Night arrived without ceremony.
No alarms.
No screams.
Just the slow realization that something was missing.
At Lifeline High, the corridors were quieter than usual. Not empty—just wrong. The kind of silence that didn't come from peace, but from expectation.
Sumi noticed it first.
Ren's seat was still empty when the final bell rang.
At first, she told herself he was late. Then she told herself he had left early. By the third excuse, she stopped lying to herself altogether.
She gathered her books slowly, eyes flicking to the door each time it opened.
He didn't come.
---
Tobi felt it before he heard it.
He was in the storage hall beneath the training grounds, checking the bindings on the Dark Dragon Sword when a sharp pressure struck his chest—like someone had pulled a thread inside him and refused to let go.
Not pain.
Distance.
He straightened, breath shallow.
"…Ren."
The sword reacted—not violently, but unmistakably.
A low pulse traveled through the wrappings, answering something that wasn't there.
Tobi clenched his jaw.
So you feel it too.
---
Elsewhere, Yanshi stood on the roof of the old dormitory, wind tugging at his coat. His eyes were half-lidded, expression unreadable—until the air shifted.
He opened his eyes fully.
"…That idiot."
The pressure wasn't unfamiliar. He had felt it once before, years ago, when someone stepped too close to a memory they shouldn't have touched.
Yanshi exhaled slowly.
"He's not lost," he muttered. "He's drifting."
---
Mizumi was the last to notice—but once she did, she couldn't ignore it.
The group chat was quiet.
Too quiet.
She scrolled back. Ren hadn't replied since morning. No jokes. No reactions. No dry comments that usually arrived late but always arrived.
She typed once.
> Where are you?
No answer.
Mizumi's smile faded—not dramatically, not loudly. Just enough for concern to replace humor.
"…Okay," she whispered. "That's not funny."
---
In the faculty office, Miss Shiratori paused mid-sentence.
Her pen hovered over the page.
She frowned—not at the paperwork, but at the sensation crawling up her spine.
A presence had shifted.
Not entered.
Not attacked.
Shifted.
She closed her notebook slowly.
"So," she murmured, eyes lifting toward the window, "it's begun."
---
High above the city, standing where the wind howled loud enough to erase doubt, two figures watched Tokyo breathe beneath them.
One leaned against the railing, posture relaxed, eyes sharp.
"The sword reacted," the first said.
The second figure remained still, cloak barely moving despite the wind.
"Yes," the second replied. "And so did the boy."
A pause.
"Do you think he'll find him in time?"
The first smiled faintly.
"That depends," he said, gaze fixed on the city lights, "on whether they all move… or hesitate."
---
Back at the shrine gate, Kaien stood alone once more.
He didn't move when the footsteps approached.
"You felt it," Kaien said calmly.
Tobi stopped beside him, breathing hard—not from running, but from holding something in.
"…Where is he?"
Kaien didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at the horizon—at the place where night swallowed distance.
"He's not hiding," Kaien said at last. "And he's not being chased."
Tobi's fists clenched.
"Then why can't I feel him properly?"
Kaien turned, eyes grave.
"Because," he said, "he's walking toward something that remembers him better than he remembers himself."
The Dark Dragon Sword pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
Not calling.
Responding.
Kaien stepped aside, opening the path beyond the gate.
"When you gather the others," he said, "tell them this isn't a rescue."
Tobi swallowed.
"…Then what is it?"
Kaien met his gaze.
"A retrieval," he replied.
"Before the past decides to keep him."
The wind rose.
Somewhere out there, Ren took another step—
and the distance between them all quietly began to collapse.