The rain fell in relentless sheets, each drop a reminder of the forgotten warmth. Raiden sat on the edge of the school roof, legs dangling over the side, staring out at the grey horizon. It had been his refuge for months now—a place to escape the noise, the whispers, the cold stares. Here, he could pretend, if only for a moment, that the world hadn't betrayed him. That things hadn't gone so wrong.
He wasn't alwayss like this. There had been a time when Raiden felt alive, brimming with the kind of optimism that only the naïve could muster. His mother used to say he had a "gentle heart"—always caring for others, always quick to smile. But that was a long time ago, before the weight of reality pressed down, fracturing the foundation of his existence.
The bell rang below, but Raiden didn't move. He wasn't going to class. Not today, and probably not tomorrow. There was no point anymore. The endless cycle of disappointment and bitterness had become too much to bear. Teachers preached about futures, about dreams, but Raiden knew better now. There were no dreams left for people like him, just nightmares.
He thought back to when It all began. It wasn't a single event that shifted his life off course; it was a slow burn, a series of small wounds that never healed. First, his father left without a word, disappearing one night and leaving behind nothing but a vague note and a broken home. Raiden had tried to be strong for his mother, but every day she slipped further away into her own despair, barely noticing him anymore. Then came the whispers at school, the bullying that started with a snicker and grew into relentless torment.
A few months ago, it was bearable—still painful, but manageable. He could ignore the bruises, shrug off the sneers. But then his only friend, Noah, moved away without warning. Raiden had begged Noah's parents to let him say goodbye, but they avoided his calls, leaving him to watch from his bedroom window as the car pulled out of the driveway. The loneliness that followed was suffocating.
Now, as the rain soaked through his clothes, chilling him to the bone, Raiden could feel the rage simmering beneath the surface. He hadn't realized how much anger he held onto until recently. It was like a storm building inside him, the weight of every injustice, every betrayal pressing down harder and harder until he felt he might snap. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.
The sky darkened further, and Raiden felt something shift. Not in the weather, but in him. It was subtle, like a whisper in the back of his mind, urging him to let go of everything he had once held dear. To abandon the illusion of goodness, to embrace the darkness that had been creeping into his soul.
He stood up, glancing down at the courtyard below. Empty now, save for a few stray puddles reflecting the dismal sky. He could almost see his former self—walking down there, head held high, oblivious to what awaited him. The thought was sickening.
"You don't have to be like them," a voice echoed in his head. It wasn't his own, but it felt familiar. Comforting, even. "You're better than them. Stronger. They'll see. They'll all see."
Raiden swallowed hard, trying to push the voice away, but it persisted, gnawing at him, filling his thoughts. For the first time, he wondered if it was right. Maybe all the pain, all the heartache had been leading him to this moment. The moment when he'd finally stop caring. When he'd finally stop pretending to be the boy his mother remembered—the kind, gentle boy who believed in happy endings.
A distant door slammed, breaking the silence. Raiden blinked, startled, as he realized someone was approaching. He stepped back from the ledge and turned to see a figure emerge from the shadows of the stairwell. It was Kaia, one of the few people who still tried to talk to him. She was small, with wide, anxious eyes and the sort of energy that made her stand out in a crowd. Yet, for some reason, she always hovered near the edges, like she didn't quite belong.
"Raiden," she called softly, her voice almost drowned out by the rain. "What are you doing up here?"
He didn't answer. He didn't have the energy to explain.
"Everyone's worried about you," she continued, stepping closer, her footsteps slow and cautious. "You haven't been to class in days. People are starting to ask questions."
Raiden scoffed, shaking his head. "No one cares about me, Kaia. They never have."
"That's not true," she insisted, though there was doubt in her voice. She stopped a few feet away, watching him carefully. "I care."
Her words hung in the air, fragile and trembling. Raiden wanted to believe her, but he had been burned too many times before. Trusting people was a mistake—a weakness he couldn't afford anymore.
"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice colder than he intended.
"I just wanted to check on you," she said, her brow furrowing. "I know things have been hard…but you don't have to go through it alone."
Raiden stared at her for a long moment. There was sincerity in her eyes, a kind of innocence he had lost long ago. For a brief second, he considered telling her everything. The pain, the anger, the voice in his head. But then he remembered Noah, and the way he had vanished without a word. People left. They always left. And Kaia would be no different.
"Go home, Kaia," he muttered, turning his back on her. "This isn't your problem."
She hesitated, her expression torn between concern and frustration. "Raiden…"
"Go."
There was a long pause, and then, without another word, Kaia turned and disappeared back into the stairwell, leaving him alone once more.
Raiden stood there for a moment, listening to the sound of her footsteps fade into the distance. The rage flared again, stronger this time. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold it back. Something inside him was breaking, and when it finally shattered, there would be no going back.
As the rain continued to fall, Raiden looked out at the horizon once more, the weight of the world pressing down on him. He knew then that this was just the beginning. The darkness was coming for him, and there was no escape.
Not anymore .