Ren's eyes snapped open to the world burning. A thunderous roar split the air—not the crude detonation of artillery, but the high-pitched scream of refined annihilation. Through the thin paper of their window screen, he caught the first glimpse of plasma comets arcing overhead, tearing through cedarwood shingles with surgical precision. In the courtyard beyond, Argwan silhouettes moved like vultures among smoldering corpses, their violet skin shining in the infernal glow, eyes glinting gold as they dragged fallen villagers into the ash.
His body reacted before his mind could catch up. He rolled from the futon, trained muscles coiling for flight. The floorboards groaned under his weight, each familiar creak now a dirge to the life he'd forged here. Smoke curled under the eaves, stitching a funeral shroud across the sky. Ren's nostrils flared—ozone and charred flesh stung his lungs, each inhalation a reminder of the devastation beyond these walls.
Aiko knelt by Yui's crib, her back to him, arms outstretched as if she could hold off the flames with sheer will alone. Her face was lit by red emergency lanterns, calm and controlled on the surface but trembling at the edges. In her hands, she hovered over their daughter, steady fingers splayed like a surgeon bracing for trauma. Yui's dark curls clung wetly to her forehead; one tiny fist gripped Captain Beans, the stuffed bear Ren had sewn from GHU uniform scraps.
"Papa?" Yui's voice rattled through the chaos, a frayed whisper. Her golden-flicker eyes met his with raw hunger for safety.
Ren's throat constricted. There were no words—only instinct. He swept Yui into his arms, her body flush with unnatural heat that curled against his chest like molten metal. He pressed a kiss to her temple. "I've got you," he murmured, willing his calm voice to seep into her bones.
Aiko straightened, turning at the sound of his voice. Her gaze locked on the oversized tactical jacket hanging in the closet—one he'd promised was gone. In that split second, Ren saw the years behind her eyes: the teenage hacker who'd breached Pentagon firewalls, the analyst who'd rebuilt her life from lines of code, the woman who had trusted him with everything. Now that code lay in ruins, and her trust teetered on the edge of a blade.
"The sensors—" she breathed, voice clipped. "They… they were green."
He stared at her a moment too long. The walls between them were thicker than steel. Finally, he turned and ripped open the closet door. The farmer's rags fell away. Beneath lay his GHU combat jacket, still scented faintly of antiseptic and midnight regrets. He yanked it on, brushing fingers against the silver locket at his throat—Sora's tear, cold against his pulse.
Aiko's eyes narrowed. "You kept it."
Ren met her gaze. "I kept us alive."
Her laugh was a fracture in the night. "By lying?"
"By surviving." He produced a small plasma pistol—scavenged years ago from a crashed drone and hidden in the floorboards. "Can you still shoot?"
She caught the weapon, her grip unshaken. "Better than you."
They slipped outside into a living nightmare. The village lay in ruins: splintered gates smoked, once-cherished ornaments melted into pools of glass, and bodies—no, nothing remained but faint embers. Argwan drones looped overhead, their violet thrusters humming a song of oblivion. Ren guided Aiko and Yui down a side path, away from the main street where panicked survivors clogged the road, clutching children and keepsakes.
Aiko's boots slipped on a slick patch of ash and blood. She stumbled just as a beam of violet light hammered the ground behind them, impaling a fleeing villager by the spine. He didn't scream—his mouth opened and closed in a silent gasp, his eyes frozen in shock as life fled. Ren's gut twisted, bile rising. He shoved Aiko forward. "Move!"
They dove into the narrow alley, pressed between mossed stones and broken barrels, a tomb of shadows. Yui whimpered in his arms, and he rocked her gently. "It's okay," he whispered. "We'll make it."
Aiko raised the pistol, firing into the darkness. The plasma bolt flared, carving a crater in the wall—a warning to any drone that dared pursue. Sparks rained down like fireworks gone wrong. "Left," Ren hissed, leading them toward the old well-house. Yui's small hand slipped into his. He squeezed, anchoring her to reality.
As they rounded the corner, Ren froze. Beneath his boots, the earth pulsed beneath their feet—a slow, primordial throb. His blood ran cold. He'd felt that before, in the GHU lab, when the Hollowing first awakened.
Aiko's voice was distant. "What is it?"
He could only stare as the ground shifted, faint cracks spider-webbing outward. "The Hollowing," he whispered, dread hollowing his chest.
In the widening fissure, half-buried arms clawed at the cobblestones. Yellowed faces emerged, mouths agape in silent screams. The first victims of the scourge—long since entombed—were rising to join the slaughter.
Aiko pressed back against the wall, her pistol aimed at the writhing dead. "Ren… what—" Her voice broke as a hand lashed out, grasping her ankle with bone-white fingers.
Ren yanked Yui from his chest and kicked at the gnarled limb. It snapped like dry wood, and the thing fell back, shrieking at a frequency that rattled his teeth. He raised his knife and sliced through the next hand emerging from the earth. The blade hissed as it passed through rotted bone and sinew.
Aiko fired three more shots into the well, incinerating decomposed corpses bursting from its depths. The oily stench of death filled the alley. Yui pressed her face to Ren's shoulder, tears wetting his jacket.
"It never ends," she choked.
"It will," he promised, though his voice trembled. "I swear it."