The night was cold.
Colder than anything Hitachi had ever felt before. Not just in his bones—but in his blood. In his soul.
He stood alone in the middle of the forest behind the house, barefoot, trembling, the hem of his school uniform brushing against his ankles. The fabric clung to his skin, soaked in blood that was no longer warm. It stuck to him like a second skin, a reminder of what he had done. A weight he couldn't wash away.
His breaths came in short, sharp gasps. Every inhale stabbed his chest. Every exhale clouded into the air like smoke from a dying fire. The wind cut through the trees and across his skin, but he didn't flinch.
He didn't care.
He had run.
From the house. From the blood. From his grandfather's face, twisted in horror and fear.
From himself.
He didn't know how far he'd gone. Didn't know how long he'd been moving. He only knew the silence.
The forest swallowed him whole. Its tall trees stood like watchers in the dark, unmoving, their branches heavy with frost. The ground beneath his feet was damp and cold, sucking the warmth from his body. Mud clung to his soles. Twigs scraped against his legs. Somewhere in the distance, something cried out—a low, guttural howl that echoed through the trees.
He dropped to his knees. The wet earth squished between his fingers as he gripped the ground like he was trying to hold on to reality.
His voice cracked. "What's happening to me?"
There was no reply.
Only the whisper of the wind. Only the rustling of leaves. Only the sound of his own heart, pounding too fast.
Tears welled up in his eyes, but they didn't fall. They burned, clung to his lashes, and then vanished with the next blink.
He wanted to scream. To cry. To tear his chest open and rip out whatever monster was sleeping inside.
But no scream came.
Only whispers.
> "You're awake now."
Hitachi froze.
It wasn't one of the thousand voices he'd come to fear. It wasn't like the mad rambling in his skull. This one was clearer. Slower. Deep, like it came from beneath the earth. Like it had been waiting.
"You felt it, didn't you?" it said again, calm and steady. "The truth inside your bones."
He spun around, eyes wide, scanning the dark. "Who's there?!"
Nothing.
Only the trees.
Only the dark.
And then—he saw it.
A figure.
It stood between two trees, tall and still. Wrapped in black cloth that flowed like it was underwater. It didn't move. It didn't breathe. It didn't even cast a proper shadow. The forest around it dimmed like the light had been sucked away.
No face. No voicebox. No eyes.
Just presence.
Hitachi's heart slammed in his chest. His breath caught. His body refused to move.
"W-What are you?" he whispered. "Who are you?"
The figure's voice echoed without lips. "A watcher. A fragment. A servant of what you carry."
It stepped forward.
Not walked. Just... moved. Like the world bent around it.
"The gate has opened," it said. "You've tasted what lies beyond the wall. And now... they know where you are."
Hitachi's stomach twisted. "Who? Who knows?"
"The ones who devour realms. The ones who burn dimensions to find what they seek. The ones who nearly ended the Underworld. They are not human. They are not alive in any way you understand. They are coming."
His legs trembled as he stood. "You're saying… the same thing that attacked the Shadow King… that destroyed that world…"
"Yes."
"And now… they're after me?"
The figure didn't answer. Not with words.
Instead, the forest grew quieter. Like even nature was afraid.
"But why me?" Hitachi's voice cracked. "Why put this thing in me? I was dying! I was just a sick, broken kid! I'm not strong enough for this!"
The figure tilted its head slightly. The shadows around it pulsed, like they were breathing.
"Exactly. You were dying. Hollow. Weak. Unimportant. No one would suspect a boy already fading."
Those words hit deeper than anything else.
"They chose you not because you were special… but because you were forgotten."
Hitachi's throat tightened. He looked down at his bloodstained hands. "I didn't want this…"
"And yet here you are."
He clenched his jaw. "They tried to take me. They hurt my grandfather. I didn't mean to kill them. I didn't want to."
"Intent does not matter," the figure replied, circling him slowly. "Not to the things that hunt the gate. Power has a scent. You have been marked. And now they will come."
Hitachi's fists clenched. Rage stirred beneath his fear.
"Then let them come," he said, his voice shaking. "I'll fight them."
The figure paused. "You don't even know how. You barely understand what's inside you. You don't know how to listen to the voices. You don't know what you are."
"Then tell me," he snapped. "Teach me."
A stillness fell. Even the wind seemed to stop.
"You are not human," the figure said slowly. "You are not demon. You are vessel. You are gate. You are both key and lock. You are the crack between realms—the wound through which darkness will pour."
Hitachi took a step back. His whole body trembled. "No… I didn't ask for this."
"And yet… here you are."
The shadows shifted. The figure's black cloak fell away like smoke unraveling in water.
Hitachi's eyes widened.
There was no body underneath.
No flesh. No bone. Just thick, black smoke swirling in the shape of a man. A ghost made of ash and shadow.
"I am your guide," it said. "A fragment of the Shadow King's will. I've been with you since the seal was placed."
"You're the one who whispered in the hospital," Hitachi muttered.
"Yes. I gave you calm when your mind fractured. I held you up when your body collapsed. But I couldn't awaken fully… not until blood was spilled."
His stomach twisted. "So this is your fault."
"No. This… is your destiny."
It lifted an arm. The smoke shifted. Trees ahead moved apart—an opening forming in the woods. A trail lined with dead leaves and stone, leading north.
"There is a place you must go," the figure said. "A temple that touches the Underworld's edge. A crack between dimensions. There, you will begin to understand what lives inside you."
Hitachi stared at the path.
It looked endless.
"My grandfather…" he said, hesitating. "I can't leave him. I can't just disappear."
The figure's voice softened. "He fears you now. You saw it in his eyes. Felt it in your bones. And others will come—humans, demons, creatures drawn to the gate inside you. If you stay… he dies."
Hitachi's eyes burned. "He's all I have."
"And that is why you must leave. To protect him. To survive. To become what you were meant to be."
He stood there for a long time.
The trail loomed ahead—dark and narrow. Behind him: blood, broken walls, and the man who raised him now trembling with fear.
Ahead: pain, power, truth.
"If I go," he asked quietly, "can I come back?"
The figure didn't hesitate. "No."
The word hit like a blade.
"The boy who walks that path will not be the same one who returns. He will be something else."
Hitachi looked down at his hands. The blood had dried. The fingers still trembled.
He took one shaky breath.
"I'm tired of running," he whispered.
The figure stepped back into the shadows.
"Then walk."
Hitachi turned to the trail.
It looked like it would never end. Trees towered on either side, whispering secrets to each other. The sky was black, starless, and silent.
He took one step.
Then another.
Each footfall was heavier than the last.
But he didn't stop.
The shadows welcomed him like an old friend.
And somewhere behind him, the forest closed.
The voice followed him, distant and low:
> "What have you become?"
> "The question is no longer what, Hitachi..."
> "It's how far will you go?"