First Loop, Chapter 4 : 廃墟で結ばれた絆 (Bonds Forged in Ruin)

The landscape before us stretched endlessly, a wasteland of cracked highways veined with stubborn weeds. Skeletal skyscrapers loomed in the distance, piercing the crimson horizon like jagged teeth. Rivers that once thrived with life had withered into stagnant pools, their murky surfaces shimmering faintly under the oppressive glow of the dying sun.

The world had been abandoned. Forgotten.

And yet, we pressed on.

Izumi and I moved as a single unit, our steps guided not by words but by something quieter—an unspoken understanding. A fragile bond forged in pain, in loss, and in the sheer need to survive.

Despite the constant threat of danger, there were moments—small, fleeting moments—that almost felt… normal.

I had grown used to the way Izumi would suddenly halt, her glowing eyes scanning the horizon before whispering, "Stop."

And I always listened.

Without fail, wherever her gaze landed, I would see them—the twisted shadows flickering unnaturally in the distance, their glowing red eyes combing the terrain like hungry embers in the dark. They never made a sound, but the very air around them felt heavier, as if they devoured not just life, but hope itself.

One evening, after barely skirting past a particularly vicious pack of those creatures, I found myself watching Izumi more closely. The way she moved. The way she seemed to know things before they happened. It was uncanny.

I finally broke the silence. "How do you always know?"

She glanced at me, her expression unreadable. Then, a faint smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "Call it intuition," she said, leaning back against the cold concrete of an overpass we had taken refuge under. The pale moonlight caught the silver strands of her hair, making them shimmer. "Or maybe I've just been out here longer than you have."

I let out a quiet chuckle, though there was little humor in it. "Guess that makes me the rookie, huh?"

Izumi shook her head. "Not a rookie. Just… not broken in yet."

Her words lingered between us, carrying a weight I couldn't quite place. I wanted to ask what she meant—what had broken her—but the look in her eyes stopped me.

Some wounds weren't meant to be touched.

It wasn't just Izumi's instincts that kept us alive. I had learned to trust my own reflexes too, even if I didn't fully understand what I was.

Like when the creature attacked.

It had lunged at us from the ruins of a decaying supermarket, its grotesque form nothing more than a blur of elongated limbs and gnashing teeth. It was fast. Too fast. But my body reacted before my mind could catch up.

I struck first. My blows were precise, unrelenting. The impact of metal against flesh sent sickening cracks through the empty aisles. The thing crumpled, twitching once before finally lying still, black ichor pooling beneath it.

When I turned back to Izumi, she was just watching me. Her expression was unreadable, but something in her glowing eyes had shifted.

Later, as we scavenged through the wreckage, she finally spoke.

"You didn't have to do that," she said, her voice calm, but there was something deeper hidden beneath it. Something harder to place.

I didn't look at her. Just kept searching. "Yes, I did."

She was quiet for a moment. Then, softer, "Why?"

I exhaled, finally meeting her gaze. "Because we're in this together."

Her eyes lingered on me a moment longer before she turned away. But somehow, the air between us felt different. Less distant.

That night, we rested beneath the skeletal remains of what had once been a great tree, its twisted branches reaching toward the sky like pleading hands. The stars above were faint, struggling to shine through the decay of the world below.

For a while, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of our mechanical bodies, a quiet reminder of what we were. Of what we had lost.

Then, Izumi broke the silence.

"Do you think we're the last ones left?"

Her voice was quiet. Almost fragile.

I hesitated, staring at the cracked earth beneath us. My core hummed faintly, the rhythm unsteady. "I hope not," I said, though even I could hear the doubt in my own voice. "But even if we are…" I swallowed hard, jaw tightening. "I'll keep going. I have to know what happened. I have to understand why."

Izumi turned to me, her glowing eyes reflecting the dim light of the stars. She studied me for a long moment before speaking.

"You're different, Daichi."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"There's something about you," she murmured. "Like you were meant for something more."

I looked away, fingers brushing against the cavity in my chest—the empty space that always felt heavier than the rest of me. "I don't feel like anything special," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just… broken."

Izumi shifted closer, her movements deliberate, careful. Then, without hesitation, she placed her hand lightly on my shoulder.

Her touch was cool, but grounding.

"Sometimes," she said, her voice softer now, "broken things are the ones that can be remade into something stronger."

Her words settled deep in my chest, pressing against the emptiness there. I turned to look at her, and for the first time, I saw something in her eyes I hadn't before.

Understanding.

For the first time in a long while, the hollow ache inside me didn't feel so unbearable.

"Maybe," I murmured. "Maybe you're right."

Izumi offered a small smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes, but carried warmth nonetheless.

"Get some rest," she said, leaning back against the tree. "Tomorrow will be harder."

I nodded, closing my eyes.

The world was still broken. Still hostile.

But for the first time, I didn't feel completely alone.

And as the faint light of the stars flickered above us, their glow reflected in Izumi's eyes, I felt something stir deep within me.

A fragile spark in the endless darkness of the unknown.