The room was suffocated in darkness, thick and alive with something unseen. The dim light flickered—a single heartbeat of illumination struggling against the void. Pinned against the wall, side by side, were two photographs.

Two faces.

Two lives.

Smiling, oblivious, frozen in time.

A presence stirred, unseen but there, lingering with quiet, predatory patience.

Then—a voice.

Low. Cold. Crawling.

"Look at them... so untouched by fear. So full of borrowed hope."

A slow inhale. The rustle of fabric.

"They really believe, don’t they? That they’ve escaped. That their guardian’s blood was enough to buy their freedom."

The fingers ghosted over the photographs, trailing along the edges—the delicate borders.

"But fate doesn’t bend for anyone. Not for them. Not for him."

The voice dipped lower, more deliberate—tasting the names before releasing them like a curse.

"Arxia and Ruby Hoshino."

A knife carved through the air, glinting in the fractured light. It found its mark without hesitation. The blade sliced through paper, tearing flesh from image, severing smiles from existence.

The photographs fluttered downward, their edges curling, folding, bending as they hit the floor—lifeless.

The light flickered—once, twice.

Then— Darkness.

A silence that was not truly empty.

A silence waiting.

Watching.

And coming.