CHAPTER5: The Rain
Life is an endless maze of mysteries—questions that linger unanswered, theories that outlive the people who conceive them. There are too many unknowns for something as fleeting as human existence.
Even that, perhaps, is another mystery.
Death.
A question humanity has chased since the beginning, and one that may forever remain a myth beyond comprehension.
Is death truly the end?
Some believe the soul ascends to a higher realm—heaven, a place of eternal peace. Others insist it lingers, tethered to the earth, waiting… for judgment, or for release. And then there is the most enduring belief of all—
Rebirth.
A second chance. A return. A continuation of something unfinished.
Yet all of these are merely theories—fragile constructs against the vast, indifferent unknown.
So tell me—
What do you believe?
And more importantly…
What are you willing to stake your life on?
The night was cold when the storm arrived.
Not a gentle rain, but a violent one—heavy, relentless, as if the sky itself had grown impatient. The downpour swallowed the land, drowning sound beneath its endless rhythm.
But the scent that filled the air was not the clean, calming fragrance of rain blessing the earth.
It was something far darker.
Blood.
Rain is often called beautiful.
People admire the way it glistens under light, how it cools the air, how it washes away dirt and pain alike. They romanticize it—turn it into poetry, into comfort.
But they forget.
Rain does not only cleanse.
It reveals.
It carries the weight of everything the world can no longer hold—every sin, every regret, every unresolved fragment of existence.
The rain is not the sky weeping.
It is the world confessing.
And sometimes—
It confesses in blood.
The village head lay lifeless in the mud, his body sprawled at Touka's feet.
Motionless.
Forgotten.
Touka stood over him in silence before bending down to pick up the blade resting nearby. As his fingers wrapped around the hilt, something shifted within him.
His hair—once pure black—began to change.
From the roots, a deep crimson red bled through, creeping outward like a silent corruption, while the tips remained dark.
A quiet transformation.
A reflection of something awakening.
Touka studied the blade for a moment, his voice calm—almost detached.
"A weapon of such beauty deserves a name…"
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Your name will be… Tyoken."
Without hesitation, he hurled the sword.
It cut through the rain and struck its mark.
"Grace!!!"
A muscular old man roared in anguish—
—but before he could move, Touka was already there.
A single punch.
The impact shattered the moment, sending the man flying deep into the woods.
"Jonathan!" one of the elders screamed—
Only to choke on his words as Tyoken buried itself into his chest.
An arrow tore through the storm, aimed for Touka's back—
—but it never reached him.
Steel met steel.
Tyoken deflected it.
Touka rose slowly, turning his gaze toward the archer. Each step he took was deliberate, unhurried—yet no arrow could touch him. Every shot was parried effortlessly, as though the blade itself moved to protect him.
"Tch… hold him down, Julius!" the archer barked.
Chains shot forward, coiling tightly around Touka's body.
"Hold him!"
From above, a massive boulder descended—its shadow swallowing him whole.
Touka inhaled.
Then exhaled.
Slowly.
And began walking.
The chains groaned, then cracked—link by link—as if resisting something inevitable.
The boulder closed in—
And with a single finger, Touka stopped it.
For a moment, the world held its breath.
Then—
He pushed.
The sky burst open with a sickening splat.
Blood rained down as the boulder reversed its path, obliterating the woman who had hurled it.
The chains snapped.
Touka stood free.
In the next instant, he was before the archer.
The man lunged desperately—
Too slow.
Touka swept his legs from under him and drove his fist into his face with crushing force. The ground gave way beneath them, forming a crater.
The archer gasped—
Touka drove Tyoken into his heart.
"IF YOU CAN HEAR ME GIRLS—RUN!"
Julius roared, chains wrapped tightly around his arms as he charged forward.
"Take the children and go!"
Touka left the blade where it was and stepped toward him.
Bare hands.
No hesitation.
They clashed.
Fists collided at blinding speed, each strike echoing through the storm. Julius roared with every blow, pushing past his limits, his chains cutting into his flesh as they began to break.
Touka grew faster.
Stronger.
Unstoppable.
The chains shattered completely.
One final punch—
Julius was sent flying.
But Touka wasn't finished.
He grabbed the loose chains, yanked him back, and delivered a precise, devastating strike.
A one-inch punch.
Bones cracked.
Ribs collapsed inward—piercing the heart.
Silence followed.
With the fighters gone, Touka turned back toward the village.
The rain continued.
Unforgiving.
He retrieved Tyoken and walked through what remained.
Then—
A sound.
A baby's cry.
He opened the door.
Inside, women and children huddled together, trembling, clinging to what little hope they had left.
A young girl stepped forward, tears streaming down her face.
"Please…"
Lightning flashed.
The blade reflected its light.
And then—
Nothing but silence.
The rain fell harder.
Touka walked through the village, leaving no one behind.
No witnesses.
No survivors.
Only echoes.
He made his way to the hill.
The place where Milim had fallen.
There, he dropped to his knees, his body trembling—not from exhaustion, but from something far deeper.
Something breaking.
He raised Tyoken—
And cut his long hair short.
Strands of black and crimson fell into the mud, swallowed by the rain.
Then—
He screamed.
A raw, broken sound that tore through the night.
A cry of grief.
Of rage.
Of something irreparably lost.
And the rain…
kept falling.