The One Who Still Dreams

The world had gone quiet again.

Too quiet.

Reina stopped walking only when she realised her footsteps had stopped echoing. The silence pressed against her ears until it hurt. The frozen city stretched endlessly ahead — Akihabara’s neon towers standing still under a false night, raindrops suspended in midair like glass beads caught in time.

She glanced down. Her boots reflected in a shallow puddle, but the ripples that moved across it weren’t hers.

A breath caught in her chest.

“...That’s not mine,” she whispered. Another ripple.

Deeper this time. Wider.

And then — a sound.

A low, wet growl. The kind that doesn’t belong to anything human, or anything that should have a throat.

Her body went cold.

The hum of the Twenty-Fifth Hour distorted, warping like a tape being rewound.

She turned slowly, heart pounding hard enough that she could feel each beat in her fingertips. At the far end of the street, something moved.

A blur crawling between cars frozen mid-motion. It scraped its nails across the pavement, dragging itself forward with a jerking rhythm that made her stomach turn.

The last one she saw had been monstrous, yes — but this one was worse. It shifted. Flesh folding in and out of itself, like it hadn’t decided what shape it wanted to keep. The faint glow of lantern light pulsed inside its chest — no, through its chest — flickering wildly, trapped and alive.

It was what happened when someone’s regret refused to rest.

She stepped back once.

Then again.

The air thickened around her, trembling faintly — as if the city itself held its breath.

“You hear it too, crimson one?”

The voice came from above.

A lantern floated down slowly, its flame dim and trembling, casting light that barely reached her shoes.

Reina looked up. “You again?”

“Do you seek truth, or mercy?”

Her voice came out quieter than she meant.

“Neither. Just... a way out.”

The lantern flickered. Its light pulsed like a heartbeat, quick and uneven.

“Then open your eyes. Regret calls your name.”

Reina turned her gaze back to the creature. It had stopped crawling.

Now, it stood.

And she saw its face — or what was left of it.

A man’s features melted together with shadow. A mouth half-open, stretched too wide, teeth like broken glass. Where his eyes should have been, there were only swirling black voids.

He took a step forward. Then another.

Reina’s breath caught. “You again?” she whispered — though she didn’t even know what she meant. Maybe part of her did.

The man’s voice came out distorted, as if ten throats spoke through the same body.

“You left me there… you didn’t come back… you promised you’d—”

She flinched. Her fingers trembled. It wasn’t supposed to talk.

“Stop,” she said sharply, her voice cracking.

“Don’t say that.”

“You promised.” The man's voice.

The word sliced through the still air like a blade. And suddenly, the street wasn’t empty anymore. Walls shimmered.

Images flickered — quick flashes like lightning: a hand slipping from hers, water, screaming, something breaking — and then nothing.

Her chest burned.

The lantern’s voice returned, softer this time. Almost kind.

“You remember the pain. But not the name.”

Reina clenched her teeth. “Enough.”

“Then let it take form.”

The lantern’s light surged — expanding into ribbons of red that curled around her wrist. Heat bit into her skin. She gasped.

A shape pushed through the light — a hilt forming under her palm, solid and alive. The glow stretched, trailing into a blade streaked with scarlet veins that pulsed faintly like blood beneath skin.

Her crimson Nichirin sword.

The flame inside it settled — a living heartbeat.

The lantern above dimmed to a hollow shell. Reina stared at the weapon, her hand shaking.

“What the hell…”

“Your regret breathes now,” the lantern whispered. “It will answer only when you face it.”

The creature roared.

She didn’t think twice. She moved.

The world shattered into motion — wind rushing, echoes clashing, the monster’s scream ripping through the silence.

Her first swing was instinct — wild and desperate. The blade cut through the creature’s arm, leaving behind a streak of red residue that hissed like burning paper.

But it didn’t fall.

It lunged again — faster, its limbs stretching unnaturally. It clawed at her shoulder, barely missing as she ducked. The fabric of her jacket tore.

Reina stumbled back, exhaling hard. “Too close...”

Her grip tightened on the sword. It pulsed faintly — breathing with her.

“Name it,” the lantern murmured. “Call what you’ve birthed.”

She hesitated. Then whispered:

“Crimson Solace.”

The blade flared — violent and bright. Heat surged through her arms, not like fire, but sorrow — sharp and alive.

Her throat burned with it.

She stepped forward and swung — a clean, rising arc that carved a red streak through the air. The creature screamed, its body unraveling, pieces falling away like ash caught on invisible wind. But the light burned her too. Something tugged deep inside her chest, as though the sword was drawing power not from strength — but memory.

A faint voice echoed inside her skull:

“You promised you’d come back.”

Her swing faltered. Her breath hitched.

The monster took its chance — lunging with all its weight. The blow sent her crashing backward into a car window. Glass shattered.

Pain bloomed across her shoulder.

She coughed, spat blood, forced herself to her feet. The sword trembled faintly in her hand, alive but unstable.

“Your resolve cracks,” the lantern said. “Regret unbalanced devours its owner.”

“I’m fine,” she hissed through her teeth.

“Then prove it.”

The creature screamed — a thousand voices tangled together, crying out apologies, anger, grief.

Reina pressed a hand to her wound and inhaled sharply. Her other hand gripped the sword.

She closed her eyes.

And whispered:

“Flame that binds my sorrow — burn not the world, but what’s left of me.”

The light erupted — brighter, harsher. It pulsed through the air like a living heartbeat breaking free.

For an instant she saw herself reflected in the blade — hollow eyes, wet with grief.

She stepped forward, steady this time.

The monster charged.

Her sword cut clean through it. For a moment, stillness.

Then its chest burst open — a lantern sliding out, cracked and dim, whispering softly before fading into dust. Reina stood there, panting. The remains of the creature dissolved into nothing — like regret finally dispersing. Silence fell again. She lowered her sword. The crimson veins faded, leaving faint trails along her wrist. They pulsed once, then dulled.

Her body trembled. Her breath slowed.

The city stayed frozen, yet the faint hum of static lingered — the aftertaste of violence clinging to the air. Her knees gave a little. She leaned against a flickering lamppost. Its light buzzed, weak and ghostly.

Her hand brushed the shallow cut on her shoulder. The sting was small but real. The warmth of blood reminded her she was still trapped inside the Hour.

Still not awake.

For the first time, she wondered if the pain would follow her into morning.

She almost hoped it wouldn’t.

The lantern hovered near her again, dim and weary. “Regret feeds on recognition,” it murmured.

“You’ve remembered enough for tonight.”

She didn’t respond. Just watched the ashes drift away. Then — a sound.

Footsteps. Faint but real.

She turned sharply. At first, she thought it was another echo — another trick of the Hour. But no. Movement.

A figure stumbled between frozen cars. Human.

“Wait—” she called, though her voice barely carried.

The figure came closer, running, panicked.

The smell hit first — iron and fear.

A man emerged from the dark, panting, sleeve soaked with blood. His eyes went wide when he saw her.

“You— you’re real?”

Reina didn’t reply.

“Please! It’s coming!” he gasped.

Then she heard it — that same wet scraping sound, closer this time.

He reached toward her, desperate.

She stepped back. “Don’t,” she warned.

A blur burst out from the dark. Something huge. Misshapen. It slammed into him before he could even scream. Blood splattered across the ground — and her shoes.

Her breath hitched. She didn’t move.

The creature tore through him, then lifted its head and sniffed. It tilted toward her.

Her pulse roared in her ears.

It took one step. Then another.

She backed away. Her hand brushed against a lantern hanging on a pole. Its glow flared violently.

“Fear tastes sweet tonight,” it whispered.

“Shut up,” she hissed.

“Run, crimson one.” And she did.

The sound of claws scraped behind her as she sprinted through the streets, boots striking against the hollow stillness. Akihabara’s lights flickered as she passed — half alive, half frozen, like the city itself couldn’t decide if it still remembered how to breathe.

The monster shrieked — metal and glass grinding together.

Reina turned into an alley, nearly slipping on wet pavement. The smell of smoke and blood hung thick. A dead end.

“...Perfect,” she muttered under her breath.

The creature’s shadow stretched toward her.

The lantern beside her flickered wildly, voice trembling.

“Every hour ends. Every debt repeats.”

Reina met its light. “Then how do I stop repeating?”

“Ask the one who still dreams.”

“...Who?” she asked, confused.

But before she could hear more, the creature lunged. She dove to the side — pain tearing through her shoulder. The monster crashed into the wall, cracking brick. She scrambled up, sword tight in her grip, swung hard. The blade hit its jaw — a flash, a shriek, dark liquid spraying. Her whole body trembled. Real fear this time — cold and alive in her bones.

And then — everything stopped. Not froze.

Stopped.

The creature hung mid-lunge. The lantern dimmed.

Even her breath paused.

She looked around, voice breaking the silence:

“...What the hell?”

Absolute stillness. And then —Tick. A single sound.

The first movement of time.

She looked up. The sky rippled faintly, buildings shivering at the edges.

The monster’s body began dissolving into black dust.

“Time’s… ending?” she whispered. No. Resetting.

The lantern flickered weakly beside her.

“Sleep, crimson one. The minute is over.”

The air folded inward, gravity reversed, the world pulling her down — or up, she couldn’t tell. Reina reached for the fading light.

“Wait— what did you mean? Who dreams?”

No answer. Only darkness folding in.

When she opened her eyes, she was back in her room.

The clock read 4:00 A.M.

Her breathing came fast. Sheets tangled around her legs. Sweat cold on her skin. Her hand trembled faintly. She stared at it for a long while before whispering:

“‘The one who still dreams’... who?”

No reply. Only the quiet drip of rain outside her window.

The world kept turning — unaware that somewhere, for one stolen minute, another had lived and died again.