Their once-inseparable bond had come to resemble thin but strong glass, covered in a web of cracks. They were still together—in training, on missions—but their silences were louder than any words, and their glances when they met were full of unspoken accusations and pain.
It began with small things. After missions, Sorato began to seclude himself more often; his violet eyes, always so clear, were now often clouded with a distant, unhealthy gleam. He could, looking at a group of laughing students, say something like, "Listen to that noise. No harmony, just chaotic din. How can they be happy in such dissonance?"
Reiden would brush it off, blaming fatigue. But the crack grew.
The breaking point came at their sakura tree, by the pond. They sat, watching a caravan of ordinary people setting up camp at the foot of the hill. Campfire smoke, shouts of drivers, children's cries—ordinary life boiling below.
"Look at them, Reiden," Sorato's voice was quiet but cut like a blade. "They don't leave Scars. Nothing but garbage and this... hum. They merely consume resources, sow chaos with their petty passions and fears. They are static noise, preventing the universe from attaining its true, ordered form."
Reiden slowly turned to him, his golden eyes narrowing.
"What are you talking about?"
"The truth," Sorato retorted, and a fire of fanatical conviction flashed in his gaze. "The world should be ruled by those who truly understand it. Us. The strong. Those who see the very fabric of reality. We shouldn't tolerate this... ballast."
"They are the foundation of this world!" Reiden's voice sounded sharp, holding not just annoyance but anger for the first time. "Their fragility, their short lives... that's what we're supposed to protect! Our strength is a tool, Sorato. A tool for protection, not a justification to become tyrants!"
"Protect?" Sorato chuckled, and it was an ugly, alien sound. "Protect something that seeks self-destruction? You're clinging to outdated romance, old friend. You want to be a shepherd for a flock that rushes toward the cliff itself."
Their friendship cracked for good. Arguments turned into bitter, venomous quarrels. They could argue for hours about the nature of power and the right to life; their words, honed by years of mutual understanding, now wounded more deeply than any blade. Cold war replaced the former brotherhood. Sorato, having absorbed too many Scars of others' hatred and arrogance, had finally plunged into the abyss of megalomania. He ceased to see people as individuals. He saw only a problem to be solved.
One evening, Sorato came to their sakura tree for the last time. Reiden was already there, his back tense as if expecting a blow.
"I declare the beginning of the cleansing," Sorato stated without preamble. His voice was cold and indifferent as the steel of "Yami-No-Hara."
"I will start with Hanamatsura. The largest city of artisans. It will become a symbol. A symbol of the end of the parasite era and the beginning of the era of gods."
Reiden froze. The air around him trembled with restrained power.
"You've gone mad. I won't let you do this."
"You?" Sorato smiled, and in his violet eyes danced reflections of a thousand absorbed souls. "You, who still cannot answer the most important question... Are you chosen because you are Kagetori Reiden, or are you Kagetori Reiden because you are chosen?"
The words hung in the air, heavy as lead. They pierced Reiden deeper than any blade. His entire philosophy, his entire confidence in his role as a protector, suddenly wavered. He had always simply been strong. He had never wondered if his strength was a consequence of his essence, or if his essence was merely a product of this strength. Was he the master of his power, or its slave? What was he fighting for? For people... or to affirm his right to be "chosen"?
He stood, paralyzed by this existential blow, his mind scrambling for an answer he didn't have.
That second of indecision was enough. Sorato, seeing the confusion in his former friend's eyes, turned with a slight, almost regretful smile.
"Think about it, Reiden. It's not too late yet to choose the right side."
And he left, dissolving into the dusk, leaving Reiden alone under the blooming sakura with a question tearing him apart from within.
The next morning, news came to "Tenran" that froze the blood. The city of Hanamatsura had ceased to exist. Witnesses spoke of a black cloud that swallowed the city, of thousands of ghostly blades piercing every inhabitant, and of a strange, howling silence that fell afterward. There was no fire, no explosions. Only an act of absolute, heartless erasure.
Director Fujibayashi summoned Reiden. His face, usually inscrutable, was gray with grief and insomnia. In his eyes was the weight of an impossible choice.
"Kagetori," his voice was hoarse. "You know what happened. You know... who did it."
Reiden was silent, fists clenched. The storm from Sorato's question still raged inside him.
"He... he declared war not just on us. He declared war on humanity itself," Fujibayashi swallowed, his gaze filled with regret, bitterness, and infinite sadness for those two brilliant youths in whom he had once placed all his hopes. "The Council... and I personally... ask you. Take the necessary measures."
He didn't say "stop him." He didn't say "arrest him." He said "take the necessary measures." And his gaze clearly stated what could not be spoken aloud: "You are the only one who can do it. And you are the one it will hurt the most."
Reiden slowly nodded. He left the office, and the weight of those words settled on his shoulders like a heavy cloak. Sorato's question still burned in his head, but now he had no time to search for an answer. There was only war. A war he had to start by killing a part of himself.