As the girl vanished into the mist, something lingered in the air—a strange calm, like a memory left behind. Kenichi stood still, her words echoing in his mind:
"Just another echo."
Those words struck deep. He didn't fully understand them, but something about her felt familiar. Like courage. Like love. Like a reflection of someone he'd lost long ago.
He pressed forward, but a feeling crawled over his skin—he was being watched.
From the mist emerged broken ruins, scattered stone structures—evidence that this world had once held civilization. As he moved past the remnants, distant sounds reached him: shouts, crackling fire, cries.
Kenichi broke into a sprint.
Through the parting mist, he saw a village. Human-like figures gathered in a crowd, all facing one burning house. Their expressions were grim, not panicked. None moved to help.
Confused, Kenichi rushed forward.
But before he could reach the fire, a tall figure dropped from above—graceful, swift, powerful. His presence alone made the air feel heavier.
"Stop," the figure said. "Go back to where you came from."
"But your village—there's fire! There are people inside!" Kenichi shouted.
"That flame is not ordinary," the figure replied coldly. "It is cursed. We cannot interfere."
"Cursed?" Kenichi frowned. "But I can hear children in there!"
The man's expression didn't change. "They are marked. Their existence draws ruin. If we interfere, we risk bringing the Watcher's wrath upon us all."
Kenichi stepped forward again.
WHAM!
A fist slammed into him, sending him flying. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he hit the dirt hard.
But he stood up.
Again.
The memory of his sister—her cries, her burning image—pushed him forward.
"I'm not going to let it happen again!" he roared.
He sprinted past the stunned villagers. The figure lunged after him, but Kenichi's instincts flared—he ducked, dodged, and slipped past.
The flames raged wildly. But Kenichi didn't stop.
Inside the burning house, heat and smoke choked his lungs. Screams pierced through the walls.
He pushed in. Wood cracked. Ash fell. Beams collapsed. His hands burned as he lifted debris, his skin searing, muscles screaming—but he didn't stop.
He found them.
Two children—scared, coughing, eyes wide.
A boy and a girl.
Their presence was strange—almost... luminous.
Kenichi grabbed them both, shielded them with his body, and leapt through a collapsing window.
He crashed into the dirt as the house behind them finally caved in.
The villagers gasped. Whispers rippled through the crowd. The watching figure stood frozen.
Kenichi knelt, clutching the children close, coughing through blood.
One of the children looked up and said softly:
"You... you're not from here, are you?"
Kenichi blinked, dazed. "No. I'm not."
And in that moment, the sky above shimmered—and a presence far beyond the village stirred.
Far above, cloaked in clouds and mist,
Golden eyes blinked open.
Watching.
Waiting.
Kenichi gently placed the children down on the grass. Their faces were streaked with soot, but their eyes still shimmered with life.
One of them—a girl, no older than 5—opened her eyes halfway. Her gaze, soft yet strangely knowing, met Kenichi's.
She whispered, barely audible:
"Kenichi..."
He froze.
He hadn't told them his name. He hadn't told anyone.
And yet she said it with certainty. Not as a question, but as if it had always been known.
Gasps echoed from the villagers behind him. The same ones who had doubted him now stood still, their expressions shifting—first confusion, then awe.
And now… they knew his name.