Chapter 29: The Last Song

The hallway leading to the rooftop felt like an endless climb through hell.

Each step was a punishment, every breath a war. My ribs screamed with agony, each bone a jagged reminder of the fight that brought me here. Sweat burned my eyes. My shoulder throbbed like a live wire ready to snap. My legs buckled with every second stride. But I didn’t stop.

Because her hand was in mine.

Because her voice, weak and trembling, whispered, “Just a little farther, Kazuki.”

She was draped in a hospital gown, the IV tubes ripped out with Jin’s help before anyone could stop us. Her weight leaned against me, her steps feather-light, almost nonexistent. Every stumble made my heart seize with fear that I wouldn’t get her there in time.

Jin had fought the nurses off for me, his voice a growl promising death if they tried to drag us back. His eyes met mine when I glanced over my shoulder—a silent message carved in steel: You better make this worth it, dumbass.

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My throat was raw from everything I’d swallowed—blood, screams, truths too sharp to say aloud.

I kicked the rooftop door open with what little strength I had left, and the world spilled out before us.

The night was breaking.

---

The sky was painted in soft strokes of violet and crimson, the last remnants of darkness clinging stubbornly to the edges of the horizon. The city stretched far below, lights flickering like tired stars trying to hold on for one more moment before dawn swallowed them whole.

The air was sharp, biting against my lungs, but it smelled clean—like rain and iron and the promise of something pure.

I led her to the edge slowly, my arm tight around her fragile frame. She moved like a shadow, every breath shallow and ragged, every step an echo of time running out.

When we finally reached the low wall overlooking the sleeping city, I lowered her carefully onto the cold concrete. My hands lingered on her shoulders as if they could shield her from the wind, from the night, from everything trying to take her away.

She tilted her head back, her blind eyes lifting toward the breaking sky.

“Describe it to me,” she whispered, voice softer than the wind.

My throat tightened. Words felt like stones in my mouth—heavy, clumsy, unworthy of the truth. But I forced them out because this was her wish. And because this was all I could give her now.

---

“The sky…” I began, my voice trembling. “It’s… bleeding.”

She let out a small, fragile laugh. “Bleeding?”

“Yeah.” I swallowed hard. “It’s tearing open at the edges. Purple first—like bruises fading. Then red. Deep, burning red. Like… like a wound healing into light.”

Her lips curved faintly. “That sounds beautiful.”

“It is,” I said, my voice cracking. “The sun’s just under the horizon, waiting. The clouds… they’re thin, like silk threads, catching the fire before it falls.”

I paused, my chest heaving. The words were breaking me from the inside out. But I kept going.

“And the stars… they’re still there. Faint. Like they don’t wanna leave yet.”

She breathed out slowly, her smile soft as the dawn creeping up on us. “You make it sound like the sky is alive.”

“Maybe it is,” I whispered. “Maybe it’s alive because you asked for it.”

---

She leaned her head against my shoulder, her small frame trembling against me. I wrapped my arm around her gently, terrified she’d slip away if I held too tight—or not tight enough.

The wind played with her hair, tossing strands across her face. I brushed them back with trembling fingers, memorizing the shape of her smile, the feel of her skin—cold now, too cold.

“Kazuki,” she murmured, her voice so faint I had to bend close to hear it. “Thank you.”

“Don’t,” I choked out. “Don’t thank me. I’m not done yet.”

Her lips curved into the smallest smile, a ghost of joy clinging to a breaking soul. “You gave me more than I ever asked for.”

“You deserve more,” I rasped. “You deserve—everything.”

“I had everything,” she whispered. “The moment you stayed.”

My breath shattered in my chest. I pressed my forehead to hers, tears burning hot trails down my blood-streaked face.

“I don’t want this to end,” I said, my voice breaking like brittle glass. “I can’t—”

“It has to,” she said softly. “But… it’s okay. Because I’m not afraid anymore.”

Her hand rose slowly, fingers trembling as they touched my cheek. “You’re warm,” she whispered, like it was the last miracle left in the world.

I held her hand against my face, my tears soaking her cold skin. “Stay,” I begged. “Please… just stay.”

She smiled—a soft, fleeting curve of lips that felt like a sunrise all on its own.

Then, with the last breath that left her trembling body, she whispered:

“Tell me… what color is it now?”

I looked up through the blur of my tears.

“It’s gold,” I said, voice breaking. “The whole sky… is on fire.”

And then her hand went still in mine.

---

Time stopped.

The wind howled through the empty spaces of the rooftop, carrying with it the last warmth of her breath. The city below kept breathing, oblivious. The sun climbed higher, spilling light across a world that didn’t deserve her.

I sat there, cradling her against me, as the first full rays of dawn painted her face in fragile gold. Her lips were still curved in that faint, eternal smile.

It was the most beautiful and the most unbearable thing I’d ever seen.

---

I don’t know how long I stayed like that. Minutes. Hours. Maybe lifetimes. All I know is that when I finally looked up, the sky was no longer bleeding. It was alive—brilliant, blinding, and endless.

But she couldn’t see it.

And that broke something in me that will never heal.

---

When Jin finally found us, he didn’t say a word. He just stood there, his shadow long against the burning sky, and let me hold her until the sun was high and my tears ran dry.

Because this was the promise I couldn’t keep.

The goodbye I couldn’t say.