Smoke drifted between the broken buildings of Zimala. Cheers echoed faintly in the distance, but near the medical tents, silence hung heavy. Wounded soldiers were carried across the square, their groans swallowed by the urgency of medics rushing them inside canvas shelters. Zimala was won—but at a cost.
Maro stood at the plaza's edge, dust clinging to his coat.
"Damn it," he muttered. "They didn't want to win. They wanted to reveal him. Doji was a plant. A spy."
Danzo approached quietly, eyes moving over the wounded.
"The Ghost is unmasked. Containment is finished. Orders?"
Maro inhaled sharply, then let the breath go.
"…Then I suppose we explain a few things."
Tona crossed the plaza toward the Judgment Squad. His steps were calm, but heavy. His violet eyes moved across familiar faces: Tsuki, confused and wounded. Geo, jaw tight. Azumi, blinking back something fragile. Knoxx, stunned. Hatori, steady and unreadable.
He slowed. Maro stepped in front of him, placing a hand out—gentle, protective.
"Let me go first. This isn't on you."
Tona blinked, surprised, then nodded once. Together, they stepped forward.
In the distance, cheering rose—Danzo was announcing Zimala's liberation to civilians and scattered Memento squads. But here, in the smoke-filled plaza, Judgment Squad remained silent, the truth settling around them heavier than the ash in the air.
Maro cleared his throat. "Judgment Squad…"
He hesitated—just for a breath—then steadied himself. "Thank you. Your timing saved countless lives. If you hadn't arrived when you did, we would've been overwhelmed."
The silence that followed was absolute.
He drew in a slow breath.
"But there's more. Something I should've told you long ago."
His eyes flicked to Tona, who stood still beside him.
"Tona is the Ghost. The one behind the mask." Another beat. "He's the strongest unnatural in Alden."
The air tightened like a held breath.
Tsuki's voice came out strained.
"Why couldn't we know? He's one of us. He's family."
Geo's arms folded, jaw set.
"So all this time—he didn't trust us?"
Maro shook his head.
"No. It wasn't him. It was me."
He stepped forward, voice firmer now.
"When Tona joined Memento as a teenager, I realized immediately what he was. His strength wasn't normal—it was overwhelming. If the APC knew then, they'd have sent everything they had to wipe him out before he could grow."
His tone softened.
"So I hid him. I took him to Velos, a celestial forgemaster in Persetta. He forged the suppression ring Tona wears—it limits his power to a sliver. I had Correna craft the Ghost mask and told her nothing. I assigned Tona missions only he could survive—alone. Every time you saw him without power… that was the ring doing its work."
I still can't believe it, Tsuki thought. Part of me suspected something was different... That he was hiding something. But not to this scale.
The quiet that followed was different now—not angry, just heavy.
Even Geo's posture eased.
Tona finally stepped forward. He didn't look down. He looked directly at them.
"I'm sorry," he said. His fingers turned the ring slowly.
"I care about all of you. More than I can say. I wanted to tell you. I just… couldn't."
Maro spoke gently, but with certainty, "And I told him not to."
Tona gave a small, tired half-smile. "That too."
His gaze moved to each of them—Tsuki's confusion, Geo's tension, Azumi's quiet hurt, Knoxx's shock, Hatori's calm understanding.
"But please don't look at me any differently," he said. "I'm still me. I'm still here. For all of you. That doesn't change."
A cheer rose in the distance—victory echoing through Zimala.
Here, no one spoke.
But something between them—trust, identity, understanding—shifted into place.