Held, Not Frozen

The city didn’t feel frozen. That was the first thing Kazu noticed, and it bothered him more than it should have. Frozen meant stopped. This wasn’t stopped.

It felt like something had paused the world badly—like a hand had come down on everything and then hesitated, unsure whether to press or pull back. Nothing moved, but nothing felt settled either. The air was thick without being heavy. Breathing wasn’t hard. It was… easy. Too easy. Like the air had already decided how much he was allowed to take in.

He exhaled slowly. “Okay,” he muttered. “That’s new.”

The street around him looked familiar at first glance. Same shops. Same roads. But the longer he stood there, the more wrong it felt. Buildings leaned just a little closer than he remembered, like they’d crept forward when no one was watching. Straight edges didn’t stay straight for long. Alleys seemed deeper than they had any right to be, stretching when he looked at them and shrinking back the moment he tried to judge the distance.

He couldn’t trust space.

A streetlight flickered above him. Not fully on. Not fully off. Its glow spilled across the asphalt like it had melted, crawling over cracks in the road, stretching far beyond where light should reach—then snapping back all at once, like it had realized it wasn’t supposed to do that. Kazu swallowed.

“…Figures.”

He stepped forward. The sound of his shoe hit the ground cleanly—sharp, normal and then vanished halfway through the echo. Not faded. Cut. Like someone had shut a door on the sound itself. Kazu stopped. He didn’t rush. Didn’t turn fast. Something in him said that sudden movement would be a mistake. He angled his head toward the convenience store window beside him, its glass dark, reflective.

His reflection looked back. A moment late. Not enough to scream about. Just enough to notice. Enough that once you did notice, you couldn’t stop. He lifted his hand. The reflection followed. Late again. A quiet chill slid down his spine, not fear exactly—more like the acceptance that something had gone wrong and wasn’t interested in fixing itself.

“Great,” he said under his breath. “This is how it starts.”

Something moved behind him. Footsteps. Fast. Uneven. Loud in a way that didn’t belong here. Human. Kazu turned. A guy stumbled out from between two buildings, nearly tripping over his own feet before catching himself. About Kazu’s age. Maybe a little older. His jacket sleeve was torn, fabric dark and sticky with something that definitely wasn’t rain. Blood. The guy froze when he saw Kazu. For a split second, fear crossed his face—then relief hit him like a wave.

“Hey—!” he gasped, stumbling closer. “Hey, thank god. You—you see this too, right?”

Kazu didn’t answer right away. His eyes slid past the guy’s shoulder. The shadows behind him shifted. Not moving. Listening.

“…See what?” Kazu asked.

The guy let out a laugh that broke halfway through, dragging a hand through his hair. “The shadows. The things. Monsters, I don’t know.” His voice wobbled. “They just showed up. I thought I was losing my mind.”

“You’re bleeding,” Kazu said. The guy blinked, looked down like the idea was new. “Oh. Yeah.” He pressed his side and hissed. “One of them got me. Just a little, I think.” It wasn’t a little. The wound didn’t look cut or torn. It looked wrong. Like something had tried to pull him apart and stopped midway through, bored or interrupted.

“They’re still after you,” Kazu said.

The guy’s breathing caught. “They don’t stop,” he whispered. “They don’t even chase. They just… appear. Like they know.” He studied Kazu more closely then, eyes narrowing just a bit.

“You don’t look that scared.”

Kazu felt his shoulders tighten. “I am,” he said. “I just don’t do well when I panic.” Something flickered across the guy’s face. Guilt, maybe. Or calculation. Then— A sound slid down the street. Not footsteps. A drag. Like wet cloth being pulled slowly over concrete. The guy flinched hard enough to stumble.

“They’re here,” he said, voice hoarse. “We need to go. Now.”

Kazu nodded. “This way.” They ran. Not blindly. Kazu kept to open streets, instinctively avoiding narrow alleys. He stayed close to light, even when it flickered, even when it lied. The guy followed, breath ragged, footsteps uneven and loud. The shadows followed too. They didn’t rush. They didn’t hurry.

They advanced. Sliding along walls. Peeling themselves up from the ground. Stretching thin, then thickening again. For a moment, one almost looked human—arms, shoulders, a head—then its joints bent wrong, limbs extending too far, shape collapsing into something that refused to stay solid. Wraths. The word settled in Kazu’s mind without argument.

“Why aren’t they rushing?” the guy gasped.

“They don’t have to,” Kazu said.

One of the wraths surged forward—not charging, not striking. Just stepping close enough to remind them it could. Its surface rippled. Faces surfaced briefly, eyes wide, mouths open in silent screams—then dissolved back into shadow. The guy screamed instead. He bolted left.

“Wait—!” Kazu shouted.

The street ahead narrowed unnaturally, folding into a crooked alley. The wraths reacted instantly, spreading out, blocking exits with calm precision.

“They’re trapping us,” Kazu said.

“I can’t—I can’t do this—” the guy sobbed.

Something dropped from above. Kazu shoved him sideways just as a wrath slammed down where they’d been standing. The ground didn’t crack. The air did. Sound flattened. Pressure hit.

“Move!” Kazu yelled. They burst into a plaza. Too wide. Too exposed. Lanterns floated overhead. Dozens of them. Their light flickered erratically, trembling as if disturbed by something unseen. Whispers leaked out—not words, not voices, just fragments of emotion layered on top of each other. The wraths circled them. Slowly.

The lanterns dimmed. A wrath leaned closer. A face pushed through its surface—young, terrified, human. Kazu’s chest tightened. The guy shoved him. Hard. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, already running. “I don’t know why they want you—”

The wraths opened a path for him. Then closed it. Kazu didn’t chase. He stood there, breathing hard, watching every distorted face turn toward him.

“…Right,” he murmured. “Guess it’s my turn.”

The nearest wrath lunged.

Steel sang.

Not loudly—not heroically—but sharp and tight, like a nerve being struck.

Reina ducked on instinct more than thought. A clawed limb ripped through the space where her head had been a fraction of a second earlier, the air tearing with it. She pivoted hard on her heel, boots scraping stone, and brought the blade up in a clean, ruthless arc. Light flared. The lantern-forged sword bit deep into the wraths’ shoulder, heat blooming outward from the cut.

The wound hissed, smoke curling from its edges as shadow peeled away like burned paper. For half a heartbeat—It worked. The wrath recoiled, its form unraveling, limbs losing cohesion as if the structure holding it together had finally failed. Then it pulled itself back. Shadow crawled inward, knitting, sealing, rebuilding. Reina clicked her tongue.

“Tch.” No time to dwell. 

She stepped back just as another wrath surged in from her blind side, too fast to be clumsy. She raised her blade high, catching the strike head-on. Sparks burst outward where light met shadow, the impact slamming up her arm and rattling her shoulder. Too heavy. She didn’t resist it—she gave to it. Reina rolled with the force, twisting her wrist mid-block and letting the blade slide down its mass instead of stopping it.

The sword carved a glowing line across the wraths’ torso as she passed, the lanterns overhead flickering violently in response. They noticed. She felt it before she saw it. The wraths slowed. Not retreating—thinking. They stopped charging straight in.

One shifted high, feinting toward her head, while another swept low, skimming the ground in a wide arc meant to take her legs out from under her. Reina leapt back, boots slamming into stone, knees bending deep to absorb the impact.

She didn’t stop moving. Couldn’t.

“Stay together,” she muttered under her breath, circling, blade angled low. “Don’t let them surround you.” A lie.

They already were. The plaza warped as she moved. Distances stretched and shrank in subtle, infuriating ways—one step too long, the next not long enough. Her footing felt off by just enough to be dangerous. Reina adjusted on instinct, slashing low to force space, snapping the blade up immediately after, then pivoting into a tight spin that drove two wraths back at once. The blade burned brighter.

So did the ache in her chest.

Each swing dragged something out of her—heat, pressure, fragments of memory she didn’t want surfacing right now. Her lantern pulsed at her side, its presence heavy, whispering against her senses like fingers tapping on glass. Not yet. She shoved the thought away. A wrath lunged again, faster than before. Its form condensed as it moved, shadow thickening, weight gathering like it had learned what force was supposed to feel like.

Reina braced, adjusting her stance, blade angled to deflect rather than strike. They collided. The impact sent her skidding backward across the pavement, boots screeching as she fought to keep her balance. The ground blurred beneath her until she dropped to one knee, sword plunging into stone to stop her slide. Her breath tore out of her, sharp and painful.

For a moment, everything went quiet.

The wraths didn’t press. They watched. Studied. Reina lifted her head slowly, teeth clenched.

“They're learning,” she whispered.

She forced herself upright, shoulders tight, eyes locked on their shifting silhouettes. The sword felt heavier now—not in her hands, but behind them, like something was being dragged through her every time she moved. She attacked again. Another wrath split under her strike, its form tearing apart—and pulling itself back together almost instantly. Faster this time. Her jaw tightened.

“So killing isn’t enough,” she murmured. 

A scream cut through the city. Human. Close. Reina’s head snapped toward the sound before she could stop herself. Her chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion. The wraths reacted too. Several turned in unison, bodies stretching, thinning, drawn toward the noise like it mattered more than she did. 

Reina hesitated. Just a second. That was all it took.

A wrath burst forward, slamming into her guard with brutal force. The blow knocked her off her feet, sending her crashing back into a streetlight hard enough to rattle the pole. Pain flared across her back, sharp and immediate. She hit the ground and rolled, breath knocked loose, claws raking through the metal where her head had been moments earlier. Breathing hard now, she forced herself upright, muscles screaming in protest.

Her lantern flickered. Once. Twice.

“Focus,” she muttered, tightening her grip. “You don’t get to fall apart yet.”

She surged forward again, blade flashing, forcing the wraths back—not trying to destroy them this time.

Just pushing.

Kazu stood still. The wraths closed in. One leaned close enough that he could see it clearly now, not just shadow, not just distortion. Human-shaped. Too human. A face surfaced—young, eyes wide with terror, mouth forming a word that never reached sound. Kazu’s stomach dropped.

“You were a person,” he whispered.

The wraths recoiled—not physically, but emotionally, like something had been struck that wasn’t flesh. Lanterns around them flared. The whispers sharpened. The wraths surged forward all at once. Kazu raised his arms instinctively—and the world lurched. Light bled into shadow. Sound collapsed inward.

The lanterns burned brighter, their whispers merging into a single, unbearable chorus as the city stretched and folded around him. Somewhere nearby, steel rang against shadow. And Kazu understood, with sudden, terrible clarity:

This wasn’t a battlefield. It was a test. And he had no weapon yet. Redirecting.

Holding.

Every strike was measured now. Every movement calculated to waste as little strength as possible. Somewhere in the warped city beyond the plaza, someone was screaming. Reina fought on, buying time she didn’t know how much of she had left.