Danzo sat in the plaza, below the Phoenix statue that still stood. At the bottom, freshly carved names represented the honored fallen. Though pieces had broken off, its undying message still stood proud.
Hatori approached from where he had just departed from Judgment. His steps were calm and deliberate, with observant eyes and a neutral expression.
"Hey," Hatori said, pointing to a spot beside Danzo. "Mind if I sit?"
He looked up, offering a tired smile. "Hatori, good to see you. Not at all, be my guest."
He plopped down beside Danzo, sprawling his arms back and letting out a sigh.
"How're you holding up?"
Danzo hesitated, his gaze drifting to piles of rubble that lined the streets. "As good as I can. Feels like part of us was forcibly ripped out."
Hatori nodded, letting the weight of words settle in before he spoke again. When he did, it was soft and soothing.
"Any idea who will take up leadership?"
"Not yet," Danzo replied. "Though, it will have to be soon if we want Memento to remain."
Hatori didn't flinch. "I think it should be you."
Danzo let out a soft chuckle, before shaking his head. "No. I'm not fit to lead. Hajima would fit better—he's more strict and enforcing. That's what they need right now."
Hatori furrowed a brow. "I often think the ones who don't want to lead are the best at it. In this case, I couldn't be more sure."
"Not sure how people would accept an APC defector as leader."
"If anyone has a problem, they've got a problem with at least half of Memento. You tend to forget you're widely loved here, Danzo."
A small reluctant smile tugged at Danzo's lips. "Thanks, Hatori. We'll see."
Hatori nodded, before standing to leave. Danzo raised his voice once more.
"Hey, and by the way," he began, "if you need anything Hatori—know that I'm here. I always am, and as long as I live, will continue to be."
Hatori looked over his shoulder, and gave a soft smile.
"I know."
With that, he turned to leave down the street, eyes lowered and his expression back to blank. His mask sat around his neck—down, but readied. For the first time all day, his steps felt a little lighter.
Elsewhere, Azumi trudged on. Her mask now wrapped her face, but left her soul-stripped eyes bare. She passed countless citizens, alive and making well of the situation at hand.
I'm glad to see them doing well… but how?
Her steps led her through a side pathway—one she often came through to clear her mind. In the shifting alleyways, there was little spotlight—and all the more space to grieve.
She made her way past various crates, trash bins, and all the like, before entering a clearing. Here, the sky was endless, and Persetta was open. Ahead, the training grounds of Memento loomed—where Azumi had learned to swing her katana. Where Maro had taught her to control her Solena.
And where she'd spar with Knoxx—whenever she needed to let off steam, or when he felt overly confident and challenged her.
Now, those moments were tied to memories, and those alone. Someone she viewed as a little brother, stripped of life by the tyranny they faced.
Continuing on, Azumi walked past countless training dummies, ones rarely used. Older blades sat around collecting rust, while training robes were neatly folded under canopies.
She summoned her katana out of thin air, and observed. The one thing that stayed no matter the circumstances. Her one true constant.
It shined brightly, reflecting off the unyielding moonlight. Not a single cloud dared to show face, not for the district that needed the moon's hope most.
Azumi stuck her blade into the damp, soft dirt below. Just as she turned to sit, the metal began to glow. A faint, light blue that gleamed with Solena.
"You know, from my observations… you handle grief like no other," a voice spoke like a whisper. A woman's voice, tainted in fantasy.
Azumi's eyes raised instantly. "Emazenta?"
Her spirit called to Azumi through the blade.
"Hello, my chosen one. You know, in times like this… you've always gone to your katana for support. An anchor that holds you down, even when you feel like letting depression take you."
Azumi's lips quivered slightly. "But… you've never been there alongside my blade… so why now?"
"My dear Azumi—I've always been alongside you. In your highs and lows. I've always been there. Once a bond is made, it cannot be severed so easily. I chose you, because we are one and the same."
Azumi's head lowered to the ground.
"Emazenta… I—I never got to apologize to Knoxx. To tell him I'm sorry for my bluntness…"
Her hair flowed in a drifting breeze—one that grazed her skin in soft understanding.
"And Maro… I never got to say goodbye. It's like two pillars of my life were ripped from what they held up."
Emazenta remained quiet for a minute. Azumi raised her gaze once more to the sword that flickered with life.
"Though they may be gone… are they really?"
Her eyes questioned the spirit's words.
"Have you lost everything to remember what they brought—what they taught?"
"No, but I—"
"Azumi, listen to me. I understand. They have fallen valiantly. Their chance to make new memories is gone… but that's exactly why you can't chain yourself to their deaths."
"What do you mean?" Azumi asked, with a caught breath.
"Not allowing yourself to move forward, would be a greater dishonor to them. They made their choice—even if it feels unfair. They knew the consequences. They chose Alden anyway, and they'd want you to do the same."
Azumi paused, eyes drifting to a dummy nearby. A sigh left her lips.
"Do you remember? Your first lesson with Maro? When you couldn't yet wield my power?"
Azumi chuckled a bit. "Of course I do."
"What did he say?"
A slight hesitation. Then—
"To be prepared to lose your life, is the greatest freedom of all. Because risks are now opportunities. War is but the opportunity to fight for what you believe in."
Emazenta laughed from within the hilt of her Katana. It glowed in a blue, with streaks of turquoise gleaming into the blade.
"So you do remember. I always admired Maro's wisdom… he was quite the thinker. But now—more than ever—his words have meaning, Azumi. You will need to push forward, knowing and accepting that one day, you may be another name on Memento's statue."
Azumi's smile went away. "I know. Deep down, I know. But—I fear it. I fear death. I fear never seeing those I care about again."
"Has fear stopped you before? When you stood up to those bullies in Zimala… at such a young age, might I add… you felt fear. I know it, because I know you. Better than you know yourself, it seems."
Azumi let out a small, but fragile laugh. Her hands quivered slightly.
"And yet—you stood. Against fear, and it may have backfired in the moment—but it led to something better. It led you here. To people you love and care about. To family bound not by blood—but by choice."
"You're right. Thank you—for everything, Emazenta."
Azumi exhaled slowly, steadying her hands. The blade's glow flickered once more in acknowledgment, before it dimmed, settling back into steel. The warmth lingered a few moments longer. She wrapped her fingers around the hilt and rose to her feet. The training grounds remained quiet—but she no longer felt alone.