Chapter Text
Drip.
Droplets fell from the sky, falling from formless clouds. It’s cold
Drip.
Fallen it goes, bending the leaves, reflecting tears in the windows
Drip.
It rained the day I died.
Or maybe it didn’t.
Time blurs like muddled water. One moment I was staring at a black screen, eyes dry, brain buzzing, heart too tired to beat, and the next I was falling. The same sense of falling through the air as you start to fall asleep. A soft thump with one final beat.
Then silence. Not the heavy, cinematic silence of death, but the kind that hums in the bones. Just under the skin, like the feel of water rushing up your ears, drowning everything in muted hum.
And then—
Breath.
Pain.
Cold.
I woke up wrong.
Everything was too loud. The wind was a howl. Raindrops fell like drumbeats against stone. My heart beats like fear—too fast, too soft. My limbs weren’t limbs anymore. They were paws. Clumsy. Light. Black fur stretched over a frame that didn’t feel mine.
I tried to stand, the world lurched. The first thing I saw was the stone fox, weather worn, moss-covered, bright red rope around its neck, staring down from its pedestal like it knew. Its eyes were blind, but its teeth were sharp. I staggered backward on four legs, half-falling, half-crawling, until I hit the base of the offering box with a dull thud.
Then came the worst part,
I tried to scream.
And all that came out was a dry, guttural meow.
Not a human voice. Not even close. My throat feels tight. My tongue, too thick. My mind sharp, but disconnected, like someone had switched the language of my body while I was asleep.
I sat there in the rain, water pooling around me, trying to piece myself together. The memories came like leaves in a windstorm. Fleeting blurs of colors and scents, chaotic bursts of memories.
A glowing screen.
A voice I used to call mine.
A story shared between siblings.
A man with white hair and a blindfold.
A room filled with teardrops and choking cries.
Goodbyes.
I flinched. Something about those images were familiar. Warm. Important.
Then I looked down at myself, at the dark, matted fur, at the trembling paws, and it clicked.
No, not all at once. Not in some grand revelation. More like… peeling paper. A slow unwrapping of something long buried.
I had died.
I had come back.
But not as me.
I lifted one paw to scratch at my face and flinched again, my depth was off. The motion was skewed. Only then did I realize, I could only see out of one eye. The puddle in front of me reveals the truth of my new form, reflection disturbed by raindrops.
One eye. Four paws. A heartbeat too fast to feel real.
I am alive.
I am not human.
I am a cat.
The shrine sat nestled in an overgrown grove, cradled in a hush that didn't belong to any ordinary forest. There was something old here. Watching. Waiting.
I could feel it.
But I wasn’t scared. Strangely, I wasn’t even sad. How do you reach for something beyond death? The shock had abated, slowly but surely left behind with the rest of my human self, somewhere between the last breath and the first purr. What I felt now was weightless. Detached. Like a ghost wearing fur.
So I sat. Let the rain fall on me. Let it wash the blood from my whiskers and the lost from my fur.
And that’s when I saw him. It’s past sunset when he shows up. Not stumbling. Not lost. But blood-specked and grinning, like a wolf who found nothing worth biting.
The boy, young, no more than nine, ducks under the twisted arch of old wood and weathered rope. His clothes are too clean, unblemished by the forest air, slightly damp even with the pouring rain. There's a scratch down one arm, shallow but fresh, glowing faintly with bluish energy. cursedenergy
He flicks it off like lint.
A talisman flutters down the gate as he passes. It should ward off spirits. It twitches once, then goes still, as if too afraid to work on him.
Gojo Satoru, A detached voice in my mind whispers.
He’s humming.
It’s not a happy tune. Not really a tune at all. Just something loose and wandering, like the sound a child makes when they want to drown out the silence in their own head.
He doesn’t notice me at first. Hidden in the shadows of rain, stillness, a low pulse in between the rain-slick stone. One eye open. Watching.
The white haired boy climbs the shrine steps two at a time, throws himself down with a theatrical sigh, and leans against the old fox statue like it owes him something.
“Tch,” he mutters. “So boring.”
His voice is higher than I remember, but not soft. Even now, he’s steel wrapped in silk.
“No one’s strong enough,” he says, to no one in particular. “Not even those first grades.”
His hand tosses something to the side, a broken blade, whispers of wrong fading to dust, mixing and disappearing in the rain. Whatever it is, curses , it’s gone.
Then, he turns his head.
And sees me.
I don’t move. I stay crouched near the offering box, half-curled in moss, the rain soaked into my fur like ink. My one eye gleams yellow in the shrine light. He blinks, cocks his head sideways like a curious bird.
“Huh,” he says. “Weird.”
He gets up. Walks over. Not slow like he’s wary and afraid, but careful, like he’s testing if I’m real.
“Did you follow me?” he asks.
I blink.
“You’re not a curse,” he says, then squints. “Or if you are, you suck at hiding it.”
A short annoyed mrrrow escapes me, because honestly, rude.
That makes him bark a laugh.
“Okay. Not a curse. Just ugly.”
His body shifts, legs crouching down on the wet pavements. Our eyes level.
"You’ve only got one eye," he says, like it’s something interesting, not pitiful.
I flick my tail. So do you, in a way.
He snorts. “You’re funny.”
A hand reaches out, no fear, no hesitation, and touches the top of my head. Warm, slightly calloused fingers. A little too confident, a little too rough with it's touches.
“I’m gonna take you home,” he says, like he’s already decided. “They’ll be mad, but whatever.”
He scoops me up with the awkwardness of a kid who’s never owned something soft before. I don’t fight it. He smells like rain and blood and candy wrappers. His calm heartbeat thunders against mine.
“I’ll name you... Mono.”
The word tastes right.
One. Only. Alone. Enough.
“Mono, the evil-eyed cat,” he grins. “You look like bad luck.”
I curl into his chest, purring before I remember how. And this boy, tears, a ruined city, cries, sorrow. This boy needs someone who doesn’t flinch when he walks into the room.