WHOOSH!
The void collapsed. The bright light made my eyes squint for a moment, before dimming as if being dispelled by storm clouds.
I stared at the wet asphalt, then at the puddles beneath my bare feet. Torrents of icy rain drenched my clothes, while howling wind cut through me, obscuring my view of this unfamiliar street.
Only for a moment.
The road was deserted, the weak glow of the streetlamps utterly overwhelming by the tempest. Not a single soul was in sight—at least, until my eyes caught a figure bearing a white umbrella crossing the road.
His feet planted themselves firmly into the puddles, while his hand struggled to hold onto an umbrella that bowed under the storm's fury.
FLASH!
A blinding streak of lightning sliced through the deluge. It swept closer, illuminating the now-motionless figure with the white umbrella… and highlighting me—who remained rooted to the spot.
Only then did the headlights freeze in place.
Splash, splash, splash…
Heavy boots slammed into the puddles as dozens of figures spilled out from the black cars, surging forward in a ruthless wave.
My breath caught. Ash-gray cloaks. Porcelain masks devoid of eyes, noses, or mouths.
It was them. The faceless hunters from the astral realm.
The figure with the white umbrella stepped back, angling the umbrella in front of him like a shield, unbothered by the rain now drenching his head. It was no longer the storm he was fighting.
My mind screamed at me to run, yet my feet moved forward on their own, drawing me toward the conflict.
My steps felt light, as if the wet asphalt beneath me were nothing more than a cool expanse of silk.
To my eyes, the faceless pursuers were no longer just men in masks—they were dense, creeping shadows, thirsty for the pale light emanating from the figure with the white umbrella.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
"Stop it," I whispered. My voice was small, swallowed by the roar of the storm, yet I felt the vibration travel from my solar plexus straight to my fingertips.
The hunter leading the charge raised a dark, metallic rifle—the same smoking weapon that had targeted me before.
Before a shot could ring out, I summoned the cold memory of the divine mark that had touched my palm.
This time, I didn't summon rage. I summoned the quiet acceptance of every scar I had just witnessed across those shattered mirrors.
SHRRRR-ING!
It wasn't a destructive blast that erupted, but a transparent, curving wave—resembling the ripples of a calm lake—that instantly enclosed me and the figure with the white umbrella inside a silent dome.
The raindrops striking the barrier froze in an instant, turning into tiny, shimmering crystals before cascading down onto the asphalt.
The figure with the white umbrella turned around. Beneath the sagging frame of his umbrella, I saw a face I recognized all too well. It wasn't my pale mother, nor was it my vengeful reflection.
"You came just in time, Ishihara," his voice was not human, but an echo of a tranquil past.
I glanced back, searching for Black Robe. He wasn't there physically, yet the fresh scent of a rain-washed forest flooded my senses once more, fortifying my soul.
I finally understood: this power was not a weapon for revenge against a cruel world, but a shield for those swept away by the current—just as I had been rescued from the ocean foam all those years ago.
Outside the crystal dome, the faceless hunters shrieked in silent agony as the protective pulse reached them. Their gray cloaks unravelled, and their porcelain masks cracked before disintegrating into specks of ash, swept away by the howling gale.
Silence reclaimed the street. I stared down at my hands, which were no longer trembling.
"Thank you," I whispered into the void.
FLICKER!
The streetlamps suddenly dimmed, and, gravity vanished. I plummeted backward through space, but before terror could take hold, a pair of stone-cold arms caught my falling body, pulling me tight against his chest.
It was Black Robe.
His body carried a biting chill—a cold that didn't just bite at my skin, but seemed intent on freezing my very bloodstream. His touch felt like the personification of eternal silence, as if I were being cradled by Death itself.
He carried me across the threshold of dimensions, stepping seamlessly into the warmth of my bedroom.
With exquisite care, he laid me down onto my soft mattress like fragile porcelain.
Before darkness claimed me, his icy fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from my forehead. He leaned down, his lips hovering near my ear, his crisp scent wrapping around my unraveling mind.
"Sleep now, Ishihara," he whispered, his voice as soft as the rustle of wind, yet weighted with authority. "This mortal world is cruel, but you need not fear. You are mine to protect… until the time comes..."
I tried to speak, to demand why he had watched over me since childhood, but the heavy tide of sleep washed over me.
His cold presence slowly receded, leaving me cradled in the quiet dark—with his deathly chill etched like a warm, protective promise upon my skin.