The training field was empty at this hour.
Floodlights shut off slowly, the sun finally emerging onver the horizon, illuminating rows of scorched targets and gouged stone where past drills had left their scars. The air smelled faintly of ozone and dust — cleaner than the cave, quieter, almost peaceful in comparison.
Nishihara moved through his forms alone.
The odachi whispered as it cut the air, slow and deliberate, each swing precise, restrained. No wasted motion. No excess force. Just discipline — muscle memory trying to drown out the noise in his head.
Step. Turn. Draw. Cut.
Again.
His shoulder protested faintly beneath the bandages, but he ignored it. Pain was easier than thought. Pain stayed where you put it.
The images kept intruding anyway.
The cave.
Kanesaki's fractured eyes.
The radio in his hand as he spoke the words he couldn't take back.
Gone rogue.
The blade stopped mid-arc.
Nishihara exhaled sharply through his nose and lowered the odachi, resting the tip against the dirt. His grip tightened, knuckles whitening.
'You're going to snap it if you keep gripping it like that.'
Yasui's voice came from behind him.
He didn't turn at first.
She stood at the edge of the field with a few of her squad — eight figures in partial gear, helmets clipped at their hips, weapons slung but ready. Yasui herself looked almost unscathed, her silver coat sling over both shoulders, sharp-eyed as ever.
Nishihara finally turned, sheathing the blade with a soft click.
'You shouldn't be out here,' he said. 'You're supposed to be getting ready to leave.'
She snorted quietly. 'I am. This is me getting ready.' She stepped closer, boots crunching softly on the dirt. 'Besides, we're deploying in about an hour'
That made him look up properly.
'Already?'
She nodded. 'I'm a captain. Outposts need their captain, and mine needs me. Simple as that.'
A beat passed.
'You're avoiding something,' Yasui added.
Nishihara's jaw tightened. 'So are you.'
That earned a faint smile — brief, tired, but real.
She stopped a few feet from him, gaze flicking to the odachi, then back to his face. 'You keep replaying it.'
He didn't interrupt, not asking what "it" was.
'I gave the order,' he said quietly. 'I said the words.'
'And you believed them?' Yasui asked.
Silence stretched.
'I didn't want to,' Nishihara finally said. 'That's the part that keeps sticking.'
Yasui folded her arms carefully. 'Good. Means you're still you.'
He frowned slightly. 'That's not comforting.'
She shrugged. 'Wasn't meant to be.'
Her eyes softened a fraction. 'Look— whatever Kanesaki's become, whatever took him… you didn't create that. And you didn't end him, either.'
Nishihara looked past her, toward the far fence, where the lights faded into shadow. 'I raised my blade against him.'
'And lowered it,' she replied. 'You're still standing here instead of hunting him down blindly. That matters.'
Her squad shifted behind her — subtle, restless. Time was running.
Nishihara met her gaze. For the first time since the cave, something steady settled in his chest.
'…I'll bring them back,' he said.
She smirked. 'That's the plan, Officer.'
She took a step towards him, hand rising, bracing against his chest, sliding up to faintly feel his collarbone, rough fabric gliding over his skin. He could tell by her posture; she wanted to move further, yet denied herself.
Yasui turned, signaling her squad forward. As they moved out, she glanced over her shoulder one last time.
'Try not to break your sword,' she added. 'We might need it.'
Then they were gone, boots fading into the night.
Nishihara remained in the field, hand resting on the hilt at his side, watching the lights flicker against the empty space where everything had changed.
For the first time since the fog lifted, his thoughts finally began to quiet.
***
Kanesaki stood in a field that stretched farther than he could see, rolling gently beneath a pale, open sky. Flowers swayed around him — countless kinds, colors bleeding into one another in soft harmony. Whites and golds, blues and violets, petals like silk and glass. The air was cool and clean, carrying the faint sweetness of pollen and rain.
For the first time in what felt like forever, his body didn't hurt.
He took a step. The grass bent under his feet, springing back soundlessly. Somewhere, something fluttered.
A butterfly rose from a bloom near his hand —crimson wings edged in black, moving with slow, deliberate grace. It circled once, then drifted down, settling lightly on his outstretched finger.
He stared at it, transfixed.
Its wings pulsed gently, alive with warmth. Familiar. Almost comforting. He felt — strangely — recognized.
'…What are you?' he murmured, though no sound carried.
Then he noticed the flower behind it.
It didn't belong.
Amid the living field, one stalk stood bent and wrong — petals shriveled, blackened at the edges. Its stem was veined with something dark and fibrous, crawling fungus or parasite clinging to it like rot given purpose. The ground beneath it was gray, lifeless.
The air shifted.
From that decayed bloom, another butterfly emerged.
This one was wrong.
Its wings were jagged, translucent in places, glowing faintly with veins of dark purple and pitch black. It didn't flutter —it cut through the air, movements sharp and predatory. The sky dimmed as it rose, colors draining from the field.
Kanesaki's chest tightened.
The purple butterfly moved toward him — and the red one.
Before he could react, it lunged.
The world screamed.
The purple wings folded around the crimson butterfly, tearing into it, devouring light and color in wet, soundless violence. Red bled into black. The field withered in waves, flowers collapsing into ash as the sky burned crimson—then vanished into a pitch-black eclipse rimmed with violent purple glow.
Pain exploded through Kanesaki's body.
He dropped to his knees, gagging, hands digging into soil that had turned slick and warm. Blood poured from his mouth, thick and endless, splattering dead petals. His skin burned, cracked, something inside him splintering — bones groaning, veins screaming as if being rewritten.
The purple butterfly hovered before his face, wings beating once.
And then it entered him.
He screamed—
Darkness clung to him like wet cloth.
Kanesaki surfaced slowly, dragged upward by pain first — an aching, grinding pressure behind his eyes, his skull throbbing as if it had been split and poorly glued back together. His breath hitched as he tried to move. Something beneath him creaked softly.
A bed.
The realization came sluggishly.
Stone pressed close on all sides. When his vision finally focused, he saw rough, barren walls — carved rock rather than constructed metal. No monitors. No sterile lights. Just dim illumination from a single lantern mounted high near the ceiling, its glow weak and amber.
He swallowed. His throat burned.
His body felt wrong. Heavy. Sore in places he couldn't immediately remember injuring. Bandages wrapped his chest and shoulder, tight enough to pull when he breathed. His healing must've stopped after fallibg unconscious — or, at the very least had slowed drastically. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling instinctively, searching for a weapon that wasn't there.
Where the hell—
Pain flared sharply as he tried to sit up, forcing a low grunt from his chest. He slumped back against the thin mattress, breathing hard, eyes darting to the doorway cut into the stone wall opposite him.
Footsteps.
Light, quick. Almost excited.
The door slid open with a rough scrape of stone on stone, and a voice burst through the room — bright, unmistakably pleased.
'Oh! You're finally awake!'
Kanesaki's head snapped toward the sound, vision blurring for a second before settling on a figure standing in the doorway. The light from the hall behind her cast her mostly in silhouette, but he caught the outline — slender, relaxed posture, one hand braced against the doorframe like she'd been waiting there already.
She laughed softly, the sound warm, almost relieved.
'I was starting to think you'd sleep through the whole recovery,' she continued, stepping inside. The door ground shut behind her, sealing the room again.
His heart hammered.
'…Where am I?' Kanesaki rasped. His voice sounded raw, scraped thin by smoke and blood and screaming.
The woman tilted her head, clearly amused.
'Safe,' she said cheerfully. 'Or as close to it as you're going to get, anyway.'
She moved closer, boots soft against stone, stopping just at the edge of the lantern's light.
Kanesaki's eyes squinted, her appearance finally coming into view.
Her hair fell in loose, wavy strands the color of deep crimson wine, dark enough to nearly read as black until the light caught it. Beneath it, her eyes held a muted ruby depth — cool, watchful, and difficult to read. Her skin was pale but warmed by a faint sun-kissed undertone, giving her an effortless glow rather than fragility. She stood just shy of tall, long-limbed and sleek at nearly six feet, her movements easy and unforced. A pale grey cropped top skimmed above her midriff, revealing a hint of quiet strength in her toned frame, paired with loose, bright red, low-slung jeans that pooled slightly at her shoes. Silver earrings caught the light when she moved. There was something playful in her presence — but it never quite settled into anything definable, as if she preferred to stay just beyond easy understanding.
'And you,' she added, eyes glittering with unmistakable satisfaction, 'are way tougher than you look.'
Chapter 60 — end