Mizu walked alone.
Only he wasn't walking.
The ground was water—shallow, endless. His steps didn't ripple. No sound. No echo. Just silence.
Then—
Footsteps behind him.
He turned.
A boy stood there.
No older than ten.
Wet hair. Bare feet. Blue eyes wide with pain.
Mizu stared.
"…Me?"
The boy tilted his head.
"You were crying. Remember?"
Mizu did. The night after the fire. The night the world stopped being safe.
The boy asked, "Why didn't you save them?"
Mizu's throat tightened.
"I couldn't. I was just a kid."
"But you're still running," the boy whispered. "Even now."
"No," Mizu said, stepping closer. "I'm fighting. I carry them with me."
The water began to rise.
The boy dissolved into mist.
From it emerged a dark figure—tall, looming, wearing Mizu's necklace.
Eyes empty.
"You became strong. But empty. You bury emotion. You hide from your pain. That's not power."
Mizu raised his fists. "Then let me feel it."
A wave surged.
They clashed.
Each strike threw water into the air like a storm. Mizu fought not to win—but to understand. With every blow, he embraced the pain.
The past. The fear. The guilt.
And he emerged from the water, stronger.
The crystal floated before him—deep blue, glowing.
He took it, eyes steady.
No fear.
Just resolve.