The first time someone called me "Daburu," it was snowing.
February 16th, 1984
A bitter wind cuts across a snow-covered field. A weary man trudges forward, breath shallow, his arms trembling as he carries the boy on his back.
"Big brother! It's so cold... when can we find shelter again?" the boy asks, teeth chattering.
The man pauses, forcing a smile despite the violent shake in his limbs.
"That's the fifth time you've asked, Daburu. You really like repeating yourself, huh?"
He gave me that name.
"Daburu."
He said it was just for fun — a nickname only we understood.
Back then, I thought it sounded cool. Like it meant something.
But now... I wish I could forget it.
Every time he hears it, the name drags a weight through his chest. The man presses on, boots crunching against frozen soil. Then—he spots something in the distance.
A home. Broken, but standing.
He grips the boy tighter, picking up his pace.
"There—see that? Biggest place we've seen in miles. You stay here. I'll check it out."
The boy — Daburu — nods as he's set down. His body shivers, but he still smiles.
Something felt wrong. Even at six, I could feel it.
Like the cold was trying to tell me the truth.
Then—
BOOOOM.
An explosion tears through the silence. Flame and splinters erupt from the building.
The man throws himself over Daburu, shielding him. The shock hits like a hammer.
It would've been fine.
I told myself that.
If my brother had just a little more energy… maybe he could've made it.
But something else was waiting.
A silhouetted figure steps out of the flames. Slowly. Casually. His voice slides across the snow like oil.
"Instead of protecting yourself, you jumped in front of that child. You could've died doing something that foolish."
The man stirs. Weakly. He plants a hand into the earth, trying to force himself up. Dim sparks of Reiki flicker at his fingertips—unstable and erratic.
His Brother —
Reiki: 10% | Emotional Quota: Fractured Fantasy
When your Reiki falls that low, your body breaks.
But when your Quota fractures... the mind does too.
His breathing turns shallow. Muscles twitch involuntarily. His eyes no longer focus.
The boy tugs on his brother's jacket, confused. The man's sword rattles in his trembling grip. Tears hit the ground as his body begins to shake violently—like he's fighting something inside.
Then—he turns.
And raises the blade.
"Big brother... what are you doing?"
His eyes are vacant. Distant. Somewhere far away.
The figure in the wreckage watches, arms folded.
"Your brother's gone. You'll die by his hands. And if not—then by mine."
The boy stumbles back.
"No... he wouldn't..."
The sword swings.
The boy dodges. Scrambles.
Why is this happening?!
The man's movements are wild — erratic slashes, no technique, no thought.
His mouth twitches. Fingers claw at the hilt. A snarl escapes his throat.
He's not even aiming. He's just... swinging.
"Run, Daburu...!" the man growls, voice barely human. "Run while I still have even the smallest bit of control left—"
But the boy doesn't understand.
Why would my brother turn on me?
Why would he raise his sword at me?
What did I do wrong?
Then—
He runs.
I still don't understand the truth.
I don't know if I ever will.
So I keep killing—tirelessly—until I find the man who set that trap. Until I find the one who took him from me.
I've tried to bury that name a hundred times. But no matter how far I run... it's the only one I ever had.
Daburu.
I never told anyone. I don't answer to it.
But it's always there.
Ten Years Later...
Petersburg, Virginia — June 12th, 1994
The streets are quiet. But not empty.
Windows watch. Smoke lingers. Footsteps echo where they shouldn't.
A lone figure walks the street, coat trailing behind him — eyes sharp, steps heavy.
Dawn.
That's the name I go by now.
My brother used to call me "Daburu." A dumb name only we used. But he was the only one I had.
I went by it back then because it was all I knew.
Now? I don't say it. I don't hear it. I outgrew it.
A Fateful Encounter
Something feels off.
A presence. Subtle, but real. Watching. Following.
"You're still out here? All by yourself?"
Dawn's eyes snap toward the voice. A man approaches — white hoodie up, hands in his pockets. His stride is casual. Confident.
"Who are you?" Dawn's stance tightens.
Dawn —
Reiki: 80% | Emotional Quota: Sane
Stable. For now.
"The name's Joki."
He stops a few feet away, eyes scanning Dawn.
"Though I'm surprised you've lasted this long out here without hearing about me."
Dawn scoffs.
"I don't care about names. Especially ones belonging to guys I'll probably kill later."
Joki chuckles.
"That so? Alright. I won't talk long."
His eyes sharpen.
"I just wanna know what you're doing. I've been watching you. You've been roaming the same streets, circling the same routes, killing the same kinds of people. You're like a dog with no owner."
Dawn narrows his eyes.
"That's none of your business. And if you value your life, keep walking. I'm not in the mood."
He turns away.
"I'm done talking to strangers."
Joki's voice follows him, calm and unwavering.
"Can't let you do that."
Dawn stops.
"You've killed people who didn't need to die. I've seen it. You're chasing something — someone — and I want to know who."
Joki's tone doesn't rise. Doesn't fall. But it cuts through the air like a blade.
Joki —
Reiki: 100% | Emotional Quota: Sane
Untouched. Dangerous.
A heat builds in Dawn's chest. His muscles tense. His jaw tightens as invisible pressure builds beneath his skin.
Dawn —
Reiki: 80% | Emotional Quota: Sane
"Then we fight."
He lunges.
A blur.
Joki's gaze narrows.
That's what you've decided?
"Then I'll give you the time of day."