Prologue : The Broken Boy

The World Began with Rain

The world began with rain.

Not gentle rain. Not the kind that hums you to sleep.

This rain devoured.

Black clouds swallowed the sky, lightning carved jagged wounds across the heavens, thunder rattled every window like a war drum. It felt less like weather and more like the universe screaming: “Something’s coming.”

Inside a cramped hospital room, under buzzing fluorescent lights, my mother’s cries cut through the storm. And then—my first scream answered hers. Thin, fragile, yet loud enough to shake her heart.

My father’s hands trembled as he lifted me, like one wrong move would shatter me. Pale, wiry, nervous—but his eyes gleamed with something close to awe. My mother, sweat and tears streaming, whispered the word that would bind me to this world:

“Hatoru.”

And that was the beginning.
A boy born in rain.

For a while, life painted itself in warm colors:

Grandparents carrying paper bags full of fruit. The smell of soup drifting through a too-small kitchen. My laughter spilling across afternoons, mixed with the whistle of the kettle and the crackle of the old radio.

It wasn’t perfect. But for a child, “whole” feels like heaven.

Until the cracks appeared.

My father’s laugh always sounded… forced, like a man trying to remember how. 

My mother’s eyes wandered, following things no one else could see. Conversations shrank into silence.

And school? Forget it. My notebooks were neat. My grades were good. Too good. Good enough to turn me into a target.

By ten, whispers crawled after me down the hallways. My lunch disappeared more often than it didn’t. My patched clothes became punchlines. Every shove, every joke, every stolen thing reminded me: I was easy prey.

And no one defended me.

At least—until he showed up.

Ray.

Two years older. My cousin. Loud, reckless, impossible to ignore.

The brother I didn’t ask for—but the brother I needed.

He found me cornered one afternoon, my bag thrown into the mud, two older boys sneering in my face.

Ray stormed in like the world’s loudest rescue. His voice was sharp, his glare sharper:

“Oi! Pick on someone who can swing back.”

They scattered like shadows at sunrise.

Ray bent down, shoved my bag into my chest, and smirked.

“You’re pathetic, you know that?”
Then, softer, he ruffled my hair.
“Don’t worry. You’ve got me now.”

And he meant it.

From then on, he was orbit and gravity all at once.

He split his bread so I wouldn’t skip meals. He dragged me to rooftops, daring the sunset with dumb jokes. He taught me to pedal faster, to throw straighter, to laugh again.

One evening, orange light spilling across the roof, he grinned at me.

“Don’t look so gloomy. You’ll wrinkle before you’re fifteen.”

I muttered, “Says the guy who trips over his own shoes.”

He barked a laugh, shoved my shoulder, and then grew quiet—rare for him.

“Don’t lower your head, idiot. You’ve got me. Always.”

Always.
That word tattooed itself into my chest like armor.

It happened on a day so ordinary, I almost hate remembering it.

Lunch break. A park bench. Stale bread.

Ray nudged me.

“Come home with me today. Mom cooked extra. Let’s eat together.”

I was tired. Distracted. Wanting silence.

So I muttered, “Not today. Maybe tomorrow.”

He grinned, not hurt at all, and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Tomorrow, huh? Fine. Don’t be late.”

He turned once, flashed me that crooked grin—
The last grin.

I didn’t know.
That Tomorrow never came.

They said he took his own life. No warning. No note. Just silence where his laughter used to be.

Adults whispered excuses: “Family pressure.” “Teenage heartbreak.” “He couldn’t take it anymore.”

None of it made sense.
None of it ever will.

The Loss

Whispers came first. Rumors at school. Neighbors glancing too long.

Then truth.
Ray was gone.

At first, I refused. He’d show up any second, right? Crooked grin. Loud laugh. “Got you good, idiot.”

But the funeral came. And denial cracked.

His grandmother’s hands dug into my shoulders, trembling with grief.

“Why, Hatoru? You were always with him! Why did you leave him alone?”

My uncle’s voice was worse. A hammer.

“If you had been there, maybe he would still be with us.”

Their words didn’t just cut. They stayed.

I whispered, over and over, throat raw:

“It should’ve been me.”

The world didn’t answer.

Years of Silence

Ages eleven to fourteen blurred gray.

New schools. New masks. Same story.

Bullies found me again. Teachers sighed. My father faded into silence. My mother wore exhaustion like a second skin.

I smiled when I was supposed to. Laughed when others laughed. Pretended.

But inside? Empty.

At night, I walked under flickering lamps, whispering to the rain:

“Please… let tomorrow be gentle.”

And sometimes, quieter:

“Please… let me die tomorrow.”

Sarcasm became my mask. If anyone asked, I’d laugh it off:
“Oh, this? Just my gloomy teenager cosplay. Totally fine.”

But it wasn’t fine.

The Rain Answers

The storm came back.

The same storm as the day I was born. Black clouds. Endless sheets of rain. Thunder like a war drum.

I pedaled through it, soaked to the bone. Headlights flared through the water. A truck barreled down, horn screaming.

And I didn’t swerve.

For the first time in years, I smiled.

“…Finally. It’s over.”

Impact swallowed the world.

The Voice & Rebirth

Darkness. Vast. Waiting.

And then—the voice.

Ancient. Patient. Not cruel, not kind. Simply undeniable.

“Born in rain. Died in rain. You cursed your gods, your family, your fate. The world ignored your prayers… but I heard.”

A black sun burned into being, bleeding both light and shadow.

My body dissolved. My soul caught fire. Light threaded my veins like molten glass. Shadows licked my fingertips, clinging, refusing to let go.

For the first time in forever, I inhaled without pain.

Ending

Light detonated.
Darkness folded.

The broken boy dissolved.
And something else—new, radiant, terrible—took his place.

My eyes snapped open.
The rain was gone.
Sunlight pressed against my skin for the first time in years, warm and alien.

“Born in rain. Died in rain. You cursed your gods, your family, your fate. The world ignored your prayers… but I heard.”