— Nice to meet ya! Name's Necraia. I'm a Grim Reaper.
I didn't even blink.
While I thought it was real as my body still trembled from the near-death that didn't happen and from the sight of those two men being cut down like they were made of paper. Even then, I still couldn't bring myself to believe her.
A Grim Reaper?
She said it with a grin and a tilt of the head like she was offering me candy.
— Oh ho! No reaction?
I stepped back without realizing.
My hand grazed the alley wall. I could still feel the texture of my blood on my chin and neck, and could still feel the ache in my ribs and the copper in my mouth.
This was real.
That was real.
But her?
— I am death, y'know? The one and only~
She twirled her scythe like a baton, then casually perched on it mid-air, floating like gravity was more of a suggestion than a law.
"...What do you want?" I asked.
Her eyes sparkled as she flicked a lock of hair from her face and grinned.
— Want? I already got what I wanted.
Her grin stretched wider and winked.
— You.
Right after, she dropped from the scythe and landed with a soundless tap.
She walked up, so close I could see the silver thread of ink running from her collarbone down to the inside of her wrist. Then she poked my forehead with one finger.
— How about a deal?
I paused.
"A deal?"
I didn't turn around though. I just stared ahead at the crooked brick walls and the blood still pooling behind me.
— Trade a few years of your lifespan. In return, you get the right to climb. Sounds like a fair trade, don't it?
A laugh almost escaped my lips.
But I kept walking. One hand on my ribs, the other pressed against the bullet graze on my forearm where pain bloomed now like fire even though it hadn't hurt before.
Nevertheless.
Even if I said yes, even if I gave up ten years, twenty, or perhaps everything, what would it matter? The Tower would chew me up and spit me out before I reached the next floor.
That's what it did.
That's what it always did.
Still, she kept talking behind me.
— C'mon. You're already abandoned. Might as well gamble what's left.
I stopped again.
Because somehow, those words hit harder than the beatings ever did.
Turning around, I opened my mouth to speak only for her to lean forward with a grin and interrupted me.
— So if you accept my offer, you could...
I walked away.
Necraia blinked, stunned, as she watched me go. I didn't see it, but I'm sure her mouth hung slightly open as if she couldn't process what had just happened.
— W–Wait, did he just… h–he ignored me?!
***
Necraia watched Rhaen walk outside the alley.
It was the first time she encountered such a thing. Usually, most of the people she appeared to wet their pants, screamed for help, and begged not to take their life.
Yet it was not the case for Rhaen.
— How interesting. Let's see how long you can resist me.
She kicked off from the air, floating lazily on her scythe, her eyes gleamed with something akin to curiosity.
— Rhaen Vauxhall.
Necraia, the Grim Reaper, chuckled before vanishing into the air.
***
When I was a kid, I used to hear rumors about a classless child born inside the old clocktower a hundred years ago, and because I was also found there wrapped in a torn sheet and left at the edge of the gears, people liked to say I was their descendant.
But I never believed it.
What I did believe… was the dream.
It was always the same.
I was too small and was held tight in a woman's arms as she ran through the dark and something terrifying chasing close behind us though I could never see it clearly.
Everything around her blurred, like the dream didn't care about the world but only her.
She was my mother.
Indigo hair that spilled down her shoulders in waves.
Pink eyes that looked just like mine.
I blinked and caught my reflection in the dirty puddle next to the trash bin, the ripples in the water smoothing just enough for me to see my face: indigo hair tangled from the wind, and pink eyes staring back up at me.
Just like hers.
And then, as always, the dream ended the moment she pressed her finger gently to my forehead, right between my brows, and everything faded into white like she was trying to seal something in or keep something out.
That same press…
The one Necraia just did to me.
Before I realized it, my hand had already risen and hovered over the same spot, like my body remembered what my mind was still trying to make sense of.
And the more I thought about it… the more I think that maybe the offer wasn't as bad as I first believed.
Not just because it meant I could finally climb the Tower, this rusted hellhole that abandoned me, but because… if I kept climbing… if I reached high enough…
…Maybe I could find her.
My mother.
The only person who ever held me like I mattered.
The only one whose face I remembered not because someone described it to me, but because it stayed in my dreams even when everything else faded.
The one who ran to protect me, not away from me.
If she was alive… if she ever climbed the Tower… and if there was even the slightest chance she was waiting somewhere up there… then maybe—
Mreeaaww~
A hoarse, broken sound snapped me out of my thoughts, along with something wet that brushed against my bare feet.
Looking down, Mr. Graycat was licking my fingers.
I crouched down and finally took a good look at him. His frame was thinner than I thought. Patches of fur were missing, peeled away to reveal bruised and tender skin beneath. His legs shook with each step, and yet…
His tail wagged gently.
"You still wag your tail at humans," I whispered. "Even after what they did to you…?"
Even after they crushed his throat just for fun. Even after they used him like a toy and like he didn't matter. Even now, his tail still wagged at me.
Until.
Like the last thread had snapped, Mr. Graycat's legs gave out and collapsed at my feet.
I froze.
If only…
If only I had enough power to save him.
To take his pain and make it mine. To carry something for once in my life, not just survive it.
But I didn't.
I had nothing.
Only two fists that couldn't protect even Mr. Graycat.
Only lungs that screamed for air and ribs that cracked when I stood up for something that mattered.
Clenching my jaw, my hands hovered around Mr. Graycat's body, unsure whether to lift him or apologize for not being able to save and protect him.
"Mr. Graycat…"
Tears flowed freely from my eyes.
I didn't wipe them away. I didn't hide them. I just let them fall as I knelt down and slipped off my jacket.
The fabric was stiff, rust-stained, and barely enough to warm anyone. But still, I folded it with shaking hands and wrapped it around Mr. Graycat's frail body. He didn't resist. He didn't even move.
He was not even breathing now.
"...Mr. Graycat," I repeated, before I cradled him like a baby and held him to my chest with the same care I wished someone had once held me.
He was light.
After a while, I stood up and was barely able to keep my knees from buckling.
Carefully, I turned out of the alley. The streets were noisy again, and the air was stale with rust and the scent of rusted gears bleeding into the air from every cracked pipe.
I walked through it all.
I didn't know where I was going.
Only that I needed something to preserve what little dignity Mr. Graycat had left. A clean cloth. A proper farewell. Something better than rotting behind some heap of trash.
"...Mr. Junon."
I bit my lip, holding back a sob as I pressed onward toward his shop.
He might have a spare sheet. Something soft. Something clean. He always kept the blankets for the street dogs rolled near the storage racks, didn't he?
I had just turned the corner when I bumped into someone again, nearly knocking the air out of my lungs again. I staggered back and almost dropped Mr. Graycat thus my arms tightened instinctively.
The man didn't stop though. He was gone just as fast, darting down the street like he was being hunted.
But I saw him.
Or rather, what he wore.
The same half-faced mask. The one from earlier. The one who didn't even apologize when he bumped into me for the first time. But I had no time to curse him like I did earlier.
So I turned back around, holding Mr. Graycat tighter, and forced myself to keep walking.
...Almost there.
Just a few more steps.
The tarps to Mr. Junon's shop stood ajar, the hanging bell on the side made of a crooked spoon and a wire. But…
Odd.
He always stood at the table around this hour.
"Mr. Junon?" I called out, peeking inside.
Given that there was no response, I pushed the tarps and opened them wider. As I did, a sharp and metallic smell hit my nose before I saw anything.
Stepping in, I saw him on the floor behind the table.
His back was hunched and his face was turned toward the ceiling as he tried to breathe. Blood pooled beneath him and it was too dark to be fresh and too much to be harmless.
I rushed forward and fell to my knees beside him, careful not to jostle the wrapped cat still in my arms.
"Mr. Junon!" I reached for his shoulder, shaking him gently. "Hey! S-Stay with me!"
His eyes fluttered open at the sound of my voice and coughed.
"Rhaen…?" Mr. Junon said. "That you…?"