Later that night, Sera sat by the floor-to-ceiling window, her knees drawn to her chest as she stared out at the city. Nathan's memory lingered in her mind. She had only known him for a short time—too short, really. She enjoyed being with him; she liked him, even if it wasn't as deep as her feelings for Ryou. His warm presence, contagious smile, and ultimate sacrifice had been carved into her heart. And now her sunshine was gone, leaving her without warning. Her tears began to fall.
Ryou entered the room quietly, his presence grounding her. He approached her with careful steps, his usual stoicism softened by the vulnerability he saw in her. Sitting beside her, he allowed the silence to stretch, giving her the space she needed.
"It's my fault," she said finally, her voice breaking. "Nathan's death... it's because of me, isn't it?"
"No," Ryou said firmly, his golden eyes locking onto hers. "It was his decision. You couldn't have prevented it."
Tears streamed down her face, and she turned away, her voice trembling. "But he was doing it for me..."
Ryou reached out, his hand resting gently on hers. "Don't do that to yourself, Sera. You've done nothing wrong. I'm the one who should be responsible. It was my incapability. I've failed you, and him." Ryou's expression faltered, the carefully constructed walls around his emotions cracking.
She looked at him then, her tear-streaked face illuminated by the city lights. She could see he also felt guilty just as she did, maybe even more so.
His words hung in the air as Sera held his hand, squeezing it with both of hers. "You did everything you could, Ryou. I'm never blaming you; you didn't do anything wrong. I'm so sorry if I ever made you feel that way." Her eyes searched his, glistening with unshed tears, a quiet plea for him to believe her.
The feeling of her small hands squeezing his was overwhelming, a quiet strength that broke through his guarded heart. Ryou hesitated, then gently brushed her cheek, wiping away her tears. His touch lingered, fragile and tender, as though her warmth was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
"Still, I'm so sorry. I have failed to save him," he said softly, his voice a fragile whisper, the pain bleeding out from his words and etched into his expression. The sight of his anguish broke Sera's heart, her tears cascading freely now. She shook her head vehemently, her emotions raw and overwhelming. Ryou's hand trembled slightly as it moved to caress her hair, his touch hesitant yet filled with an aching tenderness. The sight of her crying so deeply was unbearable, and in a desperate attempt to console her, he pulled her into his embrace, wrapping her in his warmth.
His chin rested lightly on her head as his arms tightened around her, a fragile shield against the weight of their shared grief. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. His apologies spilled out like a dam broken, repeating again and again, like a broken record stuck on the same note of despair. Each utterance was a futile attempt to erase the pain that clung to both of them, his words spiraling in an endless loop of sorrow as if by saying it enough, he could will the hurt away.
Then suddenly, Ryou froze, his body stiffening.
Sera blinked, noticing his shift. "What's wrong?"
He didn't answer immediately, his senses sharp, focused on the chilling shift in the air. It was subtle but unmistakable—a sign of a rift about to open. But this... this felt different.
The first rumble broke the stillness.
A low, guttural sound reverberated through the room, like distant thunder heralding an unseen storm. Sera's head snapped toward the massive glass wall on the far side of the living room, her heart pounding.
Ryou was already on his feet, striding toward the windows, his movements tense and purposeful. Sera followed, her breath caught in her throat, her unease growing with every step.
"What is that?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Above the city, the sky was unraveling.
A massive rift had torn itself open right above the city night sky, its jagged edges crackling with otherworldly energy. Pulses of lightning-like light illuminated the void within, casting an eerie glow over the city below. At the rift's center loomed a black circle—ominous and unrelenting, its presence radiating a terrible weight.
"It's not just a rift..." Ryou muttered, his jaw tightening. His golden eyes flickered with a mixture of determination and dread.
Sera pressed her fingers against the cool glass, her breath fogging the surface as she stared in horrified awe. Shadows began to spill from the rift—hundreds, perhaps thousands of monstrous forms descending upon the city like a dark tide.
And then she saw it.
The black circle at the rift's center pulsed rhythmically, its gravitational pull growing stronger. Even from this distance, she felt its oppressive force pressing down on her chest. Her breath hitched as she saw faint, translucent shapes—human figures—being drawn upward, spiraling helplessly into the void.
"Are those...?" she asked, her voice breaking.
"Souls," Ryou said grimly, his voice low and steady, though his eyes betrayed his concern.
Sera's knees wobbled, threatening to give out as the gravity of the situation sank in. The city, its people—everything she had ever known—was at risk of being consumed by this horrifying void.
"Stay here," Ryou commanded, his tone sharp, leaving no room for argument.
"What are you going to do?" she asked, panic rising in her voice.
He didn't answer right away. His gaze stayed fixed on the rift, as though calculating its threat. Finally, he turned to her, his golden eyes steady and unwavering.
"Keep the doors locked," he said firmly. "Don't let anyone in. No matter what."
"Ryou—"
"I'll be back," he said, cutting her off. His tone softened, just barely. "Just stay safe."
Before she could respond, he was already moving, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the room with a silent, determined stride.
Sera turned back to the rift, her heart pounding as she watched the chaos unfolding outside. The faint, muffled screams of the city reached her ears through the glass, a distant but unmistakable chorus of terror.
She stood frozen, powerless as the storm raged both outside and within her. For the first time in her life, she closed her eyes and prayed—even when she didn't really believe in God—not for herself, but for him.