Chapter 7: A Hand Reaching Through the Fog

1

Renji's breath still came in ragged gasps. The cold fingers, the drowning blackness, the whispers—they were still there in his mind, coiling around his thoughts like shadows refusing to let go.

But the world was different now.

The sky was no longer a void. Instead, the warm glow of early morning had returned, painting the horizon with soft shades of orange and pink. The bridge beneath him felt solid again, no longer warping under his feet.

And Mikoto was still here.

She knelt beside him, her grip firm on his shoulders, her eyes searching his face. The fierce urgency from before was gone, replaced by something quieter.

Something like concern.

"You're back," she murmured, her voice steady.

Renji swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus. The cold had faded. His body was still shaking, but he was here.

Alive.

"…What happened?" His voice was hoarse.

Mikoto hesitated, then sat back on her heels. "You weren't moving. Your breathing slowed, and your pulse was weak. I tried calling you, shaking you, but you wouldn't wake up." Her fingers twitched. "I thought—"

She cut herself off, looking away.

Renji exhaled shakily, running a hand through his damp hair. It had felt so real. Saya's touch. The darkness. The weight of guilt crushing him under endless hands.

But that thing…

It wasn't her.

He clenched his fists. "That wasn't a memory, was it?"

Mikoto's gaze darkened. "No."

Renji swallowed. He already knew the answer, but hearing it made his stomach turn. "Then what was it?"

She was quiet for a moment. Then, softly, she said:

"The bridge isn't just a place where the past lingers." Her eyes met his. "It's a place where regret takes shape."

Renji's breath caught.

Regret.

That thing—that hollow, broken version of Saya—it had been born from his guilt, his failure, his inability to save her. It had taken her face, her voice, and twisted them into something meant to consume him.

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his skin.

"…Then how do I fight it?"

Mikoto shook her head. "You don't."

Renji blinked. "What?"

She studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "Renji, this place—it doesn't work like the real world. You can't fight regret like you would an enemy." She tapped his chest lightly. "You can only confront it. Accept it."

His stomach twisted. Accept it? How could he? How could he ever accept the fact that he had let Saya die? That he had stood there, helpless, as she was pulled under?

His hands trembled.

Mikoto's expression softened. "You can't erase the past, Renji."

He looked away, his throat tight. "Then what's the point of all this?"

She smiled, just a little. "Maybe it's not about erasing it."

The wind stirred around them, gentle and warm. Renji closed his eyes, letting it wash over him.

Maybe Mikoto was right. Maybe this place wasn't meant to give him answers. Maybe it wasn't about rewriting the past, but… learning how to live with it.

And for the first time in a long while, that thought didn't feel as unbearable as it once did.

2

The path ahead was clear again, stretching toward the horizon where the golden light of morning shimmered over the water.

Mikoto stood, brushing dust off her sleeves, then held out a hand.

"Come on," she said. "Let's keep moving."

Renji stared at her for a moment.

Then, hesitantly, he reached out—

And took her hand.

The warmth of it was real. Solid. Steady.

And for the first time since stepping onto this bridge, Renji felt like he wasn't walking alone.