Keigo was dreaming of that day again. He was dreaming of the flames burning his wings, the pain, the fear, the instinct of running away fast to save himself fighting against his duty to complete the mission. He dreamt of blood on the floor, a body of someone he had begged to save but that, ultimately, he had killed to follow the orders. Another person on his conscience. More blood on his hands.

He was dreaming of the fight against the Paranormal Liberation front, his body shaking with fear, fists clinging to the sheets as he trembled, soft noises of panic escaping his lips. He could see it all so well, it was engraved in his memory so deeply he doubted he’d ever forget it. But he was a soldier, a weapon, and he wasn’t supposed to feel afraid. But he couldn’t help the nightmares that came to him every night, again and again, taking sleep from him and leaving him a trembling mess of pain and fear and guilt.

He suddenly sat up, completely awake now, a knife in his hand pointed at the empty darkness of his room, panting, his eyes wide, senses alerted for any noise, any movement that could make him think that he was being attacked, that he wasn’t safe, that he had to fight. But nothing moved, nothing happened. Nothing.