The sky was still blushing in its transition from night to dawn.
Micah Arkwell stood at the courtyard. His blade in his hands felt heavier than it ever had before.
Footsteps approached from behind.
Micah turned. The man's dark blue ponytail glinted beneath the lantern light swaying from the wall, and his cloak was half-thrown over his shoulder.
Tokagame Takashi, his teacher. The man who had first told him, in that gruff yet strangely gentle voice, "You're not just good with a sword. You're good with people too."
Now that man was looking at him with quiet concern, and all the words Micah had practiced caught somewhere between his ribs.
"I…"
He faltered.
Tokagame waited patiently, he did not rush. He never did.
Micah's hands curled into fists around the sword hilt. Then, slowly, he let it go. The sword dropped with a dull thunk into the grass.
"I need to say something," he began, voice taut and paper-thin. "And once I do… I don't know if things will go back to how they were."
Tokagame nodded solemnly. "Go on."
Micah inhaled.
"I'm leaving the Swordsman Corps after this mission."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
He looked down, unable to meet Tokagame's eyes. The rush of fear crept into his limbs like cold water. "It's not because I hate it. Or because of anyone here. It's me. I've… been living a lie for years. Telling myself that this was what I was meant for. That swinging a blade would somehow make me enough. That maybe if I protected people long enough, I'd stop feeling so—" He paused, a bitter laugh escaping. "So empty when I came home."
The words tumbled out, desperate and trembling now. "But when I write… when I let those words flow onto a page, it's like I'm breathing for the first time. Like there's purpose in it. And I've been too much of a coward to admit it out loud. I was scared of disappointing you. Of disappointing everyone."
The shame swelled in his throat. "You gave me everything, Tokagame. You trained me, believed in me, made me into someone worth standing beside. And now I'm saying I'm going to walk away from all of that."
His voice cracked.
"I'm sorry."
And then—silence again.
But when Tokagame stepped forward, he didn't look angry. Nor hurt.
His eyes, deep and unreadable like mountain stone, softened with something else entirely: understanding.
The swordsman exhaled, long and slow, then placed a hand gently on Micah's shoulder.
"…You're not disappointing me, Micah."
Micah blinked.
"I'm proud of you."
The weight in his chest didn't vanish all at once. But something loosened. A breath Micah hadn't known he was holding shuddered out of him.
Tokagame's voice carried on, calm as always, but warm now, so warm it almost hurt.
"You were never just a soldier to me. You're more than that. And it takes courage to live as your truest self. Bravery I couldn't have mustered when I was your age." He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Honestly, I think you might've surpassed me in that regard."
Micah's throat tightened.
"You don't have to keep fighting just to be someone worthy. You already are. If writing is where you feel whole… then that's where you should be."
The wind moved past them gently, rustling the grass and tunics like whispered blessings.
Micah's hand trembled as he raised it to wipe his face.
"Thank you," he murmured. His voice came small, hoarse, but honest. "Thank you for being my teacher."
Tokagame gave a tired but heartfelt smile—the kind that weathered warriors rarely showed.
"And I'll always support you, Mike."
"Man… you always did know how to make me cry."
Tokagame squeezed his shoulder.
"I taught you how to survive. But now it's your turn to teach yourself how to live."
And beneath the setting sun, the two of them stood quietly—student and master. Warrior and dreamer.
And for the first time in a long time, Micah Arkwell didn't feel like he was hiding behind a blade.
He felt seen.
He felt free.
He felt like himself.
The sword lay at his feet, forgotten.
And in his heart, a quill had finally taken its rightful place.
part 2
Thump
Thump
The hooves of Stafan and Tokagame's earth dragon raged through the dirt paths. Kicking up dust with every step.
Micah sat together with Tatsuya, holding on tight not to fall off.
Micah came sitting with Tokagame to the mansion but because of Stefan's bigger build it would be faster if Micah sat with Tatsuya.
This is the same path where Ruza and I drove together. The memory came back to him like it happened yesterday although it had been almost a month. I need to be careful and make sure I am save.
"Listen up." Tatsuya heard and shifted his attention to the one running next to him
"I need you two to be one hundred percent focused," he said. "This cult… is not like anything you've seen before."
"Yes, master." Tatsuya said and Micah nodded.
"Are we the only once fighting the cult?" Tatsuya asked.
Tokagame didn't turn to face them. His answer came while scanning the terrain ahead.
"The scouts reported it to me yesterday. If everything is going according to plan…"
His pause was brief, but enough to make Tatsuya feel it.
"…they should already be at the village."
"Scouts…" Tatsuya heard softy behind him.
The word caught like a thread unraveling.
"Hmm?"
Tatsuya twisted his head back slightly, catching the faint mutter behind him.
Micah's eyes widened slightly, as if realizing he'd spoken without meaning to.
He hesitated.
Micah's gaze turned upward, his voice unspooling slowly, tethered to something soft and painful.
"He was there when I joined the corps. Back when I didn't even know how to hold a blade properly. When I kept dropping my stance, when I broke my first practice sword, when I failed every sparring test… he was the one who picked me up. Again and again."
The wind didn't silence him now. He spoke like he was afraid the memory would disappear if he didn't say it aloud.
"He saw something in me. Even when I didn't. He helped me through all the highs and the lows. I think… I think without him, I wouldn't have lasted a week."
Tatsuya glanced back, just enough to see the faint trace of a smile on Micah's face, bittersweet and distant.
I wonder what people in swordsman corps are like?
"I think you'll get along with him just fine." He finished.
Tatsuya turned his eyes forward again.
A faint silhouette of a house came into view.
It was the familiar sight of the village of Shiloh.
There it is…
The place where I left Luna alone, the place where I almost got killed, the place where I almost died for the first time in this world.
It didn't helt what you would call happy memories. But there was one, the first time he went here. On the day of Valerian festival, when he watch the fireworks together with Ruza. On that day Ruza had told him she trusted him despite of his demon scent.
Tatsuya's readied himself for what had yet to come.
They entered the entrance of the village.
A girl awaited them, framed by silence and cold breath. She said nothing but her eyes did.
Those sharp violet eyes, polished like amethyst glass, didn't wander. They didn't blink needlessly. They simply stared—quiet, unwavering, and piercing. There was no warmth in them. Not out of cruelty, but because such things simply weren't required.
"You're here at last." She said, "some of them started to get worried."
Her presence pressed down like a coiled storm, not loud, but absolute. Her midnight hair—ink-black laced with hints of lavender near the tips—was swept up into a loose, commanding knot, bound with crimson pins that glinted like warnings. She wore her kitsune mask of the left side of her face, violet eyes, as as her own. Followed by a single lightning bolt on each side of the cheek.
The loose strands framed her face in disobedient elegance, casting shadows across porcelain skin. It wasn't the kind of beauty one stumbled into—it was the kind carved out of will and restraint.
"Did they had such little faith in me?" Tokagame answered jokingly.
"No master, it's your reassurance that gives them the strength to keep fighting."
The light grey kimono she wore was modest in form, but regal in bearing. Each fold lay like the final word of a decree. The sash around her waist tied with the precision of a practiced warrior, not a ceremonial doll. Even the way she breathed felt like it was under her control.
"We do need to move quickly, some of our scouts are still out there and haven't returned."
And then there was her expression.
A gaze not of apathy, but of silent command. Of someone who had seen weakness before, crushed it, and moved on. Not cruel but immutable. If you spoke to her, you would measure your words. If you stepped near, you'd question your purpose.
Yes.
This was not a girl who softened rooms when she entered.
She held them. Controlled them.
And if you looked away—
…it was because your instincts told you to.
She was a storm in stillness. A leader forged in silence. A queen not of crowns, but of gravity.
That was the aura she gave off, Aoi The Silent Commander
"Are everyone in the corps like this??"
Tatsuya questioned quickly to Micha, leaning back ever so slightly.
Micah let out a chuckle.
"You haven't seen the half of it."
What's that supposed to mean!?
They moved along the girl, and as he observed her, he noticed a tinge of worry in her eyes.
Going further into the village it wasn't silence that met them.
It was… applause.
Small hands clapped first. Then older ones. Then voices joined small cheering, calling, thanking.
Villagers lined the edge of the path as they rode in, not in parade formation, but with the warmth of people who remembered.
"There he is!"
"That's him, the boy who helped save Nara!"
"He found her in the forest, didn't he?"
Tatsuya blinked again, caught off guard.
A child peeked out from behind her mother's shawl and waved excitedly. A merchant bowed his head with a smile and called out:
"Bring the other girls with you next time, boy!"
Tatsuya gave a short, awkward nod, raising his hand in a small wave.
His lips parted to answer—but no words came.
Because there was no time.
Tokagame didn't slow.
And so the moment passed. The cheers faded behind them, swallowed by the tight alleyways and stone arches leading deeper into the village's defensive perimeter.
Micah leaned close and murmured just loud enough for Tatsuya to hear,
"You're kind of a local hero, huh?"
"I couldn't have done it without the others help."
Tatsuya replied, knowing fully well that he did nothing to help that day and only cause trouble.
But the shame helt him from saying the truth.
part 3
The edge of the village broke into view.
A loose cluster of corps members stood at attention. They weren't arrayed in formation, nor barking orders. But there was purpose in their stance. Tension laced their silence like wires pulled taut.
They waited before the open exit that led to the darkened forest beyond.
Tokagame brought his earth dragon to a gradual halt, and with a fluid, practiced motion, dismounted.
Micah followed, landing with a soft crunch of boots against earth. Tatsuya dismounted more cautiously, gripping the harness a second longer than necessary before sliding down after him.
Micah stood still for a moment, eyes scanning the gathered corps members. he didn't looked worried.
Then someone out of the crowd caught his eye, and walked over to him.
A boy, Tatsuya judged to be a year younger older or the same age as him. Stepped out from the loose cluster. One at first. Then another followed in his wake.
His hair was a striking gradient of black fading into deep blue at the tips, two locks falling gracefully along each side of his face, framing it with effortless precision.
He wore a black-and-light-blue checkered kimono, its sleeves slightly fitted to keep movement efficient. A single katana rested at his hip, the sheath clean and worn from careful use. black-and-light-blue checkered kimono, on the right side of his face he wore a kitsune mask with clean cheeks unblemished by dirt or blood.
But it was his eyes that marked him.
Cool, discerning, with a layer of gentle depth just beneath. There was no harshness in them, no blaze of fire. Instead, they carried something calmness.
"Micah," the boy said.
"Kiome," Micah answered with a slow, blooming smile.
They closed the gap between them in a few steps, no fanfare, no dramatic reunion. Just a quiet, immediate embrace.
The kind that doesn't need words because everything worth saying had already been said years ago.
Tatsuya stood a short distance away, unsure whether to approach or remain where he was.
He stayed.
Micah pulled back after a long breath, but his hand remained on Kiome's shoulder. "Still wearing that same old kimono, huh?" he said, voice cracking slightly at the edges.
Kiome let out a soft breath—something close to a chuckle. "Says the boy who still eats rations like they're gourmet."
"You remembered that?"
"I remember a lot."
There was something unshakably sincere in the way Kiome spoke—like every word had been examined, polished, and offered with care.
Micah looked down, then back up again, his expression quieter now. "I'm glad you're safe."
"And I'm glad you're still chasing the things that matter," Kiome replied, his voice low but certain. "I heard what you told Tokagame."
Tatsuya's ears pricked up.
He knows…?
Micah flushed slightly, but there was no defensiveness in his posture. "I didn't think the news would travel that fast."
"It always does when it comes from the heart," Kiome said.
A quiet settled over them, warm and knowing. Not stagnant, but still.
Tatsuya looked away.
A strange sensation twisted in his chest. It wasn't anger. It wasn't loneliness exactly, either.
Jealousy?
Maybe. Just a little.
Micah hadn't said much about his past. About where he'd come from, who he used to be. But seeing him like this—with someone who clearly knew him, who held his pieces without fumbling or questioning—there was something achingly human in it.
Have I ever had a friend like that?
He thought of Ruza. Of Sora. Of Misuki. Of Paul.
But none of them had seen him from childhood. None of them could say "I remember when you didn't know who you were yet."
Not like Kiome just had.
Maybe that's what I want, he thought. Someone who knows me like that. Without needing to ask.
"Micah." Kiome turned to glance past his friend, meeting Tatsuya's gaze for the first time.
There was no judgment in those eyes. Just patient observation.
"This is him?"
Micah nodded. "Yeah. That's Tatsuya. The one I told you about."
Kiome stepped forward. No handshake. No bow. Just a quiet presence settling in place like a final piece to a puzzle.
"I'm Kiome. It's good to finally meet you," he said, offering a small nod.
Tatsuya didn't know how to reply. But his mouth managed to move anyway.
"…Thanks. It's good to meet you too." Tatsuya was a little confused. "You knew me?"
"Right before, Micah set off with master Tokagame to train you. He told me that Yatsu Davida personally requested that you'd be trained." He explained. "The word has gone around all the swordsman corps."
Tatsuya looked surprised.
"You're kind of popular you know."
Those words are scary.
They sound sweet—like sugar stirred into a bitter drink. But there's something underneath them. Something cold. Something that stays even when the lights come on.
Because being popular means you're not yours anymore.
You're theirs.
Their eyes.
Their expectations.
Their quiet hands shaping who you are while smiling like it's kindness.
They don't love you.
They love the glow. The version that shows.
The armor you learned to wear just to survive too many voices pressing in at once.
You can't bleed in peace.
Can't break without someone watching.
Can't even breathe too quietly without being asked what's wrong.
And if you're not okay—
then you're not what they came for.
You belong to the crowd now.
A name on their tongues.
A mask you never meant to put on.
So yeah—
if that's what being wanted is,
he'd rather disappear than let it finish the job.
"You're kind of popular, you know."
Sounds like praise.
But feels like a lock clicking shut.
That is the truth.. Tatsuya Thought.
"Hehe… I am not special really…"
"So you're the brat everyone's gossiping about." Tatsuya got interrupted by a voice that snarled out like it demanded attention, rough and blunt like a blade too used to drawing blood to bother with finesse.
The boy, also not looking any older than Tatsuya approaching with the gait of a predator. Every step radiated restless energy, like a beast pacing in a cage too small to contain him. His hair was wild—grey streaked with feral white, jutting out in all directions like a thundercloud about to break. His eyes were wide, burning with a sharp, electric heat, pupils locked on Tatsuya like a target.
His kimono was raggedly beautiful. Black and white, split like an old scar, but over the fabric were unmistakable marks—bear claw slashes torn across the chest and sleeves like battle trophies he'd never let mend. On his shoulder hung a kitsune mask. Its cheeks had been painted too—slashed, mimicking the bear marks, as if even his mask hadn't escaped his wrath.
"I am sorry… You want something?" Tatsuya asked, cautious but backing up a bid.
Kizutoro stopped a few steps away, arms crossed, eyes glaring down like a challenge already issued.
"You're Tatsuya. The new pet project. Yatsu Davida's 'secret pick.' Master Tokagame's latest toy. 'Popular,' aren't you?"
The words were spit out like poison. Mocking. Accusing. It didn't feel like jealousy—no, it was something darker. A hunger. A furious itch underneath the skin that could only be scratched by proving he was better.
"I've seen a hundred like you," Kizutoro continued, his voice rising. "Little stars with big backers. Getting talked up like you're gods. You train for a few months, swing a sword around, and everyone loses their minds like you're the next damn legendary hero."
Micah took a step forward. "Kizutoro, back off. He didn't—"
"Shut it, Micah," Kizutoro snapped without even looking at him. "This isn't about you. I'm talking to the worm wearing armor."
Tatsuya's eyes narrowed.
There it was.
The hostility. The voice that tried to shrink you down until you had to fight just to exist.
It's been a while someone has talked to me like that.
"I don't even know you," Tatsuya said, coldly.
"You don't have to," Kizutoro said with a twisted grin. "I know your type. And I've made it my mission to crush them."
He uncrossed his arms slowly, the movement deliberate, like someone savoring the moment before the strike.
"I fight people to prove strength. To myself. To the world. So if you're really as great as they say, fight me. Right now. Right here."
Tatsuya didn't move.
A long breath passed between them.
Micah tensed at his side, but didn't speak.
And Tatsuya… wasn't afraid. Not off fighting him, he knew that he wasn't a prodigy, even a breath could blow him away.
Still… that didn't mean Tatsuya would play along.
I need to stand up for myself… I can let them run over me again… I won't let them! Thinking that, Tatsuya felt a bile raising up his throat.
"I don't fight to prove anything," he said calmly, finally looking Kizutoro in the eye. "And I'm not yours to challenge."
Kizutoro scoffed. "Oh? That so?"
He stepped forward. The tension exploded. Even Kiome—who had silently observed the whole time—glanced their way, ready to intervene.
But then Tokagame's voice boomed across the field.
"That's enough."
It wasn't loud. But it was final.
Like a mountain reminding the wind who'd been here longer.
Kizutoro froze, his jaw clenched. But he didn't move.
"You can measure your strength when the mission starts," Tokagame said, his calm gaze falling on both of them. "Save your blades for the cultists. Not each other."
Tatsuya exhaled.
Kizutoro didn't say another word.
But as he turned and walked off, his voice drifted back, low and grating:
"This isn't over, brat. You're not walking away without bleeding."
Tatsuya stared at the spot he'd left behind.
His heart was steadier than expected, though he didn't understand why.
part 4
The wind had changed.
Where once the air had been warm with sun-kissed breath and the idle murmur of conversation between corps members, now silence crept in like a slow mist, curling between roots and settling beneath armor. The edge of the village had faded behind them, swallowed by the growing wall of trees, and with each step deeper into the forest, the shadows grew longer.
The plan was simple, drive them out of the forest. Kill if necessary.
Tatsuya remembered, these people were the cause of Sora's pain and his Scent of the Devil.
But so far Tatsuya hasn't developed any bad interactions with them yet, he only knew with he heard.
He did feel resentment towards them because of his Demon Scent, causing people like the man in the city of Deity see him as an enemy.
So he accepted if he needed to kill to save his scent then he would.
No one spoke.
Not Tokagame, who led their group with eyes sharp as the edge of his blade.
Not Micah, who walked beside Tatsuya with a quiet, unreadable expression that tried to steady itself—but whose knuckles had gone white against the hilt of his sword.
This was his last mission after all.
And not Kiome. His gaze moved deliberately between the brush, always observing, calculating. Still, even he occasionally glanced skyward, where only slivers of light bled through the leaf-dense canopy. As if he too felt it.
There were four groups total, each splitting paths at the fork like veins branching from a single artery. Aoi had taken Kizutoro and other members of the corps down the leftward trail—one that dipped into the marsh. Kiome had said the terrain would slow them down but flush out anything hiding.
The path Tatsuya walked now was quieter.
It wasn't his imagination.
He had walked here before, no—ran. Running away from being chased down, hunted like prey.
Are we going to the cliff?
Tatsuya swallowed.
His hand brushed the hilt at his side, a motion done half out of instinct and half out of fear. It wasn't that he doubted his companions. If anything, Micah's presence alone should have reassured him. But—
There was something in the way the trees didn't rustle. In the way Tokagame hadn't spoken in ten minutes. In the way Kiome occasionally paused and stared—not at the forest, but beyond it.
And maybe it was stupid.
But as his boots crunched over the dark mulch, and the trees thickened around them like an audience closing in, Tatsuya felt it.
He stopped.
Just for a heartbeat.
The ground ahead dipped slightly—too slightly.
The slope was familiar in a way that made his stomach twist.
This wasn't the path he remembered running from.
It was the one he never reached.
The forest was quiet because it was waiting.
And for the first time since stepping beyond the village gates, Tatsuya realized—
whatever was ahead of them wasn't being hunted.
It was letting them come.