The air smelled of copper and fear.
Noir couldn't move. His small body was frozen, every muscle locked in place by a terror so complete it felt like drowning in ice.
The masked figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the dim light filtering in from outside. The mask was smooth, featureless—white porcelain that reflected nothing, revealed nothing. No eyes. No mouth. Just emptiness.
In his hand, he held a scythe.
The blade gleamed as he pulled it slowly from the sheath on his back, the sound of metal against leather unnaturally loud in the small room.
"No," his mother whispered.
She was suddenly there, pulling Noir against her chest, her arms wrapping around him with desperate strength. Her heartbeat hammered against his ear—fast, irregular, terrified.
"Please," she said, her voice breaking. "Please, not him. He's just a child. He's—"
The masked figure took a step forward.
His mother's grip tightened, crushing Noir against her, as if she could somehow shield him with her body, as if love alone could stop what was coming.
"Noir," she whispered into his hair, her voice trembling. "Listen to me. Listen."
Noir tried to speak, tried to say something, but his throat was closed, his lungs empty.
"You have to be strong," she said, the words tumbling out fast, desperate. "Stronger than I ever was. Stronger than anyone."
The masked figure raised the scythe.
"Even if the world tells you you're darkness," his mother continued, her voice cracking, "even if you become darkness itself—you have to be the one who reflects light. Do you understand? You have to—"
Her breath hitched.
"I love you," she whispered. "I love you so much. I—"
The scythe fell.
The sound was wet. Final.
His mother's arms went slack.
Her body slumped forward, and her head—
It rolled.
Into Noir's lap.
Her eyes were still open. Still looking at him. But the light behind them was gone, extinguished like a candle snuffed out by wind.
Noir's mouth opened, but no sound came out.
His hands trembled, hovering over her face, wanting to touch, wanting to fix, wanting to undo what had just happened.
But he couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
Warmth spread across his lap—not from her, but from him. His body betraying him, losing control, shame mixing with horror mixing with a terror so vast it had no name.
The masked figure turned toward him.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
The scythe rose again, crimson droplets falling from its curved blade, each one hitting the floor with a sound like thunder.
Noir's eyes widened until they burned.
He couldn't look away.
Couldn't scream.
Couldn't do anything but watch as the blade descended—
—closer—
—closer—
—the edge catching the light—
Noir jolted awake with a strangled gasp, his hands clawing at the sheets.
His heart hammered against his ribs so hard it hurt. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, soaked through his clothes, made the fabric cling to his skin like a drowning man's last grasp at air.
He sat up too quickly, the room spinning violently around him.
Not real. It's not real. Just a dream.
But it wasn't just a dream.
It was a memory.
A childhood nightmare that had never left him, buried deep but never dead, clawing its way back to the surface now that he'd stopped running long enough for it to catch up.
Noir pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to steady his breathing.
In. Out. In. Out.
But he could still feel it.
The weight of her head in his lap.
The warmth of his own shame.
The cold finality of her lifeless eyes.
I couldn't save her, he thought, the words bitter and familiar. I couldn't do anything but watch.
And I'm still that same useless child.
A soft knock at the door shattered his spiraling thoughts.
"Noir?" Soo Ah's voice, muffled but clear. "It's time. Training begins soon."
Noir's throat was too tight to respond.
Another knock, gentler this time.
"I'm coming in."
The door opened slowly, and Soo Ah stepped inside. Her eyes swept across the room—taking in his disheveled state, the sweat-soaked sheets, the haunted look that he couldn't quite hide.
Her expression softened immediately.
"Bad night?" she asked quietly.
Noir looked away. "I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
"I said I'm fine." His voice came out harsher than he intended.
Soo Ah didn't flinch. She simply crossed the room and set a bundle of clean clothes on the chair near his bed.
"Fresh robes," she said. "You have twenty minutes to wash up and get ready. I'll wait outside."
"Wait for what?"
"To escort you." She turned toward the door, then paused. "Yuusha wants to see you before training begins. It's... standard procedure for new recruits. Especially for those choosing specialized positions."
Something in her tone made Noir's stomach tighten.
"What kind of procedure?"
Soo Ah's gaze lingered on him for a moment—something unreadable flickering across her face.
"He'll explain," she said finally. "Just... don't keep him waiting."
Then she was gone, the door clicking softly shut behind her.
Noir sat in the silence for a long moment, staring at the clean robes she'd left behind.
Standard procedure.
Specialized positions.
He didn't trust any of it.
But he didn't have a choice.
With a heavy exhale, he forced himself to stand and began preparing for whatever came next.
Twenty minutes later, Noir followed Soo Ah through the cathedral's winding corridors.
The morning light filtered through tall, narrow windows, casting long shadows across the stone floor. The air smelled faintly of incense and old wood, and the silence was so complete that every footstep echoed.
Soo Ah walked a few paces ahead, her posture straight, her hands clasped behind her back. She didn't speak, and Noir didn't try to break the silence.
His mind was still tangled in the remnants of the nightmare, still trying to shake off the feeling of his mother's blood on his hands—phantom sensations that wouldn't fade no matter how hard he scrubbed them away during his washing.
"Even if you become darkness itself—you have to be the one who reflects light."
The words haunted him.
What had she meant?
Was it a prophecy? A warning? A dying wish she'd had no time to explain?
Focus, he told himself. Whatever Yuusha wants, just get through it. Then you can start training. Then you can start getting stronger.
They climbed a spiral staircase that seemed to go on forever, winding upward into the higher reaches of the cathedral. Finally, they emerged into a long hallway lined with ornate wooden doors.
Soo Ah stopped in front of the largest one at the end of the hall.
"He's inside," she said. "Knock once and enter. Don't make him wait."
Noir glanced at her. "Aren't you coming in?"
She shook her head. "This is between you and him."
There was something in her expression—concern, maybe, or wariness—but before Noir could ask, she turned and walked back the way they'd come, leaving him alone in the hallway.
Noir stared at the door.
For a moment, he considered turning around. Walking away. Leaving this place entirely.
But where would I go?
Back to the streets? Back to running? Back to being hunted?
No.
He'd made his choice.
He raised his fist and knocked once.
"Enter," came Yuusha's calm, melodic voice from within.
Noir pushed the door open and stepped inside.