The forest snapped closed behind him like a trapdoor. One beat the clearing had been a war-room: splintered dummies, scorched earth, the bitter tang of braided power hanging in the air. The next beat it was ordinary again — moss, trunks, birdcalls — as if the world had blinked and decided to forgive the violence.
Yuki staggered, tasting smoke on his tongue, feeling a pulse under his ribs that didn't belong to his heart. The system — the voice that had guided him through the void — folded back into silence. He flexed his hand and a thin filament of crimson-ice threaded itself above his palm like a promise. It answered. It obeyed. It fit. That small steadiness felt like victory.
Something struck the clearing: Shadow arrived like a thrown stone, boots planting, breath loud. The stoic mask that most people saw every day shredded in a single step. Shadow grabbed Yuki by the shoulders so hard the skin puckered. "Where did you go?!"
It wasn't anger. It was panic shaped into a man's voice. "One second you were there. The next: gone. I checked the orchard, the pond, the east ridge. I called you. I ran the training line twice. You — vanished. I thought something had taken you."
Yuki could have said the truth — the void, the crow, the way space folded like paper — but that would put a new kind of fear into Shadow's bones. He kept his answer lean. "I'm fine now, aren't I?" Plain. Solid. Exactly what the other man needed.
Shadow's fingers loosened like a wound being let breathe. He exhaled, half relief and half scold. "Don't do that again." A plea, not an order.
They walked back together, Shadow staying close enough Yuki could feel the heat of his body. The Akio estate waited like a held breath: papered lamps, quiet servants, the smell of oil and incense. Home felt taut — every eye on them a string ready to snap.
Suzume was on the courtyard steps with a cloth in her hand, worry pinched into the seams of her voice. "You missed dinner. You're still recovering. How could you train so long?" Her hands hovered as if she might check him for wounds.
Yuki gave the practiced half-truth. "I got carried away, Mother. I'm fine." It's a small kindness, lying to keep a mother from unraveling.
Hayate set down the scroll he'd been reading. His voice cut across the courtyard like a blade. "I felt your aura vanish for a moment."
The air in Yuki's chest tightened like a fist. Hayate's eyes scanned him with the assessment of a man who'd weathered storms before. "No beast raid. No signs of interference. But Shadow's unsettled."
Shadow spoke plainly. "He disappeared. Right here. One moment he was in the clearing. The next — nothing. No aura. I thought something had taken him."
Suzume's hand flew to her mouth. For a second she looked ready to faint. "I thought it was an error on my part," she whispered. "I felt it too, like a thread snapped." Her voice went raw. "You didn't tell me, Hayate? You thought I couldn't handle it?"
Hayate's answer was low and flat, the kind of thing that lands and demands listening. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want to worry you."
"Is that how little our son's life matters to you?" Her words cut. Servants in the shadows pretended not to listen, but they were all ears.
"No." Hayate didn't shout. He looked at Suzume like someone who knew the weight of what he'd done. "I know him. He isn't weak. I kept the worry so you could sleep. I judged we could observe first. But if his aura can vanish, that means he's awakening. We cannot contain that by denial."
Yuki felt warmth rise in his chest at his father's defense. It wasn't a showy gesture; it was a vote of confidence. He let the small pride settle.
Hayate turned his face toward Suzume. "We will speak privately. Not here."
Shadow's hand brushed his belt — a sign that business was serious. Suzume followed Hayate into the study. The courtyard emptied into the night.
Yuki was supposed to leave, go bathe, sleep. He almost did. Steam, hot water, the illusion of clean skin — those comforts called him. But curiosity snagged his feet. He hovered just outside the study door, quiet, listening.
Hayate's quiet voice took on the tone of planning rather than panic. "If his aura can vanish, if he can disappear in plain view, he risks drawing eyes he cannot handle. Enemies, magic-users, relic-scenting predators. Training here will not be enough. We can hide a child. We cannot hide an awakening."
Suzume's reply trembled. "Send him away? You would send our son away? We kept him inside for a reason."
Hayate's words were blunt and surgical. "We kept him here because we thought we could hide him. That was before we realized what was inside him. The academy gives structure, supervision, tutors who can teach control. It places him where the eyes are predictable and where we have channels to watch. Meister Academy in Yamauchi is the best. He'll be able to train under masters — not just hacked lessons. Shadow will accompany him. We can place him under a false registration if needed. We don't parade him. We protect him by putting him where the threat can be managed."
Suzume's hand trembled in her hair. "But exposure—nobles, recruiters, rival clans — the world will sniff."
"No." Hayate's voice went cold, controlled. "We place him where the eyes are official. Where someone notices, we answer. Better that than a wild scent pulling predators to our doorstep."
Shadow's voice, low and unadorned, cut in. "I searched the ridge. He vanished in front of me. If that can happen, we can't pretend staying is safe. He needs tests, tutors — controlled exposure. The academy is the fastest, cleanest option."
The argument stacked up like a ladder of facts. Suzume's face crumpled with the pain of making a parent's hard choice. "You're sending him away because he's dangerous? Because he might attract attention?"
Hayate's answer was softer than expected. "Because he is ours, and we'll do what keeps him alive. Sometimes protection means moving them into a place where the fire can be put out fast. We can shield him better from a distance than we can by hugging him. It's counterintuitive, but necessary."
Silence folded the room like a curtain. Yuki's shoulders tightened. They were deciding his life as if he were a chess piece. In the old days, the original Yuki had never left the compound. Yuki's throat prickled. He wanted to object, to scream that he would choose. But he knew the study was where his father's decisions were made — and usually made right.
Hayate took the pragmatic step. "We'll enroll him discreetly. Shadow will be his guardian and companion. He'll be registered under a name without the clan crest. I'll call in favors at Meister Academy. We won't parade him before nobles. He'll be placed in a supervised dorm and given tutors who answer to us."
Suzume's shoulders loosened only a bit. "You will be near him, Shadow? You will actually watch him?"
Shadow's voice was stripped down to a promise. "I will not leave his side."
Hayate added, quiet and absolute: "If anyone asks, it's for discipline and cultivating talent. That's true enough to tell outsiders. We keep the rest locked."
Yuki slid back from the door. He tried to leave silently, to give them privacy, but his father's voice stopped him. "Wait. Yukiharu, come inside. We want to discuss your future."
He could have pretended he wasn't there. He could have waited for the plan to solidify without him. But he'd been childish to underestimate them — and he truly was just behind the door. He let out a long breath and opened the study door.
Hayate sat behind the desk, hands folded. Suzume stood nearby, fingers twisted into the cloth. Shadow remained motionless, watchful at the corner. "Come here," Hayate said simply. "What do you think about going to an academy — the best one in the world?"
Yuki froze. He felt the old rules tug at his mind; in the original Yuki's life, the answer would have been cut off by force. He thought of Shadow's earlier searching, of his own disappearance, of the strange weight under his ribs. He tried a half joke, a test. "What if I changed my mind?"
That got a small (and not entirely unkind) laugh from Shadow. "You mentioned it to me not long ago, remember?"
Suzume's voice was quieter but firm. "We didn't want to rush this. We never let the old master go because it was safer. This is different — you are changing. We must change our methods."
Hayate's face softened slightly; he reached for Suzume's trembling hand and held it like a man anchoring himself. "I know this hurts. I hide things because I thought it spared you stitches. But your safety," he said, looking at Yuki, "is more important than our comfort."
A flare of defiance rose in Yuki. "You talk about danger — but can't you protect me? Aren't you strong?"
Hayate's reply came like cold steel. "Do you think three people twenty-four hours a day are a shield against everything? Sometimes boldness is foolish. We are strong, but the world has scales we cannot tip alone. Logic says place you where you can learn to be stronger faster."
Reluctant acceptance pressed into Yuki's chest like a breath held too long. He made one condition — not because he believed he could sway the decision, but because he needed something to hang on to. "I'll go if it means becoming stronger. But I won't let you make my life for me."
Hayate's expression cracked into the smallest curve of pride. "Then learn. Come back stronger. We're not sending you away to lose you."
Suzume came forward and pressed his hand. Her nature-magic brushed his chest like cool water. He felt the calm seep into him and his pulse slow. "I will visit when I can," she said, whispering. "I thought I could visit more, but it will be harder than I hoped." Her sadness twined with resolve.
Hayate finalized the order. "Pack. You leave tomorrow. Shadow will arrange everything. You go under a name that won't show as an heir."
Yuki let the words land. He had wanted to be the one to choose, but the reality of control — that they had to do this to keep him alive — settled in. He ducked into the bathhouse on shaky legs. Steam closed around him like a lie of comfort. He let it wash the day's sweat, the blood, the ash from his skin. He let the water hide the truth he could not yet tell anyone.
Later, in his room, he packed. Suzume knocked and entered with the furtive tenderness of a mother who packs as much love as clothes. Her fingers floated near his chest and a green aura, faint and living, seeped out of her hand. His breath slowed, anger and fear knotted, loosened.
"You'll be leaving tomorrow," she said softly. "I have less than twenty-four hours." Her voice broke. "At least grant me this — let me pack with you."
Yuki tried to protest; shame kept it small. He watched her pack — ribbons, medicines, talismans — until the small wooden trunk was full. "Will you visit?" he asked quietly.
"I'll visit whenever I can," she said. "I'd visit every week if I could."
He felt like a child again and did not hate it. Later, alone, he sank onto the bed and tried the system in his head.
"Hey — are you up yet?" he sent inside his mind.
A monotone reply returned, bland and mechanical: "What would the host like to ask?"
Yuki barked a short laugh. "Great. Even the system's MIA," he muttered. The irony tasted bitter. He closed his eyes and thought of tomorrow: a carriage, a long road, a new school. The academy would be a battlefield of its own. He'd disappear and reappear and they'd call it training.
Outside, the Akio household hummed with quiet plans. Inside, a single boy lay awake and let the future press against him like a cold wind. He did not know everything. He did not know the shape of the threats he might draw. But he knew this: he would leave tomorrow. He would learn to carry whatever was under his ribs. He would not vanish again without someone watching.
And when the house finally went quiet and Suzume's steady breathing blended into the night, he let himself sleep — hard and dreamless — with the faint aftertaste of iron and the promise of the weave still humming beneath his skin.