The city was weeping.

Not the weeping of humans, nor the cries of beasts... but the sky itself, mourning. A rain that never ceased, falling from torn clouds like a black veil covering the city from end to end. No sun. No dawn. Only ashes that fell as water.

Kaida stood at the edge of a crumbling rooftop, her silver hair plastered to her wet face, gazing at the horizon like someone waiting for a prophecy. Her blue eyes reflected the grim sky, but their light was fading... as if they, too, remembered who had gone.

Her brother's name was Rin. He had vanished forty days ago, leaving behind a torn letter and scattered words about "the tower that does not speak."

Since that day, the city had started to change… The streets seemed to devour light, people whispered names never spoken before, and old doors began to appear in places that never had them.

Kaida never believed in legends—until she opened the book.

The book was wrapped in cracked black leather, smelling of rain and old ashes. She couldn't remember when she found it. It was just… there. As if someone had placed it in her hands while she slept. And whenever she tried to recall that night, a sharp pain struck her forehead until her eyes watered.

The pages were strange, unfamiliar. Some were written in a language she didn't know. Others were written like breathing… the words whispered, moved, shifted.

And there, on the first page, was the sentence:

"When the city weeps, the tower awakens."

Kaida slammed the book shut.

She didn't believe in fate, but she believed in something colder: instinct. And something deep inside told her this book was no coincidence. That her brother, somehow, knew what he was doing before he disappeared.

She descended from the rooftop in silence, hiding beneath her black coat, avoiding the eyes of people who had shunned her ever since she spoke of the tower. They had called her "the one who hears the mud," a cruel nickname born from her claims about voices beneath the ground.

No one wanted to believe the city was changing — because change meant fear. And fear… was forbidden here.

In a narrow alley, she stopped before a strange wooden door she'd never seen, though she had walked that path a hundred times. It wasn't worn like other doors. It looked newly carved. Strange symbols like those in the book were etched into its surface. Around its small metal handle were dark burn marks, as if someone had tried to open it... and failed.

Kaida reached out her hand — and something stirred in her chest.

"Rin…" she whispered, without thinking. She felt his name echo in her ribs like a distant call. It wasn't her imagination. It was a summoning.

Before she touched the door, the shadow moved.

It was in the opposite corner — tall, shapeless, as if fog had taken form. It didn't move like a human, but like a dream unraveling. No face. No features. But it watched. And Kaida felt exposed before it… not in her body, but in her meaning. Her being.

She backed away slowly, her mind screaming run, but her feet frozen like ice.

When the shadow disappeared, its chill remained… and then came the voice.

A whisper, barely heard, from behind the door.

"If you seek him, leave your heart behind."