"You're doing it again," Seiya said, voice low.
Seirou looked up, pupils dilated. "I'm seeing too much," he whispered. "Every word people speak… every silence they don't. I see it all. It's like walking through a hundred lives at once… and none of them are mine."
Seiya didn't respond. He simply moved forward and sat beside him, knees touching. After a pause, he asked quietly, "Then why don't you stop trying to use them… or at least narrow it down when you do? You go silent for days after. You shut yourself away like this—because of it. If it's hurting you this much… why not seal it off?"
Seirou gave a slow shake of his head. "I can't. Before, it was bearable—even when the visions came all at once, I could push through. But lately…" His breath hitched. "Something's changed. They're louder. Heavier. I feel like I'll go blind… or worse, forget which world I belong to."
Seiya turned slightly, as if to speak.
"Don't," Seirou murmured, eyes fluttering shut. "Don't say anything. Just… stay like that."
Seiya nodded once. And in that moment For the first time in hours, Seirou saw only one version of the world.
Nearly an hour passed before Seirou's breathing eased and the tremble in his fingers stilled. He sat quietly, the world around him no longer fracturing at every sound.
Seiya, still beside him, murmured under his breath, "Don't try using those million eyes again… not until you learn how to handle them. If you push any further, you'll lose your sight or worse."
Seirou didn't respond at first. Then, softly, like peeling back a truth he hated admitting, he said, "…Even if I seal them away, it will last… a month—maybe. But the pressure builds behind my eyes. Like something is forcing me to open them. Forcing me to see everything again. The power inside me starts… pushing. Then I see so many outcomes at once… a thousand versions of the same moment, all screaming at me. It's like drowning in futures that haven't happened yet."
"Every possibility, every failure, every death that might happen." He exhaled shakily. "I try to resist it, but in the end… I kneel to it. I give in. And for days, I don't even know which version of the world I'm in anymore."
Seiya let out a long sigh, dragging a hand through his hair. "So that's why…," he muttered under his breath. "That's why you disappear every month. Why you lock yourself in and pretend the rest of us don't exist."
Seirou didn't answer. He just looked away, letting the silence speak for him.
A beat passed, then Seiya gave a dry laugh. "Well… that means you lied, didn't you? Every time Ryoma asked you to use your 'Lakh Eyes,' you said you didn't know how to unseal them. Liar."
Seirou scoffed lightly. "It wasn't a lie. Just a… half-truth."
"Oh?" Seiya raised a brow.
"I know how to unseal them," Seirou admitted, voice low. "But I can't use them properly. Not like I used to. My current self can't handle the strain. If I start unsealing them regularly… there might come a point where I can't seal them back again." His fingers flexed slightly at his side, knuckles pale. "Before that happens, I'll go blind. Maybe deaf. Definitely mad."
A wry silence lingered between them.
"That's why I lied," Seirou added after a moment. "I don't want to see a million outcomes even when someone sneezes in front of me. Every single day it will be hell to handle."
Seiya leaned back against the wall beside him and gave him a light nudge with his shoulder. "Glad you're surviving it this far. If it were me, I'd probably have dropped dead the second time If something forced me to go through it."
Seirou smirked faintly. "There was a thread once. Out of millions, it ended with you dying."
"…What?" Seiya sat up, brows drawn. "From what? When? Which moment are you talking about?"
Seirou leaned back, closing his tired eyes. "Remember that mission… the one that lasted three months? The forest near the dead river."
Seiya blinked. "You mean when I slipped on that wet stone near the cliff?"
"In one thread, it wasn't just a slip," Seirou murmured. "You cracked your skull. And I wasn't able to find you."
Seiya stared at him for a moment, then shook his head with a breathless chuckle.
"You really need a better hobby than watching the future unravel."
Seirou gave a half-smile. "I can see the past too… the timelines just keep shifting."
Seiya blinked, a little thrown. "You've got some ridiculous powers. Why don't you just become one of those monks who predict everyone's fate?"
Seirou shrugged lightly. "I'll consider it."
Seiya fell silent, deep in thought. But before he could speak, Seirou quietly cut in.
"Don't think too hard," he said, voice low. "I can't tell you everything. There are a million threads, and I don't even remember most of them. Whatever I say could be a lie… or maybe the truth. So don't ask more questions, Seiya. You already know too much. If you hadn't remembered anything… this would've stayed a secret."
Seiya looked at him for a long moment, then said softly, "Even when I couldn't remember our past… I knew you carried something strange." His eyes met Seirou's quiet, unwavering. "…But I never realized it was—"
Just then, the air shifted.
A deep, resonant chime echoed through the night—five clear rings from the bell.
Seiya's expression changed instantly at the sound. He sat up slightly, murmuring,
"…The Fifth Bloom."
Seirou nodded, eyes distant. "Dedicated to the God of War."
Outside, the silence of waiting finally broke. Firecrackers burst high into the sky, showering sparks across the rooftops. Laughter and cheers filled the streets—relief flooding the hearts of citizens who had nearly given up and gone to bed, heavy with worry and weariness.
Within the quiet room, Seirou reached into his sleeve and pulled out a silver coin. He held it out toward Seiya.
"Won't you make a wish this time?" he asked with a faint smile. "It's your favorite god, after all. You used to admire the God of War more than anyone. What will it be this year? A bowstring that never breaks?"
Seiya glanced at the coin but didn't take it. Instead, he lay back on the bed, curling slightly as he turned away.
"I used to admire him," he said softly. "That was before I remembered the past."
His voice was almost a whisper.
"There's no point in worshipping a god who couldn't even protect the ones who worshipped him… not after generations of devotion."
————
Astra stood quietly atop the rooftop, the night air cool against her skin as bursts of color bloomed across the sky. Firecrackers exploded in vibrant showers, casting fleeting hues across her face.
She felt a tug at the hem of her robes and looked down.
Xue stood there, wide-eyed. Without a word, she lifted him into her arms.
Behind her, a calm voice broke the moment. "Didn't you sleep?"
Astra turned slightly to see Shion approaching, his hair catching the moonlight.
"Xue wanted to see the firecrackers," she said, glancing down at the child resting in her arms. "And besides… the streets are too noisy to sleep anyway. The music hasn't stopped once."
Shion stepped beside them and peered down at the city below. The streets were alive dancers spun beneath hanging lanterns, drums echoed through alleys, and ribbons of light curled from incense and fireworks alike.
"It's past midnight," he said. "Yet it's still so lively. I suppose… after waiting all day, people are making the most of the celebration."
Astra glanced at him, studying his expression. "You still don't like festivals and celebrations."
Shion nodded slightly. "To be honest… I don't care for any of the eight festival weeks. Too much divine energy everywhere—it makes me sick. I'm just waiting for the last bloom so it can all be over."
Astra raised a brow. "Divine energy makes you sick? You sound like a demon who can't stand holy air."
Shion exhaled through his nose, turning his gaze to the horizon. The light reflected faintly in his eyes as he paused in thought. Then, unexpectedly, he asked in a quiet voice, "What If I really am a demon who can't stand the divine?"