jogged by, earbuds in. A trio of girls posed near a cherry blossom tree, snapping selfies in the last rays of golden hour.
All of them—so close.
Yet worlds apart.
They didn't see the blood on his hands.
Not literal. Not anymore. That had already dried hours ago. But the weight of it, the stench of it, clung to him like a second skin.
Blaze kept his head low, hoodie up. His breath fogged slightly in the cool air, and his steps were silent despite the gravel path underfoot.
"My mission… is over."
He had whispered that line inside the abandoned warehouse. Even now, it echoed in his mind like a bell tolling the death of something. The death of an assassin… and the awakening of a forgotten promise.
The clan had used him.
The ambush earlier that day—it hadn't been some unsanctioned strike. It was a test. His test.
They knew.
They always knew.
They wanted to see if the boy they stole all those years ago still obeyed. If the dagger they forged from flesh and fury still pointed in their direction.
But they made one mistake.
They reminded him who he used to be.
The path curved near the campus fountain, and Blaze paused. Water bubbled gently under warm lights, and people sat around it eating snacks, chatting, scrolling their phones. His eyes drifted upward.
There.
Third floor of the girls' dormitory. Her room. Alina Rowe.
The blue curtains were shut, but he could feel her presence behind them like a quiet heartbeat.
It was strange.
All these people—walking, laughing, unaware.
And yet, only she made him hesitate.
The image of the photo in her room returned to him.
That same smile.
That same look.
The one from a life before blood. Before orders. Before the clan.
"Serena…"
He whispered the name like a sin he'd hidden for too long.
She was his reason.
Even if she didn't remember.
Even if she never found out who he really was… he would protect her.
He stepped forward again, passing a group of noisy students carrying grocery bags, some of them laughing loudly about instant ramen flavors. One of them bumped into him slightly.
"Oh—sorry, man!"
Blaze gave a subtle nod, saying nothing. Just kept walking.
They never looked twice.
Of course they didn't.
To them, he was just another quiet guy in a hoodie. Invisible. Forgettable.
But that was fine.
Let the world ignore him.
Because when the clan came for her again—and they would—he'd be ready.
He reached his dormitory, climbed the stairs in silence, and entered his room without a sound. The door shut behind him with a quiet click.
Inside, the silence welcomed him like an old friend.
Empty. Still. Honest.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the cracked ceiling.
The world was still turning. But his war had just begun.
Blaze shut the door behind him with a soft click.
No lights. No sounds. Only the hush of solitude.
But unlike before, he didn't let the silence swallow him whole.
He stepped toward his desk and gently unstrapped the small first-aid kit tucked into his drawer. He had already bandaged his wounds earlier, but instinct told him to check again. He did so carefully—without urgency, without frustration.
Each movement was deliberate. He winced only slightly as he peeled back the gauze. Blood had clotted, but his body bore the cost of a day heavier than most.
As he cleaned the area again and applied fresh wrappings, his gaze caught a photo tucked in the far corner of the drawer. He hadn't touched it in weeks. Maybe months.
He hesitated—then pulled it out.
Two kids. Him and her. Laughing. Ice cream on their faces.
His thumb brushed across her smile.
"Serena..."
He whispered the name like a promise.
Even after all this time—after betrayal, blood, and becoming a tool—he hadn't forgotten how to care. He couldn't forget her. Not the real her. Not the girl who once sat beside him and shared her snacks during lunch. Not the one who cried when she saw him bleeding the first time.
He laid the photo gently beside his pillow.
Then, walking over to the window, he cracked it open just enough to let in the evening breeze. It carried with it the scent of sakura trees and warm bread from the campus café below. Students passed beneath, laughing, talking, some in uniforms, others in casual wear. A girl helped a boy fix the strap on his backpack. Someone offered their umbrella to another.
He watched quietly.
They were just living.
And deep inside, despite everything, Blaze didn't envy them.
He was grateful they could still live like that.
That somewhere in this cursed, crooked world, people still offered kindness with no hidden blade behind their back.
He turned from the window and made his way to his bed. He sat down, rubbing his palm softly—his knuckles were bruised. But he remembered something: the soft grip of her hand earlier in the hallway. Brief, unassuming.
It had been warm. Real.
He pulled the blanket over himself slowly, not collapsing into sleep, but lying back like someone who still held on to slivers of comfort.
He turned his head slightly, looking at the photo once more.
"You're still in there, aren't you?" he murmured, more to himself than to her.
Not as a question.
As a hope.
His breathing slowed.
Tonight, he wouldn't just sleep for strength.
He would sleep because he wanted to wake up tomorrow.
Because maybe… just maybe… he was beginning to remember what it felt like to be human again.
And in that quiet darkness, filled with the faint scent of spring and the hum of life outside, Blaze let himself drift off.
The silence of the dorm was undisturbed, save for the occasional murmur of wind brushing past the windowpane. In the dim moonlight, Blaze lay on his bed, still in his clothes. He had tried to sleep early, thinking that exhaustion would grant him rest. But the weight in his chest had different plans.
Beneath the surface of slumber, something darker awaited him.
---
He was running.
The world around him had turned grey, lifeless, frozen in twilight. Trees bled shadow, and the sky cracked with distant thunder. A metallic taste clung to the air.
He didn't know where he was—but he could feel her.
Alina.
His boots slammed into stone as he reached the edge of a collapsed street. Crumbled buildings loomed on either side like corpses of a forgotten city. In the distance, he saw it.
Her.
She was on her knees—struggling, clutching her side. Blood. So much blood.
"Alina!" he screamed, heart pounding, legs burning as he sprinted toward her.
But something slowed him down.
The shadows on the ground slithered like snakes, rising up to grab his legs. Chains of darkness erupted from the cracks and wrapped around his arms. They were his own power—but they weren't listening.
"No—let go! I said LET GO!!"
He tore through them, fury and desperation surging in every step.
He reached her at last.
She looked up at him—smiling weakly, eyes glazed with pain.
"B-Blaze… you're here…"
Her voice was so faint. So small.
"You're going to be fine," he said, voice shaking. "Stay with me, dammit—you're going to be okay!"
But behind her…
A black spear—pure shadow—rose from the ground.
His own power.
"No… no, no, NO!!"
He dove forward to shield her, but the world slowed again, cruel and suffocating.
The spear pierced straight through her back.
Her body jerked, her eyes widened.
And then—stillness.
She collapsed in his arms, her hair falling over her face like a curtain.
"No… no, please…" His voice broke. "Alina… stay with me. You can't—"
But she didn't move.
She didn't breathe.
She was gone.
CRACK
Something shattered inside him.
The sky above split apart into a spiral of red and black. Laughter echoed—distorted, cold, inhuman.
He looked down.
Her body was gone.
All that remained in his arms was shadow.
And his reflection stood across from him.
A twisted, corrupted version of himself—eyes pitch black, fangs bared in a grin.
"You'll always lose them."
The voice came from everywhere.
"You try to protect them… but in the end, your power devours everything."
---
"NOOO!!"
Blaze's scream tore through the night.
---
He bolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat, heart thundering in his chest. His eyes wide, disoriented. For a moment, the dream and reality bled together.
Then he realized—
Something was wrong.
All around him, the shadows had erupted without his control. His bed levitated slightly. The floor beneath his feet had become slick with living darkness, spreading like liquid fire across the room. Tendrils lashed at the walls, clawing and curling wildly.
His desk cracked under pressure, the curtains flailed like in a storm. Lights flickered, then died.
His power—his deepest self—was out of control.
And it was screaming with grief.
"Stop it," he whispered, clutching his chest. "It wasn't real—it wasn't—"
But the shadows didn't listen.
They writhed, reflecting the agony in his heart.
He stood, shaky, forcing his legs to move. He clenched his fists. His breath was uneven, body trembling—but his will sharpened like a blade.
"You're mine."
He stepped forward, eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
"You don't command me. I control you."
He reached into his core—the nexus of his ability—and willed it to obey.
With a thundering pulse, like a heart resetting, the shadows recoiled, then snapped back into his body in an instant. The room fell into dead silence, save for his heaving breath.
Only the faint scent of scorched air and the shaking of his own fingers remained.
He fell to his knees, hand gripping the bedframe.
"…It was just a nightmare," he whispered. "But it felt so real…"
He looked toward the window. The moon had vanished behind thick clouds.
His voice shook.
"I won't let that happen. Never. Even if I have to burn this world down… I'll protect her."
His shadow curled around his fingers, calm again.
But inside, a storm still churned.