I ran through the ship, making sure every prisoner was freed before I made my escape—one final sweep, checking for anyone still trapped. The vessel twisted like a maze, its corridors bending and looping in ways that made no sense. I kept losing my bearings, each wrong turn sharpening my frustration.

  And then pain hit.

  Some guard I didn’t notice got me from behind. Turns out I’d been too wrapped up in the high of killing that “god” to see the blade coming. If that old man hadn’t yelled a warning, I’d be dead on the floor instead of limping down this hallway.

  But limp or not, I kept moving.

  Chains, shackles, and tools of torture lined the walls—terrifyingly familiar. Memories clawed up from my past life, but there was no time to freeze.

  Not when I reached the final room.

  A beam overhead groaned, showering sparks across the floor.

  And then I saw her.

  She couldn’t have been older than nine or ten. Small enough to fold into herself, curled inside a barrel like she was nothing more than cargo. Malnourished, bruised, half-naked—every inch of her skin told a story of cruelty.

  Bruises.

  Dried blood.

  Old scars over new ones.

  My anger rose—but it wasn’t the wild, unhinged rage from before. When I killed the Celestial Dragon, everything burned red. But this time… this time, it was controlled. Sharper. Focused.

  Even so, none of that compared to her eyes.

  Empty.

  Hollow.

  Like the girl she once was had been erased from existence.

  As I looked at her, a sickening realization settled in my gut.

  In my old world… I had done the same kind of things.

  I had been cruel.

  A tyrant.

  A monster who hurt without remorse.

  I wasn’t a hero.

  I wasn’t righteous.

  I wasn’t better.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  So what words could I possibly offer her?

  None.

  But I couldn’t walk away. That wasn’t who I wanted to be anymore. The memory of lowering my blade against Mizuki came back to me—I made a choice then, and I would make it again now.

  I stepped forward and sliced through her chains.

  She didn’t move.

  She just sat there, lifeless.

  I exhaled, forcing myself to stay calm. I couldn’t afford to scare her. But my hands were trembling. Even now, the tremor still lingers.

  Then she reacted.

  She screamed and scrambled backward until she hit the wall, staring at me like I was another monster.

  I cursed under my breath and raised my hands.

  “It’s okay,” I said gently. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help.”

  She was shivering violently. From fear, cold, hunger… all of it. But in her eyes, I caught something. A flicker of will.

  She was still there.

  Buried deep, but there.

  Slowly, I unstrapped my sword and let it fall to the floor with a heavy clang. Then I carefully nudged it toward her with my foot.

  “If I ever seem like a threat to you,” I said softly, “use that. I swear I’ll never hurt you. But if I do… you’ll have that to protect yourself.”

  Her wide eyes darted between me and the blade. After a hesitant moment, she picked it up—not unsheathing it, just holding it tight. Something changed in her posture. The raw terror dimmed, just a little.

  Then, her voice cracked the silence.

  “Who… are you?”

  Barely more than a whisper, but fragile and real.

  I smiled. Told her my name. Then asked for hers.

  Instantly, the progress was shattered.

  She lowered her gaze, hiding behind tangled red hair.

  “I do not have one,” she murmured, ashamed.

  My jaw tightened. They hadn’t just taken her freedom—they’d taken her identity.

  “Well, we can’t let that stand,” I said softly. I placed a hand gently on her head, ruffling her messy hair. “How about… Arima?”

  She blinked up at me.

  I didn’t understand her expression back then.

  Now I do.

  Wonder.

  Confusion.

  Hope.

  She whispered it.

  “Arima…”

  Then again, louder.

  “Arima.”

  Hearing that name settle into her voice was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

  For the first time in a long while, something other than anger filled me.

  Something good.

  She threw herself forward and hugged me.

  For a moment, I froze. Then I wrapped my arms around her. She was so small. So fragile. She’d never survive alone.

  So I carried her.

  By the time we reached the deck, the last lifeboat was preparing to depart.

  I set her down gently and helped her on.

  When I turned to leave, she grabbed my shirt with both hands.

  “Arima,” I said quietly. “You’ll be safer with them than with me. You have to trust me.”

  She shook her head. “No… I want to stay with you, mister…” She faltered, realizing she didn’t even know my name. But she still held on.

  And for a moment, I wanted to say yes.

  I wanted to protect her. To promise she’d never be hurt again. To keep her close so she wouldn’t become another memory I couldn’t save.

  But I couldn’t.

  I had already lost too many people. Too many brothers. Too many futures. If she stayed with me, her chances would only get worse.

  I ruin things.

  I destroy.

  I lose the people I care about.

  But Arima still had a chance.

  I refused to take that from her.

  You might not forgive me for this.

  I’m not sure I even forgive myself.

  But this is how it happened. I can’t change it.

  I lowered her hands gently.

  “Trust me,” I said. “You don’t want to follow me. I would only bring you pain. This is better. You’ll get to see the world, build a life… one I can’t give you.”

  She tremblingly let go.

  We hugged a final time.

  “This isn’t the last time,” I promised. “Not by a long shot.”

  She didn’t look convinced. Maybe she already knew a truth I refused to accept—reunions aren’t guaranteed in a world like this.

  The lifeboat drifted away. She kept her eyes on me until the ocean swallowed her silhouette.

  For a long time, I just stood there, watching.

  Then I turned back toward the burning ship, fists clenched.

  I still had work to do.

  Until then, stay safe, take care, and look forward to what’s coming next.