Hayato's eyes fluttered open and he felt... nothing.
No pain.
No burning agony coursing through his veins.
No knives carving into his flesh.
Just a strange, weightless sensation, as if his body was finally free from its suffering.
He blinked, his vision adjusting.
Wooden walls, aged and familiar.
The faint scent of freshly rained on grass.
The distant murmur of children playing.
His breath hitched.
He knew this place.
Slowly, he pushed himself up, his fingers trailing over the worn floorboards beneath him.
The same creaky ones from long ago.
His head turned towards the open window, and beyond it, the sky stretched wide—yet it was nothing like before.
The skies were painted in an aurora of colors, blues and violets melting into gold.
A sight too beautiful, too unreal to exist in the world he knew.
His lips trembled.
"Am I... finally dead?"
The words left him in a whisper, barely more than a breath.
His body felt lighter than ever.
His gaze stayed locked on the sky, as if searching for an answer within its celestial glow.
Then, his knees gave out.
He collapsed onto the floor, his shoulders shaking, his fingers clutching at the fabric of his clothes.
"It's over..."
Tears welled in his eyes, slipping down his cheeks.
A sob bubbled in his throat, raw and disbelieving.
"It's over... It's really over..."
The words repeated, over and over, spilling from his lips in a broken chant.
His breaths hitched, his body curling in on itself as the dam finally burst.
A twisted, ugly smile stretched across his face as the sobs wracked his body, small and pitiful at first—then louder, and louder.
Louder.
Until his voice filled the orphanage, until it drowned out the sounds of the world around him.
---
Hayato wiped at his swollen eyes, his breath still uneven from the hours of sobbing.
He had poured out everything—all the fear, the pain, the years of torture that had twisted and broken him.
Even if this was death, he was finally free.
His fingers trembled as he pressed them against the wooden floor, pushing himself up.
The orphanage around him felt exactly as he remembered—down to the cracks in the walls.
He let out a shaky breath before stepping forward, his hands reaching for the door.
It creaked open beneath his touch.
He expected warmth, the familiar sight of children running through the halls, their laughter ringing in his ears.
But the moment he stepped out, the sounds abruptly cut off.
Silence.
A strange, hollow hush filled the space where life had been just moments ago.
"Huh?"
The word left his lips involuntarily, a reflex to the unnatural shift in atmosphere.
His gaze flickered around, searching, but the hall was empty.
No children.
No movement.
Just the orphanage, untouched, frozen in time.
Slowly, he descended the stairs, his fingers brushing against the banister, the walls, the old furniture.
Each touch sent a pulse of nostalgia through him, as if reliving his past in brief, flickering memories.
This was the only time in his life that had been carefree.
The only time he had someone else to depend on.
When he had genuine connections, before the world had sunk its claws into him.
His pace slowed as he reached the entrance, his breath hitching.
Just moments ago, the world had been filled with echoes of laughter.
Now, there was nothing.
Nothing except— A presence.
Sitting before the main gate, its broad form blocking the path forward, was a massive owl.
Its back was turned to him, wings neatly folded at its sides, utterly still as if it had been waiting..
Hayato took an instinctive step back.
The owl—if it could even be called that—turned its head towards him, revealing a face that did not belong to any creature of this world.
Seven eyes, all weeping rivers of thick, crimson blood.
A human mouth where a beak should have been, lips curling in an unnatural mimicry of a smile.
The rest of its grotesque face looked like an exposed brain, each fold glistening.
"Thank you ... Hayato."
The words slithered through the air, spoken in not one voice but many.
A mixture of overlapping tones—deep and guttural, soft and feminine, childlike giggles, the growls of beasts, even something that resembled the scraping of claws against bone.
Hayato's fingers twitched at his sides.
"Who... are you?" His voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper.
The owl did not answer.
It simply tilted its grotesque head, as if studying him.
Then, in a voice that sent a chill through his spine, it said:
"You are not dead yet."
Not dead? Then—what was this?
Before he could process anything, the creature continued, its many voices dripping with something eerily close to longing.
"We have waited for so long... wondering when the day would come...."
"We have been trapped, caught between death and Living. Unable to pass on. Unable to be free."
The blood from its seven eyes dripped onto the floor, disappearing into nothingness.
Then, after a long pause, it spoke again:
"Say... do you want to live?"
Hayato would be lying if he said he wanted to live.
What was there to live for? His entire existence had been pain, suffering, and cruelty.
Every moment of his life, both past and present, had been steeped in agony.
There was no hope, no light at the end of the tunnel—only endless torment.
"Of course, you don't," the owl said, as if reading his thoughts.
Its chorus of voices carried no mockery, no scorn.
"Living two lives riddled with nothing but pain… is a harrowing experience."
Hayato was surprises he hadn't said anything...
But this creature—this thing—knew.
It knew everything.
His heart pounded against his ribs.
"I'll ask again," he muttered, voice raw. "Who are you?"
The owl took a step forward. As it moved, embers began rising from the floor beneath its feet, flickering like dying stars.
"Hayato," it whispered. "You know who we are."
The words sent an unnatural shiver down his spine.
"We've been with you your whole life. And because of you, we finally have a chance to pass on."
Hayato clenched his fists. "I don't understand. You—"
"Remember, Hayato. Your past life."
"The fire that engulfed this very orphanage."
---
Flames.
The crackling roar of fire filled his ears.
Hayato coughed violently, his lungs burning as he stumbled forward.
Thick, black smoke curled around him like a noose, suffocating, consuming.
The world was an inferno, heat licking at his skin, charring the air he breathed.
The children's screams had already faded.
The orphanage—the only home he had ever known—was collapsing around him.
Through blurry eyes, he saw bodies strewn across the floor, unmoving, the fire hungrily devouring them.
The walls groaned under the weight of the flames, splitting, cracking, breaking apart.
He knew he was going to die.
He was covered in fire.
The searing pain of his flesh burning should have been unbearable.
And yet— Nothing.
Just as his vision blurred into black, just as he was sure his body would turn to ash—
The fire parted around him.
A miracle, they called it.
He was found in the ruins, unharmed. Not a single burn on his skin.
---
Hayato staggered back, his entire body shaking.
His mouth opened, but no words came out.
The owl smiled, its human lips curling in grotesque amusement.
"It was 'me,' Hayato."
"We saved you."
"And it was also we who started the fire."
A sharp, piercing cold spread through his veins, turning his insides to ice.
"After you died, the 'we' who possessed you traversed into this world. And now, we finally have a chance to pass on."
Hayato's mind spun. It didn't make sense. It didn't—
"It's very simple," the owl continued.
"Give us all your karma, and in return, you will inherit the power of the lives we've consumed over decades before we found you."
The embers beneath its feet burned brighter.
"Decide, Hayato."
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Power Stones and Reviews please