Light returned to the world again.
Soft threads of stardust wove themselves back into the vast celestial tapestry.
Shapes, colors, stars—everything reformed.
One by one, the others drifted back toward Tsuki—not pulled by gravity, but by instinct.
Geo stretched, rubbing the back of his neck as though waking from a long sleep.
"Damn, Tsuki. You took forever. Did you have to sign a contract or something?"
Tsuki blinked, still catching her breath.
"Maybe. Felt like I got interviewed and recruited for a job I didn't know I applied for."
She let out a slow exhale and steadied herself.
"But—I learned how to commune with my spirit."
Tona hovered lazily a few feet away, arms behind his head, a proud grin spreading across his face.
"There we go. That's the first step. Talking with Severus is how I figured out what I was really capable of."
Hatori shot him a flat look. Arms crossed.
"Right. You talk about this Severus guy like he's royalty. Why didn't you visit him while we were with our spirits?"
Tona laughed and rolled backward into a slow midair flip.
"He's not exactly the little flame you're imagining. Severus is the Keeper of the Celestial Realm. Big guy. Likes theatrics. Giant celestial dragon, actually."
He raised a brow.
"Though I doubt he's gonna sho—"
A roar tore across the realm.
Not loud in sound—but loud in everything other aspect. The stars themselves shook. Spirits began circling, escaping from the approaching presence. A wave of Solena blasted outward like a celestial shockwave.
The squad recoiled, shielding their eyes.
Tona winced.
"…Spoke too soon."
Beyond drifting clusters of souls, Tsuki saw something moving.
What in the hell...
A form parted the constellations as easily as a hand parting water. Trails of radiant violet energy streamed behind it—long, fluid, glowing like rivers of starlight.
The creature descended.
A scaled and serpentine figure. Divine in its existence.
Severus.
His body wound effortlessly among the stars—silent and enormous. Horns arced like scythes of hollow moonlight. His violet, ancient eyes settled upon them with the weight of galaxies.
His voice rumbled through the realm, deeper than thunder, older than memory:
"Tona… you bring guests into my domain?"
The squad instinctively drifted back—Knoxx's jaw dropped, Azumi's breath caught, even Geo's usual confidence faltered.
Tona didn't move at all.
He just floated there, hands behind his head, relaxed.
"They wanted to learn to commune. Figured I'd show them the ropes."
Severus's gaze narrowed.
"Next time, I would appreciate being asked."
Tona smirked. "Come on. You love surprises."
A low growl rolled from Severus, curling into mist that steamed across the realm like fog on a battlefield.
The cosmos itself seemed to hold its breath.
Severus's great head lowered, violet eyes narrowing.
"I will end you," he rumbled.
Tona's smirk didn't waver.
"If you do, you die too, buddy. Wouldn't want that, would we?"
Severus exhaled like a volcano preparing to blow.
"Every day, I ask myself why I chose you."
"Because I'm charming," Tona said, tapping his chest. "And you're secretly sentimental."
The dragon let out a groan like stone collapsing under its own weight. Yet, despite himself, he leaned down. Tona reached up and rubbed a scale right between his eyes with casual affection—as if greeting an old friend.
The rest of the squad simply stared.
Azumi was first to speak—voice soft, threaded with awe.
"If I can ask… why isn't Severus a flame like the others?"
Knoxx nodded vigorously, glancing between the countless drifting soul-lights and the massive dragon.
"Yeah, what the hell? I feel like I got scammed."
The glow in Severus's chest deepened, his tone shifting—solemn and immense.
"I am the Keeper of the Celestial Realm," he said. "I watch over the spirits of this plane. I guide them. It is my duty to protect the very essence of the Celestial Realm and reality's balance."
He circled them slowly, his size bending the space around him, his gaze ancient and knowing.
"If a bond between spirit and host grows unstable… dangerous… I can sever it. I can unmake the connection before it destroys both."
The air chilled. Even the stars seemed to fall silent.
"Spirits cannot abandon their hosts of their own accord," Severus continued. "Not without consequence. But I—"
A low growl rumbled through him.
"—I can."
Knoxx threw his arms up.
"That's badass!"
A deep rumbling laugh rolled from the dragon.
"Oh, stop the praise…"
Tsuki couldn't help but think on the scene. If Tona has that thing bound to him... I've really got a long way to go.
The distant laughter faded, as Tsuki refocused. Everything was replaced by stillness—vast and heavy as the cosmos itself.
Tona broke it, casual as ever.
"We should probably get going."
Severus huffed.
"Yes. Yes, please do."
Tona opened a warp with a flick of his hand.
"Relax. I won't push you guys this time."
Tsuki and Geo stepped through first, Knoxx tumbling in after them. Azumi and Hatori followed. Tona gave Severus a two-finger salute before slipping through the gate. Severus bowed his head in respect, before twisting away.
In an instant, stars and spirits dissolved into stone and night air. The squad landed softly on the courtyard of the Solen training temple—boots touching the ground like feathers settling.
A cool mountain breeze swept past. The sky above was a dusky purple, early starlight peeking between high stone walls.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then—
Knoxx exhaled dramatically.
"…Okay. That was the coolest thing I've ever seen. Not even exaggerating."
Azumi rubbed her arms. "I still feel like I'm floating."
Geo turned to Tsuki, arms crossed but grinning.
"So, Shadow Girl… feel like some kind of divine prodigy now?"
Tsuki brushed a loose strand of hair aside, a small smile forming.
"I feel… connected. Like something deep finally made sense."
Hatori nodded once in agreement.
Tona slipped his hands into his pockets, watching them with a quiet pride that didn't need words.
"And that understanding?" he said. "That's only the beginning. Talk to your spirits. Learn who they are. When your bond is real—your power is truly yours."
Conversation rose again—laughter, wonder, the soft spark of possibility. For the first time in a long while, the war felt distant. They walked back across the courtyard together, the night warm around them, spirits high.
Later that night, the courtyard had fallen into silence. Moonlight spilled through the lattice windows of Tsuki's tent, casting soft shadows across the stone floor.
Tsuki sat cross-legged in the center, her breathing steady… but her heart uncertain.
A flicker of doubt tugged at her.
She rested her hands on her knees.
Closed her eyes.
And reached inward—toward the shadows.
Toward Chiumali.
Tsuki exhaled slowly.
"…Okay. Let's try this."
She lowered two fingers to the floor beside her, where her shadow pooled like a still lake beneath the moonlight. Drawing Solena into her fingertips, she whispered.
"Chiumali."
Silence. Nothing stirred.
She tried again, slower this time—breathing deep, grounding herself, guiding her Solena like water flowing into stillness.
"Chiumali."
The shadows remained unchanged. Time and time again, she failed—but her prevalent personality wouldn't let her quit.
She simply inhaled again, her eyes closed. She wasn't forcing herself to focus this time—she was giving herself time to settle. She let her thoughts fall away and her heartbeat quiet.
Let her soul go still.
When she spoke again, it was not strained. It was certain.
"Chiumali."
The air shifted around her.
The shadows beneath her rippled—gently, like water disturbed by a breeze. A soft violet glow emerged from the darkness. Two eyes opened, serene and luminous.
"You're persistent," Chiumali murmured, her voice a soft vibration through the room. "I like that."
Tsuki opened her eyes and released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Relief bloomed across her face, small and warm.
"Took me long enough," she said with a quiet laugh.
"Most would have quit after the third attempt," Chiumali replied. "You reached me on the sixth."
Tsuki's expression softened with quiet resolve.
"I said I'd do it. No matter how long it takes."
Chiumali's form rose slowly from the shadow—shaped, but not solid, as if sculpted from moonlight and night.
"Then we begin."
Tsuki straightened her posture, her voice steady.
"Teach me. Everything. I want to grow."
A shadowed hand, cool and gentle, rested on her shoulder.
"In time," Chiumali said. "Growth is not force. It is listening. First, you must learn to hear me."
The shadows widened—soft and encompassing—forming a ring around them. The inside of the tent faded, replaced by the deep communion space of the Tsuki's shadows, where only spirit and host existed.
Elsewhere, the council chamber of Alden Central was lit by tall iron torches, their flames bending in the draft like uneasy witnesses. Nine figures sat around the circular stone table, robes heavy, expressions colder than the marble beneath their feet.
Hoshuro placed a scroll at the center.
"Zimala is lost," he said. "Jon grows restless. Memento gains momentum."
A few councilors scoffed.
"Let them. A rabble with stolen weapons," one muttered.
"Children playing at rebellion," another added.
Hoshuro did not join them. He unrolled a second scroll — its edges burnt, the ink smeared as though written by shaking hands. "…But this," he said, "is not a child's doing."
The others leaned in.
Drawn in black ink was a tall silhouette in a white coat, scarf trailing, violet aura rising like flame. The sketch was rough, frantic.
"He wiped that fort in Galion," one councilor whispered.
"Rumor," another snapped, though his voice wavered.
Hoshuro produced another parchment, stained with dried blood.
"A stalker's account. He wrote that the man's Solena 'distorted the air'… and that even trained elites struggled to breathe in his presence."
Silence thickened like fog. "This is no ordinary unnatural," Hoshuro said quietly. "Three companies withdrew the instant he stepped forward."
A councilor shifted uncomfortably.
"What… what do they call him?"
Hoshuro looked up. "The Ghost of Alden."
That name made the torches tremble. Another voice broke the stillness, low and hesitant:
"…We should raise his classification."
"To what?" someone asked. "High threat? Overlord?"
"No." Hoshuro's gaze was steady. "Something higher. A tier used for catastrophes, not men."
The chamber felt suddenly colder.
"And what shall we call it?" another whispered.
Hoshuro lowered his voice.
"World Threat."
No one spoke. Not out of disagreement, but because they all understood in silence. They had something to fear.
Not the rebellion. Not Memento. An unpredictable man.
Outside the chamber, the bells of Alden Central tolled — slow and hollow, as if warning the nation of what truly walked Alden.