The empty street lay in a hush, a thin veil of dust drifting lazily across broken pavement. Shards of glass caught the weak sunlight, scattering it like faint stars on the ground. The world felt muted—hollow—except for the soft, weightless presence hovering behind Akito as he shuffled forward.

A distant groan echoed. Then another. Shadows dragged themselves from behind rusted cars, limbs twitching, movements jagged and hungry.

Akito stilled.

A faint tremor rippled through his fingers, the kind that even undeath couldn’t erase. His dull green eyes flickered toward the ghost—barely visible in the fractured light—before turning back to the approaching horde. His jaw tightened, the faintest trace of something human straining through the haze of instinct.

“Stay behind me.”

The words rasped out, rough and gravel-edged, a voice dragged through sand and memory. He stepped forward.

The zombies surged, snarling, reaching— But Akito moved first.

His fist cracked against the nearest skull with a sound like splintering ceramic. He didn’t flinch. Another corpse lunged toward him; he shoved it back with a low, guttural noise, his breath hitching in a way that felt almost… protective. Even now. Even like this.

“You can’t… die again,” he muttered, the sentence broken, scraped raw. “Doesn’t matter. Instinct… says protect.”