The door chimed softly as it closed behind them.

  Ezren stepped onto the cobbled sidewalk, blinking against the sudden chill. The sky above was a dull canvas of gray, clouds curling lazily like smoke from a dying fire. A light drizzle fell, gentle, steady. The scent of fresh bread still clung to his uniform… but it was fading, like a dream that had already slipped from his fingers.

  He didn’t mind the rain. It felt honest.

  Beside him, Jin tilted his head back, letting the drizzle spatter his face. Hands tucked in his sleeves, eyes half-closed.

  Ezren glanced sideways. “It’s raining.”

  Jin shrugged. “The sky’s got good timing.”

  They walked in silence, their footsteps echoing softly against the pavement. The city was only just waking, distant cars hummed, the faint clatter of metal shutters rolling open drifted through the air. But here, on this quiet street, it felt like time had paused just for them.

  “So,” Ezren muttered, “we’re heading back to the station?”

  Jin didn’t answer right away. “Nah. Detour.”

  Ezren raised a brow. “Another mission?”

  “Nope. Not a mission.”

  Jin’s voice was too calm. Too careful.

  “Then what?”

  Jin gave a slow exhale through his nose. “Something you might wanna see.”

  Ezren slowed, his coat growing darker with damp patches.

  “You’re being cryptic.”

  “That’s my brand,” Jin said, flashing a grin. But it didn’t reach his eyes.

  They turned down a side street.

  “You helped Elin pass on,” Jin continued. “Her tether was jammed on rainy mornings. It was small and personal… something that mattered. But what about yours?”

  Ezren opened his mouth, paused. He didn’t know.

  Jin pointed his chin ahead. “Your wake’s this morning.”

  Ezren stopped with a cold expression.

  Jin kept walking a few steps before glancing back. “You don’t have to go. But… if you’re gonna carry the weight of who you were, it might help to see how it ends.”

  The rain tapped gently on the metal awnings overhead, each droplet ticking like a soft clock. Somewhere nearby, birds chirped, then fell silent.

  Ezren stood there, thoughts caught between yesterday and something impossible. Then, wordless, he moved.

  He followed.

  The house looked small and weathered between two old brick buildings, Ezren’s childhood home. Rain spilled from the gutters, and the porch let out a quiet creak as they stepped onto it. A soft yellow light glowed through the closed curtains.

  Ezren hesitated at the gate.

  The doorframe was still chipped from where he used to kick it open after practice.

  He swallowed, then stepped forward.

  Inside, the furniture had been pushed aside. Folding chairs filled the space. Incense hung faint in the air, mixing with the smell of warm rice. At the center, a low table held a framed photo of him, grinning, mid-laugh. His cleats sat beside it, still caked with dried grass. Letters, candles, and his half-zipped schoolbag surrounded them.

  People filled the room. Heads bowed. Shoulders close.

  His teammates sat in uniform, fidgeting. Lio, his best friend, wore Ezren’s old team jacket and hadn’t stopped rubbing his eyes.

  Then his mother stood.

  She wore his favorite school sweater. Her hands shook as she unfolded a paper, but her voice was firm.

  “My son… was supposed to graduate next year.”

  She paused.

  “He had dreams. He had plans. He… he helped people. Even when he didn’t have to. Even when it was inconvenient. Groceries for old neighbors. Standing up for classmates. Laughing when he was exhausted. That was Ezren.”

  Her voice caught, but she forced it steady.

  “And now he’s gone. Because someone—some stranger—made a selfish choice on the road. Because of a moment of carelessness, a whole life was erased.”

  Silence followed.

  Ezren stood in the hallway, unseen, but surrounded by everything that had built him.

  His sister stood next, holding a folded letter in her trembling hands. She glanced at it briefly, then looked out at the room.

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  She opened her mouth once, but no sound came. Her lips quivered.

  She looked down at the letter, gripped it tighter, and tried again.

  "Ezren was..." she started, voice cracking immediately. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push through, but the words wouldn't follow.

  Her younger sibling reached out, gently brushing her arm, and she gave a soft, helpless shake of her head.

  Tears slipped down her cheeks.

  Then their father rose.

  He stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder as she returned to her seat. He didn’t carry a letter. Just a wrinkled photo in his hand.

  “I was proud of him,” he said simply. “He had fire. He had heart.”

  A breath.

  “When he played, it was like he had wings, fast and wild. I always thought, ‘he’s going somewhere.’ I just never thought it’d be… gone. Like that.”

  His voice cracked.

  “I wasn’t done being his dad. There was still so much I needed to show him.”

  He turned away, unable to finish.

  Ezren didn’t move.

  Every word felt like a nail driven into something inside him. The weight of their grief pressed against his chest, tighter and tighter, until it cracked. Until he couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt.

  He felt a tight pull in his chest, a pressure that made him shift his weight, unsteady but still standing.

  And then... he cried.

  Not for Elin. Not for duty.

  For the boy he used to be.

  The tears came, and they wouldn’t stop.

  He grieved.

  For the boy he was.

  For the goodbye he never got.

  For the voices that loved him when he was already gone.

  Jin stood near the door, silent.

  Eventually, the tears slowed. Ezren wiped his face with his sleeve. His breathing steadied, but his heart was still shaking.

  He looked again at the room.

  The cleats by the table. The flickering candles. His photo, smiling back at them. The people, every single one, who showed up to remember him.

  And a thought bloomed.

  Most people never get this.

  No room. No words. No faces remembering.

  They just vanish.

  He clenched his jaw.

  “If I can help them…

  “Even one more.”

  Let them be remembered.

  Let them be seen.

  Jin let out a low whistle.

  “Well, damn,” he said softly. “Didn’t think you had that much heart packed in that scrawny frame.”

  Ezren didn’t answer. He just wiped his eyes again, breath ragged.

  Jin shrugged. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. You cry pretty.”

  He paused, then added:

  …Still. Not a bad vow, kid.”

  “Peace, huh? That’s a tall order.”

  Jin turned, hands behind his head.

  “Good thing you’re too stubborn to realize how hard that is.”

  He opened the door.

  “Let’s go before someone mistakes us for being emotionally available.”

  Ezren hesitated, just a beat.

  Then followed.

  Before they returned to Station 10, Ezren asked something for just a moment.

  Jin didn’t argue. He just gave a small nod and waited near the edge of the path.

  Ezren made his way alone to the neighborhood field behind his old school. The place where he’d spent afternoons drenched in sweat and laughter. The field was emptier now, the goalposts chipped, the lines faded. But he remembered every inch.

  He stepped to the center, the breeze brushing lightly across his face.

  Jin approached quietly after a while, hands still tucked behind his head.

  "This was your spot, huh?"

  Ezren gave a slow nod. "I used to run laps here when I was mad. After school. After arguments. It was like the field could carry things away."

  Jin looked down, then up again. "What do you really want, Ezren?" he asked, his voice quieter than before.

  Ezren looked up, caught off guard by the seriousness in his tone.

  Jin added"You’re not just some rookie, not to me. You’re something different. An anomaly. So I need to know, what are you really after?"

  Ezren hesitated. He glanced back at the field, the memories wrapped around it like morning fog.

  "I want… I want to help them be seen," he said slowly. "To be remembered. To not just disappear."

  Jin studied him for a long moment, unreadable.

  Then he nodded. "Well.. that’s a start."

  Ezren turned to face him. "But being a Conductor, it’s more than just passing spirits, isn’t it?"

  Jin nodded. "It’s about helping them rest. Even the ones twisted by pain. Even the ones no one wants to save. You guide them, not because it’s easy, but because no one else will."

  His gaze sharpened slightly. "You sure that’s the path you want?"

  Ezren looked back at the goalpost. His voice firmed. "Yeah. I’m sure."

  He stepped forward slightly, eyes scanning the empty field. "If I can stand between who they were and what they’re becoming, if I can be the bridge they never had, the beacon they desperately needed, then that’s enough."

  Jin raised a brow, then let out a low whistle. "That’s a huge vow, kid."

  Ezren blinked. "Too much?"

  "Not too much," Jin said, "just… you better figure out how to make it real. You’re still just a Conductor. You don’t have authority to change the system."

  Ezren glanced at him. "So… become strong?"

  Jin tilted his head. "Why strength?"

  Ezren shrugged, half serious. "Because with strength, people listen. Like when you faced the Elders. They listened."

  Jin barked a laugh. "You idiot. Strength is nothing if you force it down people’s throats."

  He turned his gaze to the clouds, voice quieter now.

  "If you want people to follow you… to listen to your ideals… then earn it. Become a captain. Form your own Station. That’s when your words carry weight."

  Ezren looked at him, caught between awe and disbelief.

  Jin met his gaze. "You’ve got heart. But heart needs a place to lead from. Remember that."

  They stood in silence for a moment longer.

  Ezren looked back at the goalpost. His throat tightened.

  "Then that’s what I’ll do."

  Jin raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

  Ezren’s eyes burned with quiet resolve.

  "Become a captain. And be the light that guides them forward, the bridge they never had."

  "Deserving or not."

  Jin smiled faintly. "Guess that vow’s official, then."

  They stood there in silence.

  Then, without another word, they turned and walked back toward the Veil.