A/N: Sorry for the long delay in posting. This took a while to get out of my brain.

May 1989

[Post-Oblivion]

The ground shivered and rolled beneath his feet. His lungs ached, burning as each breath tore through them like fire. The shrieks and raucous shouting surrounding him lulled into a muted humming in his ears, and over it, the piercing beat of his heart.

He peered below him as the landscape warped and twisted. A vast, empty void stretched endlessly ahead. His breath hung in his chest, his eyes desperately searching the blackness for… what? He was no longer sure.

There was a tugging, faint at first, but swiftly it consumed him, pulling viciously at his body and drawing him into the darkness. He struggled against the sensation, finding nothing to grasp or fight. A ghastly cold swept over him, and his fingertips began to tingle before the chill crept into them. The tingling crawled up his arms like a swarm of fire ants, followed by a wave of ice.

Black fireworks exploded across his vision. The terrifying chill lingered only briefly, overtaken by something insidious; a hot, searing pain, as if the flesh of his fingers was being flayed from his bones. He struggled to cry out, willing his voice to plead for mercy, but no sound came.

He felt the tissues of his chest tearing away, slowly peeling and curling back, and as his ribs opened to the darkness, a horrible, gurgling scream he could only assume was his own exploded from them.

Rowen bolted upright, his eyes jerking open to the dimness of his room. It was not the suffocating darkness of moments prior, empty and endless; small slivers of moonlight glowed through the window blinds, softly illuminating the wall with silver light. The horrific screaming somehow still lingered, and it was not until he heard a brief, repetitive break in its echo that he realized it was not screaming at all. The phone on the nightstand trilled mercilessly.

Trembling fingers reached for the handset, curling firmly around it to pluck it from the base and silencing the screeching ring. He pressed the earpiece to his face to find it cool against his skin.

"Hello?" As the word burst past his lips, he almost gasped, realizing in that moment how desperately he was struggling for breath. He leaned forward to place his forehead in his free hand, cold, sweaty fingers meeting fire hot flesh. Hearing the voice that responded, he closed his eyes and tried to manage a smile, "hey, buddy." A long pause followed, and Rowen felt his heart lurch. "You, too, huh?"

Weary eyes flitted over to the gleaming red clock face beside the phone. "You sure? Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. See you soon."

He quietly placed the handset back into place on the base, then raked the fingers of both hands into his hair. The blue locks twisted through his fingers, tendrils soaked through with sweat.

Rowen had only barely caught the last train, stepping aboard just after midnight. He caught the brief glances being cast his way from passengers in his peripheral vision, but chose to ignore them even as they caused an uneasy fluttering in his stomach. Every nerve in his body seemed to be standing at attention, and goosebumps periodically crawled over his arms without provocation.

The train doors had hardly opened before the Ronin's foot was stretching out to the platform. There was an urgency in his step, though he was unsure why; it seemed he could still feel strangers' eyes on him, trailing behind him as he exited the train, and the eeriness remained long after the doors had closed and the train continued on. He took a long, quivering breath of the night air, stuffing his hands in his sweater pockets before setting off into the brightly-lit streets of Tokyo.

Rowen was no stranger to high-rise apartments, dividing his time between his own and his father's in Osaka, but there was something awe-inspiring about the high-rises of central Tokyo, peppered seamlessly among the city's endless stores and office buildings. He lingered for a moment outside the familiar, sleek façade of glass and metal, gazing up at its silhouette against the night sky. Finally, he punched the access code into the security panel seated at the entrance, and heard the whirring click as the doors unlocked.

Inside, the apartment building was unnervingly silent. His reprieve from the unsettled chill in his bones ended as goosebumps crawled back over his skin. Footsteps shuffled quickly to the elevator, and his hands hung uneasily at his sides as the door closed and the lift shifted into motion.

Blue eyes anxiously watched each floor number tick by until the elevator crept to a stop. 29. Rowen hurried out of the lift and into the illuminated hall. He managed a small sigh of relief, the brightly lit corridor bringing some comfort to his quivering stomach. He proceeded down the row of doors at a calmer pace now, and reaching his destination, he knocked gently.

Click. Click. Click. The locks seemed deafening in the quiet hallway. Rowen had little time to concern himself with it, however, as the door drew open. The ill-ease that had so quickly crept back into his nerves dissolved away as his gaze came to rest on the gentle face of Cye Mouri. The man's sea blue eyes sparkled, and a small half-smile perked up on his lips. He took a step back to permit Strata inside.

Rowen stepped just inside the door, quietly pushing it closed behind him, and in a single motion he wordlessly wrapped his arms around his friend. The strong arms of a swimmer hugged back, lingering in the embrace.

"I made tea." Cye's gentle voice pulled Rowen back to reality, and he carefully released him from his grasp. The man managed a weak smile.

"'Course you did," he laughed. He trailed after Torrent as he turned and started a path to the kitchen.

Cye's apartment had always been immaculate. It was a concept entirely alien to Rowen, whose own residence was a mix between science experiment and natural disaster, and the Mouri domain never ceased to awe him. In addition to its pristine condition, it was smartly decorated, its owner well-acquainted with interior design; clean lines and neutrals, with carefully placed swaths of color from florals the man had arranged himself, resulted in a fresh, welcoming space. For a moment, it distracted him from the distress that drew him here in the first place.

Rowen shuffled his feet to catch up to Cye in the kitchen. He lingered uneasily in the doorway as he watched him collecting teacups from the cabinet.

"You're having them, too," he said, breaking the silence. "The nightmares." He saw Cye's shoulders tense, and he paused briefly in his work pouring the tea.

"Every night this week," Cye confirmed softly. Picking up one of the teacups, he offered it to his comrade with trembling hands. He returned to the counter to pick up his own cup, leaning back against the cabinet.

"Sage called me a few nights ago."

"Him, too?"

"All of us," Strata confirmed. "It's been a year." His voice was bleak.

"Is that where it's coming from?" Torrent paused in thought, then quietly nodded to himself in understanding. "We survived everything, saved the world. Why are we still suffering?"

"We're warriors," Rowen offered, though as the words escaped him he seemed less convinced of his own answer than he intended.

"You're warriors." His friend's voice had a bite to it, one that took him by surprise, and looking up he found a muddled mix of sadness and frustration in Cye's face. "I'm not. I never have been, I never wanted to be."

"Cye—"

"I didn't ask for this life."

Rowen's first instinct was exasperation. Torrent's resistance to this duty was not novel; it had been responsible for more than one vicious argument among the Ronins, fights that ended bitterly and never seemed to truly resolve. They had accepted their fates as protectors, something Cye adamantly refused, and his repeated obstinacy wore all of them thin. But now, as Strata stood in his comrade's spotless home, watching his shoulders tremble like the branches of a frail tree in a storm, his frustration subsided. For the first time, it seemed, he saw a gentle soul burdened with something so dark and opposed to his own nature, something he had been forced to accept without any consideration to who he was.

"None of us did," Rowen said quietly. "And it isn't fair. That the rest of the world went back to normal, when we'll never be normal again. That no one else remembers, but we still wake up from nightmares, that sometimes we can't even tell the difference between the nightmares and reality." He stepped closer to Cye, carefully taking his cup of tea from his hands and placing both vessels on the counter behind him. Strong hands grasped Torrent's arms, and a half-hearted smile came across Strata's lips. "But at least we're all in it together."

Cye was silent. His gaze lingered on Rowen's for a long moment, unwavering. There was the smallest movement, a slight quiver in his lips, and then Strata saw the sparkle of tears as they welled in his comrade's bright sea green eyes.

He opened his arms and drew the man close, his embrace tightly returned.