The mist thickened, coiling tighter around Yuki until it felt like chains. He tried to move, but his body resisted him; he tried to speak, but his lips produced no sound. It was as though the world had reduced him to nothing more than an observer—suspended in a void that obeyed no law of time or space.
His breath came shallow. His heartbeat echoed louder than the silence itself.
And then, the mist stirred.
It swirled like a tide responding to some unseen force, and within its folds, images flickered to life. Yuki's eyes widened as he realized what he was seeing.
It was him.
Not as he was now, but as a child.
The orphanage stood before him—worn walls, cracked windows, and the faint smell of damp wood that seemed to linger even across memory. Children's laughter floated through the air, soft and playful, and at the center of it all was a girl.
Aoi Tenshi.
Her laughter rang clear, like silver bells carried on a summer wind. Yuki's chest tightened as he watched her run across the dusty yard, her small hands clutching a broken toy like it was treasure.
His throat constricted. He wanted to call her name, to seize this fleeting moment and never let it go. But he could only watch, trapped behind the glass wall of memory.
"You shall face your memories from the beginning," came Faunus' voice, deep and resonant within the mist. "You will not run this time. I… no, we will not allow another heart demon to fester after surviving one in the past. Face it. Accept it. You cannot change what was, but you must acknowledge it. You were wrong, yes… but wrong for the sake of what you loved."
Yuki clenched his fists. He tried to protest, but his voice was shackled.
"There is no need for words," Faunus said coldly. "Just listen."
The mist swirled again. The memories unfolded further.
He saw the whispers. The children's eyes that once sparkled with innocence now narrowed with fear. Fingers pointed at him. Small, trembling voices called him a demon.
"Monster."
"Stay away."
"They said he's cursed."
The words stabbed him anew, as sharp and merciless as they had been the first time.
Faunus' voice cut through the memory. "Unfair, isn't it? But nothing in life is fair—neither in your world nor this one. Fools speak of perfect kingdoms, of fair rulers, of utopias… but those are delusions. Even rulers who swore to create such realms only crafted more cages. Fantasies, nothing more."
The images darkened. He saw himself thrown out. The gates of the orphanage slammed behind him, shutting him off from warmth, from laughter, from her.
Yuki's body trembled. His nails bit into his palms until he felt the sting of blood.
Faunus' voice grew heavier. "Accept your past. Accept your identity. Accept yourself. Accept me. There is no other path. Reject this, and forsake everything. But remember this, Yuki—your suffering will not end with you. If you abandon it all, those who placed their hopes in you will be abandoned as well. Every strong man bears responsibilities, whether he hides in the crowd or sits atop a throne."
The mist parted again.
A crow appeared. Its feathers glistened like black iron, its eyes sharp and gleaming with a wisdom that was both ancient and mocking. It perched upon a crooked post that rose from the void, then tilted its head at Yuki.
When it spoke, it was with Faunus' voice.
"Even I carried burdens. Even now, I still do. Arrogant, unbridled, even cruel as I may be… responsibility binds me still. I could not abandon it, and neither can you." The crow flapped its wings once, feathers scattering into the mist like fragments of night. "Now—stand, and face your past."
Yuki's lips parted, but still no words escaped.
The crow leaned closer, its eyes reflecting his turmoil. "You think too much. Always cautious. Always doubting. That wariness kept you alive once, but now? You are no longer weak. You are not alone—you have me. So stop overthinking. Let fate's wheels turn for now. Resist later, when the time comes. For now… endure."
The sight of the crow unnerved him. Why this form? Why not a man, a shadow, or even the faceless figure of the consciousness? Why a crow? But before he could dwell on it, Faunus' words echoed through his mind, silencing his doubts.
Yuki inhaled sharply, his body shaking. "…Fine."
Though his lips did not move, the mist seemed to carry his intent as sound.
"Fine! I'll face it. I should have done it long ago instead of turning away." His crimson eyes flared. "For Aoi, for the responsibilities I now bear, I won't run. If fate wants to test me, then I'll take it head on. Whatever waits, I will conquer it. I'll prove myself—to my enemies, to my friends… even to you."
His voice reverberated through the mist, steady, defiant.
"Before I accept you, before we ever become one again, let me face this past on my own. I was the one who lived it. I was the one who chose. I'll face the consequences myself."
The crow stared at him for a long while. Then it cawed once, sharp and loud, before replying. "Very well. I will not rob you of that choice. But hear me, Yuki—defeating your heart demon will not mean you can immediately assimilate with me. My memories are vast, spanning millennia. To take them all at once would shatter you. A mind like yours would crumble, your soul scattered into the void."
It flapped its wings again, and the mist quivered in response.
"You must accept them bit by bit. Slowly. Piece by piece. Even for one such as you, it will take time—centuries, perhaps more. Your soul may be strong, but not infinite."
Yuki frowned. He hadn't voiced his thoughts aloud, yet Faunus had answered them. He narrowed his eyes. "You can hear me even when I don't speak…"
The crow chuckled, the sound harsh yet strangely amused. "Of course."
Yuki's fists tightened. "Then answer me this—why do I feel this weight? This suppression pressing down on me? As though I'm being rejected by the very world itself?"
For the first time, the crow fell silent. Its head turned, gazing into the distance beyond the mist. Its eyes saw something unseen to Yuki, something vast, something suffocating.
The perfect picture of wisdom it projected was stained by the dense aura of solitude that now surrounded it—desolation, loneliness, and a grief so ancient it could not be put into words.
After what felt like an eternity, the crow spoke again.
"…It is still too early. You will come to understand in time. For now… face what lies in front of you."
Its body dissolved into black mist, feathers scattering like ash into the void.
The silence returned.
Yuki stood there, breath shallow, fists clenched, anger simmering beneath his confusion. He still had questions—why a crow? Why hide so much? Why burden him with riddles?
But before he could dwell on them further, the mist swirled violently again. The orphanage reappeared. The children's voices returned. Their accusations grew louder.
And this time, he would not look away.