It rained in fine, steady lines. No storm, no wind—just that quiet, patient falling that softened the city. Lantern light reflected in the wet stone, warped and flickering, as if even the light itself was tired. He stood in the shadow of a narrow passage.
He had been there for a long time.
Not because he had to.
But because he had learned to stop when something in the air felt… unsettled.
Then he heard footsteps. Uneven. Too fast. Too light… Someone was running.
A young woman turned the corner, nearly stumbling, catching herself just in time against the wall. Her breath came in sharp bursts, her clothes soaked through, dark strands of hair clinging to her face. She looked around—not searching, but fleeing. He didn’t move. He could have left. Like always.
But she stopped.
Right where the lantern’s light still reached enough to show her face.
And for a moment her gaze brushed his. Not fully. More like a feeling that someone was there.
“…is someone there?”
Her voice was quiet. Careful. Not panicked than more exhausted. He shouldn’t have answered. He knew what followed when he did. There was always something that followed.
“Yes.”
A single word. Calm. Without threat.
She flinched, scanning the darkness until his figure slowly separated from it. No dramatic entrance—more like he had always been there and had simply chosen to be seen.
She stepped back. Smart.
“I… I didn’t mean to bother,” she said quickly. “I’ll leave.”
He watched her. Not hungrily. Not coldly.
More as if he were deciding whether this moment should exist at all. Then he saw the blood.Not much. But enough.
A thin cut at her side, half-hidden beneath wet fabric.
“You should sit down.”
“It’s nothing,” she said immediately, almost defiant.
He didn’t answer. He took a step closer. She tensed, ready to run—but her legs no longer obeyed as they should. The rain grew quieter. Or maybe he simply stopped hearing it.
“If you keep moving, you’ll fall,” he said calmly. “And then someone will find you who is less patient than I am.” It wasn’t a threat. Just a statement.
She looked at him. This time longer.
“…who are you?” - A simple question.
One he hadn’t answered honestly in centuries.
He could have lied. Given a name he would discard next week. Instead, he said:
“Makoto.”
The word lingered between them. Strange, and yet steady. She seemed to weigh it, as if deciding whether it was dangerous. Then she slowly slid down the wall. A quiet surrender, not a dramatic collapse. Makoto didn’t kneel beside her right away.
He waited a moment. As if giving himself one last chance to simply walk away.
He didn’t.
At last, he stepped closer, tore a piece of fabric from his own sleeve … a movement too quick to be entirely human … and held it out to her.
She took it hesitantly.
“Thank you…” Her voice was softer now. Not from fear anymore, but from exhaustion. Makoto glanced briefly toward the street. Toward the life that went on, unnoticed.
Unnoticed by her. Unnoticed by him.
“You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” he said at last.
A mistake.
He knew it the moment the words left his mouth. Because she looked up at him again, this time differently. No longer just cautious.
But… trusting.
And that was always how it began.
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