I could feel it — the residue, the tiniest pulse of the Unknown's presence, still thrum faintly in my veins.
Not fear, not power, just a whisper of recognition, a fragment of energy that didn't belong to me, yet obeyed me in a way that was both unnatural and necessary. My heart pounded, adrenaline sharpening every sense, stretching them thin, letting me feel the world in ways I never had before. Honestly, I was starting to suspect my nervous system had been upgraded without consent.
The wind carried fragments of sound — not just air pressure, but memory echoes of footsteps, breaths, whispers. I could vaguely hear the landscape bending, the dust shivering in its folds. Every smell was magnified: ash, earth, something metallic, something alive. It was like the world had stopped being subtle and decided to scream everything at once. The pulse of the Unknown traced a trembling thread through it all.
I ran, letting the fragment guide me, following the vibrations that only I could sense. Each step placed me on ground that wasn't always ground, each movement navigating warped terrain that shifted beneath my feet like liquid clay. I could feel it now — him, and somewhere ahead, the small heartbeat of the one I needed to find. And I really, really hoped I wasn't wrong, because I was not emotionally prepared for embarrassment at apocalyptic scale.
"Kae, I'll save you." I whispered, almost to myself. I didn't dare let anyone else hear, not Kenta, not Hiro. This was mine.
The fragment pulsed stronger as I focused, and for a moment, the world fell away. Only the thread remained: a faint, trembling light in the chaos, the whisper of a middle-schooler crying somewhere inside the fractured lands.
*This is probably it.*
I swallowed hard. My hands tightened into fists, my senses screaming with every scrap of energy I could command. If I could just follow it, if I could just reach that tremor of life, maybe… maybe I could make this right. Or at least stop things from getting even more legally insane.
We moved through the broken streets in silence. Every step felt heavier than the last. The air itself seemed to resist us — thick with dust, shimmering with the leftover static of something that shouldn't exist. Even the atmosphere felt like it was holding a grudge.
No one spoke.
The world around us had become a painting drawn by a shaking hand — roads bending into themselves, buildings half-folded into impossible angles. Time didn't feel like it was moving forward anymore, only circling. Like reality forgot which direction was "normal" and just gave up.
And yet, I could feel it — a pulse beneath everything. The same pulse that had once burned inside me when the Unknown's energy touched my body. A faint pull, somewhere ahead. Like a bad idea calling my name.
"Yo," Kenta called softly. "You sure this is the right way?"
"Yeah, probably." I said.
"Probably?"
I didn't answer that, because I also liked living.
Hiro walked behind us, his flashlight beam slicing through the haze. "Feels like the air's alive," he muttered.
"Yeah," I said.
Then we saw it.
At first, it was just a fractured silhouette cutting through the mist. But as we drew closer, its sheer size became clear. The thing towered over what remained of the city, a giant stone pillar that pierced the clouds like reality got stabbed and forgot to react.
Its surface wasn't smooth — it was alive with shifting geometry. Angles twisted, turned, looped into themselves, forming patterns that made my eyes regret having eyes.
No one spoke. Even the wind seemed to be silent.
"What… is that?" one of the classmates whispered.
No one could answer. Mostly because "I don't know" felt disrespectful to whatever that was.
We stopped at the base of the monolith. Up close, it wasn't stone anymore — it looked like glass and concrete had fused together, warped and melted by something deeply illegal. Each plane reflected a distorted image of us — multiple versions, some still, some slightly delayed like they were running on bad ping.
Hiro took a shaky step back. "This is wrong, man. This shouldn't exist."
I stepped forward instead. My hand brushed the surface — it felt warm. And then, beneath that warmth, there was a faint rhythm, a heartbeat. Like something inside was pretending it wasn't scared.
Kenta moved beside me. "You think something's inside?"
"Maybe," I said quietly. "Maybe someone."
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
I didn't answer. My thoughts were a storm — Kae's voice, the Unknown's words, the flash of her eyes the moment before everything vanished. If there was even a chance that I could undo it all… it wasn't worth hesitating for. Unfortunately.
I pressed my hand harder against the surface, letting the residue of the Unknown's energy in me hum in sync with whatever was inside. A sound rang through the air — low, deep, like a bell echoing underwater. The pillar shifted. For a heartbeat, the distorted reflections flickered, showing hundreds of faces trapped in the geometry before deciding they had seen enough and disappearing.
The classmates screamed. Hiro pulled one of them back, shouting my name.
But I couldn't move. The energy between me and the pillar had connected — threads of purple light webbing out from my palm across the structure's surface.
Kenta's voice came from behind me. "Souta, quit embracing that thing and get over here."
The pillar pulsed repeatedly and with each pulse, the geometry bent further out of reality's reach. The top of the structure vanished into the clouds, its shadow stretching endlessly like it was trying to become a weather system.
And deep within its heart… a small silhouette flickered.
Hiro saw it too. "Someone… someone's in there!"
Kenta took a step forward. "Who?"
I was unable to answer. Because the truth wasn't certain yet — and somehow, that uncertainty terrified me more than knowing.
The boy stumbled forward as soon as I pulled him out of the pillar. His knees hit the fractured ground, and he buried his face in his hands, trembling like his soul had just clocked out.
"I… I caused all of this," he choked out. "It's all my fault… I never wanted—"
"Hey," I said firmly, gripping his shoulders. "Stop, listen to me. None of this is your fault. I refuse to accept that level of responsibility transfer."
He shook his head violently. "It is! I wish… I wish I were dead. Maybe then none of this would have happened!"
I froze, my chest tightening. That thought, that desperation, was something I knew too well. And honestly, I'd like to return it for store credit.
"Don't," I whispered, placing a hand over his shaking one. "I don't care how much pain you feel. You're not alone, and you don't get to unalive yourself."
His shoulders slumped, but the sobs didn't stop. I crouched down beside him, lowering my voice. "Look… I know what it's like to carry too much by yourself. I know what it's like to want to make everyone happy, even when it feels impossible."
Even as I said it, it sounded worse out loud. Like one of those motivational quotes you see on a cracked school wall next to "exams are tomorrow."
He looked up, tear-streaked eyes meeting mine, skeptical and raw.
"My parents… my life… I thought I had to do everything perfectly. I wanted to be enough, but I was never enough for anyone. I tried to be a hero, a genius, someone people would be proud of." I said, my voice barely above the hum of the fractured city. "But I failed. I lost… I lost nearly everything. Someone I cared about, people I should have protected. And now… now, maybe I get a chance to fix it, to… make it right."
His lips trembled. "But… it's… it's too much. How can anyone fix this?"
Good question. Honestly, I was also curious.
"You can," I said anyway. "But there is probably only one way to."
He blinked, uncertain. "What… what's that?"
I leaned closer, voice firm but gentle. "You renounce the Unknown. You let me take it so I can put an end to this. You stop letting it rule you, stop letting it punish you for things you never meant to do. You give it up, and you live. You live for yourself, for the people who care about you, for the ones you couldn't save before."
Even I had to admit… this sounded like I was trying to sell him emotional insurance.
He trembled, silent, chewing on the words. The wind shifted, dust swirled in ghostly spirals. Around us, the classmates were frozen — some unsure what they were seeing, others clearly afraid.
Kenta stepped closer, a frown on his face. "Souta…"
The boy's lips quivered. "I… I don't know if I'm… ready…"
"You're not alone," I repeated. "I'll help you. Kenta will help, Hiro will help, we will all help. But you have to trust us. And more than that… you have to trust yourself."
Which is hilarious, because I wasn't fully trusting myself either at the moment.
His hands finally dropped from his face. The first hint of comprehension — of fragile hope crossed his features.
Around us, the classmates watched silently, whispers catching in their throats. They didn't understand everything. But Kenta and Hiro exchanged a glance — the unspoken acknowledgment that yes, this was exactly what Souta had to do. This was the moment that would decide everything.
The boy's shoulders shook, but he nodded, small at first, then firmer. "Okay… okay. I… I'll try. I'll… give him to you."
I placed my hand over his again, gripping it tight. "Good. We'll face it together. One step at a time. What's your name?"
"Miru…" he softly said.
And for a second, it felt like something might actually be okay again…
Or so I thought.
"Did someone wish they were dead?"
The voice cut through everything—calm, amused, and too close for comfort. The ground cracked a moment after it spoke, like it was reacting late.
We all froze.
From the haze, he walked out—Vescarion, the Unknown.
Reality didn't react to him like it should have. It just… shifted out of the way not wanting to deal with him directly. The air felt heavy to my lungs, and that strange energy inside me—the piece he left behind before I renounced him—started reacting on its own.
He smiled. Or at least, it looked like a smile if you didn't think too hard about it.
"I'd like you to be specific," he said casually, but in a terrifying tone. "How exactly do you want to die?"