She Who Remembers the Rain

The flower was rotting in her hands.

Hiyoru held it gently, as if it were still alive. As if it weren’t withering with every second, leaving behind a trail of dark dust that dissolved into the air. She had placed it on her open palm, and now watched — for the first time — a lie die.

The ground before her was no longer made of concrete, but of cracked mirrors. Each step showed a reflection that didn’t follow. A version of herself that lagged behind, looked away, or simply... vanished.

The sky was closed. Not like a night, but like a scar.

In the distance, the city of Kaiyn still continued — like a creature breathing with difficulty. But here, in this stretch where the boundaries between inside and outside dissolved, Hiyoru no longer walked on streets. She was walking inside herself.

The dead flower dissolved. Its dust seeped into the ridges of her skin, like a secret returning to its origin.

The umbrella — Dead Spring — creaked.

A new structure began to grow from its shaft: thorns shaped like letters, petals shaped like scars. It wasn’t a flower yet. It was a seed of memory, writhing as if seeking fertile soil to bloom.

And then, she heard it.

— "Do you still remember your full name?"

The voice didn’t come from outside.

Nor from inside.

It came from the space between thoughts. A pause that had gained consciousness.

Hiyoru didn’t answer. Didn’t lie.

Dead Spring remained silent.

She took another step. The mirror beneath her feet shattered, and for a moment, she fell.

But there was no impact.

There was only the sound... of rain.

Only now, she could feel it.

The rain had returned.

And with it, something was about to awaken.

When Hiyoru opened her eyes, she didn’t recognize the place — but she recognized the pain.

The concrete around her was covered in fungi that breathed in silence, spiraling upward as if trying to draw something long forgotten. The walls were etched with symbols scratched out by nail or bone, and the air carried the sweet-acidic scent of slow decay.

She had fallen into a sub-level of the city: a zone with no name.

It wasn’t underground. It was beneath forgetting.

Short steps echoed ahead. She heard someone running, but the footsteps had no weight. They were only echoes of someone no longer there.

She walked, gripping the closed umbrella like a mute sword. The thorns were still growing. Each step into the mist seemed to erase memories of where she was, of what she was searching for. But she continued.

Something was waiting for her.

She saw a figure hunched over itself, covered by a translucent cloak made of torn pages. The figure trembled — and cried.

Hiyoru approached.

— "Do you still remember your name?"

She didn’t know why she said it.

The figure turned. It had no face, but where the eyes should be, there were only two sockets filled with water — the same rain that fell inside Hiyoru’s mind.

— "Hiyoru... Tsukari..."

The figure said it. Not her.

And then, it dissolved like ashes in the wind.

Dead Spring bloomed for the first time.

And from the flower, fell a single white tear.

Something changed in the atmosphere.

An artificial sound broke the silence: static.

Red lines began to streak through the space around her, like circuits overheating. The ceiling warped, the walls lost their form. Everything flickered in irregular intervals. Reality seemed to be trying to update itself.

"Infiltration detected."

A metallic voice. Cold.

"Unit Tsukari-Hiyoru identified. Anomalous code: Rooted Memory. Emotional instability level: excessive. Lie-pattern compromised."

From the mist, a machine emerged. Humanoid. Tall. Its joints creaked like screams. Its face was a metallic mask with eyes that changed shape as it spoke. It was a Cleaning Unit.

The kind of thing designed to erase errors.

— "You are carrying a forbidden flower."

Hiyoru didn’t respond.

Dead Spring opened with a dry snap.

The rain intensified — falling only on her.

— "Lie detected."

The automaton charged.

But when it touched the rain... it began to melt.

Its body crumbled, the metals corroding like infected flesh. It screamed in logicless static, as if the rain were deprogramming its very existence.

Hiyoru didn’t understand why. But she felt it.

The flower responded to truth.

Or to its absence.

When the Unit collapsed to the ground, the rain ceased.

And with it, silence returned.

The broken staircase led back to the surface.

Hiyoru emerged through melted road signs and a fallen billboard that still flickered a broken word: welco__e. Above, the buildings of Kaiyn hung from rusted cables, like exhausted puppets.

The city still breathed. But every breath sounded like an error being rewritten.

People passed by with glowing violet eyes — connected to the network. Their speech was automated. Smiles, fake. Hiyoru walked among them like a glitch.

The flower hidden inside Dead Spring pulsed with a truth no one else wanted to hear.

“You don’t belong to this system.”

Said the faceless voice. The one between thoughts.

“But it belongs to you.”

Hiyoru looked up. The sky was still a scar.

And now, she knew what she needed to do:

Remember what had been forgotten.

Uncover the original lie.

And then... break it. 

The streets seemed to retreat from her.

As Hiyoru walked, the alleyways widened like mouths that wanted to whisper — but had no tongues left. The sidewalks rippled, as if the city floated upon a sea of liquefied concrete. Each reflection in the shop windows revealed a different version of herself: one with hollow eyes, another with blood-covered hands, yet another kneeling before an altar made of memories.

She pressed Dead Spring against her chest.

It was silent now.

Or perhaps... it was listening.

A violet flash tore through the false sky. Symmetrical, impersonal lines danced across the buildings like veins of a dormant entity. The antennas absorbed the glow and trembled — as if the city were trying to remember something.

Or delete it.

That’s when she saw it.

A woman stood atop a twisted pole, her skin coated in a black lacquer — like living obsidian. Her hair floated, though no wind blew. Eyes closed. Total silence. And yet, Hiyoru knew: that woman was hearing her thoughts.

— "You bleed in silence, but the world listens", the figure said — without opening her mouth.

The voice was like a crack in a wall. Dry, fragile, final.

Hiyoru stepped back — but the ground was no longer beneath her. She was on a suspended walkway between two towers, and neither seemed real.

— "If you continue... you’ll forget what you’re trying to remember."

The woman tilted her head.

— "But if you stop... who will you be?"

Dead Spring creaked.

A new flower erupted violently, tearing the membrane apart. It was made of broken mirrors and smelled of antiseptic and loss.

— "Another lie, Hiyoru. But this one... you told to protect."

The woman dissolved into black feathers.

And the tower collapsed.

She awoke atop the roof of an abandoned metro car. Above her, inverted tracks crossed an artificial sky where countless eyes were drawn in chalk — as if a schizophrenic child had tried to record what they saw in a nightmare.

Her body ached.

But not physically.

It felt like she had lost something while asleep — like there was a sealed room in her mind she was no longer allowed to enter.

Dead Spring was intact.

But now there were five flowers.

And one of them... was crying.

---

She followed a corridor of rails. The lights flickered. Sounds of metal scraping concrete echoed from every direction. A ruined station revealed itself ahead — melted benches, posters advertising products from a nonexistent brand: "Smile with Truth".

People sat there.

Still.

Faceless.

She didn’t approach.

Because she knew — deeper than fear — that those "people" were fragments of herself. Moments she had chosen to forget. Each one trapped in an endless cycle: one laughed maniacally, another bled from the ears, a third held a fading photograph.

A sudden noise.

One of the figures stood.

It was a teenage version of her.

But with a monstrously wide smile that split to the ears.

— "Hiyoru! Want to know the truth?"

It ran toward her, arms wide open.

And Dead Spring reacted.

The mirrored flower opened fully, releasing a field of shards that froze the figure midair. The impact wasn’t physical. It was existential.

Her teenage self fell to the ground.

Rigid.

Silent.

Hiyoru stepped over it.

Saying nothing.

Never turning back.

And the flower closed.

She climbed moss-covered stairs to a rusted metal door.

Behind it, a plaque: "ORIUN – Threshold of Rotten Compassion".

The timber of her soul creaked.

The first threshold.

The first mirror.

She gripped Dead Spring’s handle.

And stepped inside.

In the distance, a silhouette moved between trees made of glass — and in that moment, Hiyoru was sure of one thing:

She had already died...