He fell through the rain like a prayer the gods refused to answer.
Blood trailed him, coiling in the air like red ribbons unwinding from his chest. Ren's eyes stayed open, the entire way down. The pain wasn't the worst part—the betrayal was.
Above him, his best friend stood at the cliff's edge, hand still clutching the knife slick with Ren's blood. He didn't shout explanations. He didn't hesitate. He just...watched.
Crack.
Bones snapped as Ren's body met stone. Pain flared, then dulled. A soundless scream curled behind his tongue as he stared at the storm clouds above—waiting to die. Praying he would.
But then...
He heard it. Like a silent whisper, an ancient voice reached his soul without passing through his bleeding ears.
"All debts must be paid. Even the forgotten ones."
Ren's lips parted slowly as his heavy eyelids began to close. The downpour continued as the man he once called brother walked away, coldly. Not even the greatest seers of Mavros could have foreseen this—yet it happened nonetheless.
Hope dampened, dreams evaporated, and trust shattered. Ren could only catch scattered fragments of memory as he exhaled his last breath.
Earlier that day, everything had been different. Ren felt pain then, too—but it was from laughing too hard as he pedaled through the streets of Dane with Tohm, his longtime friend.
Tohm told jokes as they rode. He was always good at making people smile.
"Quit laughing already. I'm trying to deliver another punchline," Tohm grumbled, though his eyes shone with amusement.
"I swear I'm trying," Ren gasped between breaths. "But I keep picturing your face when you say it."
"Well, it can't be helped. I am pretty awesome, after all."
Tohm's curly blond hair bounced as they veered off the main road, heading toward Lesser Dane—where they were both born.
Lesser Dane claimed no grand significance. The name wasn't ironic; it was a reflection of its fate. The old widows said the slum once bore a different title—back when coal filled the pockets of Mavros's ruling council. Those days were gone. On that cloudy morning in the year 149, Ren and Tohm pedaled past starving children and grieving mothers mourning those the plague had taken.
Yet the boys remained carefree. As long as Tohm had jokes and Ren could laugh, they were all right.
Screech.
Tohm's tires halted first—he had always been faster. Ren skidded to a stop not far behind. They stood in silence, staring at their home.
Ren wiped sweat from his temple and whispered, "It's... beautiful."
Tohm nodded without speaking. Ren knew his friend felt the same. He never lingered on what he disliked.
A fierce pride swelled in them both—and rightly so. After weeks of delivering pizza across Dane, they'd saved enough to fulfill Yelena's dying wish. Her portrait now graced the mural on their stoop, etched in vibrant colour. Beneath it, a single line read:
"To she who smiled brightest."
Tears slipped down Tohm's cheeks as he read the inscription. He tried to steady his voice, but grief overpowered him.
Yelena's tale was well-known in Dane—though only the denizens of Lesser Dane held it dear. She was the first to succumb to the plague that would claim thousands more. By the time the council mustered resources to investigate, entire neighborhoods lay in ruin. Lesser Dane suffered worst of all.
A warm hand gripped Tohm's, pulling him from his reverie. It belonged to someone who had walked this path before—but in a different time.
Orphaned at nine, Ren was no stranger to loss. The riots of year 138—when the people rose against Jone the Black—had claimed his parents. Loyalists fired on protesters from helicopters overhead, and the streets ran red.
Though the Redemption Army eventually toppled Jone—who died by his own hand—it meant little to young Ren.
Intent on erasing darker memories, Ren squeezed Tohm's hand and pointed ahead.
"Do you smell that?"
Tohm didn't answer. He broke into a run toward the entrance of their home, shouting over his shoulder, "Last one to the kitchen does the dishes!"
"You cunning son of a bitch!" Ren yelled, charging after him.
Unsurprisingly, Ren lost. He stumbled over scattered books and discarded furniture before Nina intercepted him—vanilla cupcake in hand.
Ren skidded to a halt, eyes wide.
"Happy twentieth birthday, brother," Tohm said, stepping out from behind Nina.
Ren hesitated, confusion written on his face.
"It's July 7th," Nina smiled gently. "Just because you forgot doesn't mean we did. Make a wish before the candle burns out." She placed the cupcake before him.
Ren closed his eyes and blew out the tiny flame, a wide grin lighting his face.
This was not his wish.
Not to lie broken and bleeding at the foot of a cliff. Not to be murdered by the friend he trusted most. In that moment, only one thought pierced the haze of pain—and it was not his own.
[SYSTEM INSTALLATION COMPLETE.]
[Punishment system activated.]
Status: You have been chosen by the god of grief.
Target: Stevan Gorr.
Mission: Kill within 24 hours.
An eerie whisper of air brushed Ren's face as his eyes flew open.
"Who the hell is Stevan?" he croaked.