"A flower that blooms today may die tomorrow," Ino said quietly.
Anta looked up from the basket in his hands. "What do you mean?"
They were crouched in the neighborhood garden, the air thick with heat. Late summer pressed down on their skin, the sun unforgiving as they plucked roses from their stems. They tried to be careful, but thorns still bit into their fingers, sharp reminders that even beautiful things could hurt.
"I told you this was a bad idea!" Anta snapped, stamping his foot as his patience finally gave out.
Ino blinked, then laughed softly. "Wait— you were the one who wanted to bring Grandma Mei a present, remember?"
Anta stiffened. The anger drained from his face all at once.
"Oh."
He looked down at the flowers, suddenly quiet.
Back then, days like this felt endless. They hadn't known how quickly things could change— how the world had a way of forcing people to grow up before they were ready.
Anta jolted awake—gasping.
For a moment, he didn't know where he was—only that his heart was racing, his skin slick with sweat. The garden dissolved along with the heat. All that remained was the echo of Ino's voice and the strange certainty that something was wrong.
Anta lay there, listening. The house breathed around him—the low hum of the refrigerator downstairs, the faint creak of cooling wood. Normal sounds. Familiar sounds. Too familiar.
His chest tightened. The unease didn't fade—it settled, sharp and insistent, like a hand closing around his ribs.
Instinct, he realized.
Anta pushed himself up slowly, careful not to make a sound. Moonlight slipped through the gap in the curtains, casting pale shapes across the walls. Everything looked the same.
That was what scared him most.
A soft noise drifted up from below.
Anta held his breath.
The floorboards were cold beneath his feet. He paused after the first step, waiting—counting the seconds the way Ino always did.
One.
Two.
Three.
Nothing.
He moved again, slower now, following the thin strip of moonlight into the hallway. The house felt different at night.
Smaller. Like it was holding its breath. Something prickled at the back of his neck.
Just the dream, he told himself.
Still, his fingers brushed the wall as he walked, grounding himself in the familiar bumps and cracks of peeling paint.
Halfway down the stairs, he stopped.
There it was again.
Not a sound—more like the deliberate absence of one.
Anta swallowed.
"Ino?" he whispered.
No answer.
The living room came into view inch by inch. Moonlight cut across the furniture, turning shadows into long, distorted shapes. The knife wasn't on the table anymore.
That was wrong.
That was when he smelled it.
Not blood. Not smoke.
Something floral. Too sweet—cloying. Wrong.
A voice spoke from behind him, low and almost amused.
"Found you, little guy."
Anta's breath caught.
A hand closed around his arm—tight, cold, inescapable—and the world lurched sideways.
"ANTA!"
Ino's scream tore through the house.
Something flew past Anta's face—ceramic—shattering against the wall in a sharp, echoing crack.
Anta stumbled backward.
The figure moved with impossible speed, retreating into the shadows as if they welcomed him. A soft laugh followed—light, pleased.
No footsteps.
No words.
Ino was there suddenly, hands gripping Anta's shoulders, breath ragged, eyes wild as they searched him.
"Are you hurt?" Ino demanded. "Anta—say something."
Anta could only stare past him, at the empty space where the man had been.
The air shifted.
Ino felt it before he saw it—the pressure behind him, the wrongness pressing into his back.
"Anta—!"
He shoved Anta away without looking.
Something grazed his cheek as he turned, a sharp sting slicing across skin. A single rose petal drifted past his vision, red against white, spinning slowly before it touched the floor.
Warmth trickled down his face. The man stood behind him.
Too close.
Ino stepped forward, placing himself between Anta and the figure. His breathing was uneven, but his stance didn't waver. His gaze flicked sideways.
Move. Go. Now.
"Why?" Ino demanded. His voice shook, but he forced the words out. "Why are you doing this?"
The man tilted his head, as if considering the question. Anta hesitated.
That was all it took. Something flashed.
Ino felt the impact before the pain—a sudden, tearing pressure in his throat. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Heat flooded his chest as he staggered, hands flying to his neck.
Blood spilled between his fingers.
"Ino—?"
Anta's voice sounded wrong. Distant. Like it was coming from underwater.
Ino tried to answer.
Tried to scream.
Nothing.
His knees hit the floor. The world narrowed to fragments: Anta's shaking silhouette, the cold seeping into his palms, his own breathing turning wet and uneven.
A heavy force slammed down. Darkness burst across his vision. Somewhere close, a voice murmured—almost kindly.
"You need to die."
The man seized Ino by the chin, forcing his mouth open.
Cold steel flashed.
"I'm chopping everything."
Pain detonated—white, consuming—then silence. A silence louder than any scream. Ino's body convulsed as terror locked him in place. Blood filled his mouth, spilling down his chest.
His throat burned.
His voice was gone.
"Well," the man said lightly, almost bored, "you won't be needing that anymore."
Ino collapsed, shaking. The world felt distant, unreal—like he was watching his own body fail from somewhere far away.
Then—
"B… brother?"
Anta's voice.
Ino's eyes flew open.
No.
He tried to lift his head. Tried to scream. Tried to warn him.
Nothing came out.
"Too late."
The laughter that followed was sharp, delighted.
Ino watched in horror as the man turned, the axe rising in a smooth, practiced motion. There was a single, brutal swing.
Anta screamed.
The sound ripped through Ino's skull, shredding what little remained of his sanity. Anta stared at his shoulder, eyes wide, uncomprehending—then his body crumpled, blood soaking into the floor beneath him.
"So you really did have a little brother," the man mused. "Ino Siente."
Anta's scream broke into sobs, raw and agonized, his body trembling as pain finally caught up with reality.
Ino dragged himself forward.
Every movement sent fire through his nerves, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. His eyes burned with something dark and feral as he fixed his gaze on the man standing over Anta.
Three words pounded through his mind.
I'll kill you.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The man noticed.
"Haha… hahahaha!" He clutched his stomach, laughing as though genuinely entertained.
"Oh, I love that look," he said. "You're feeling it now, aren't you?"
Anta coughed, blood slipping past his lips. The man leaned closer to Ino, his smile slow and deliberate. The laughter echoed, obscene against Anta's choking cries. Then—
He was gone.
No footsteps.
No warning.
Only his voice, lingering like poison.
"Make the most of what's left."
A pause. "You were a hindrance."
Silence swallowed the house. Ino lay shaking, throat burning, surrounded by blood and absence.
I just wanted him to have a life I never could.
He turned his head.
Anta was barely moving.
Despite everything, Anta dragged himself closer, inch by inch, leaving a dark trail behind him.
Don't come closer.
Ino willed the words into existence.
Anta reached him. Their hands met.
"I know," Anta whispered. "You can't talk."
Ino squeezed his hand, tears blurring his vision.
"I was happy," Anta murmured. "Because I had you."
His breath stuttered once, then eased.
Anta's eyes closed—not like sleep, but like something gently letting go.
Ino knew they wouldn't open again. Something inside him collapsed.
If there is a god…
or a devil…
If there is any chance at all…
Please. Then—
"Ah," he said cheerfully. "What a performance."
Ino glared at him with what little strength remained.
"Oh?" the man chuckled. "Still glaring?"
Something sharp struck. The world tilted.
"I have one last gift for you, Ino Siente."
He lifted Anta's body with ease.
"Well then," he said lightly, "I'll be taking him with me."
And then— he vanished.
Ino lay alone.
Broken.
Bleeding.
But alive.
I will find you, Anta, he vowed silently. No matter what it costs me.
"That's right, Ino Siente," the man whispered. "Feel it. Every last bit."
Ino could only watch.
Could only endure. Darkness folded in—slow, inevitable—until there was nothing left for him to see.
「 You have been selected as an Apostle. 」