And then the world tilted.
Asahi stumbled, his breath hitching as a sudden wave of dizziness overtook him. His vision blurred, heart hammering in his chest—not from exhaustion or the aftermath of their passionate night, but from something far more ancient, something rooted deep within him.
The flower pulsed again.
And with it, the flood came.
Not of blood.
But of memory.
He barely managed to brace himself against the balcony door before it all consumed him.
The smell of pancakes. The clatter of syrup. A laugh too innocent. A scream too sudden. A warmth turned to fire. Rage unbridled. Power that wasn't his to wield. A child's arms around him. Her small hands against his skin. Tears on her face. Blood on his.
*No. Not this again. Please… not this.*
"Asahi!"
Ai's voice pierced the haze—but it was distant, distorted, like a sound underwater. He turned, but the light had gone from his eyes. His knees buckled, body sagging as he collapsed into her arms.
