The morning came like a silver breath across the estate grounds, dew glittering on the blades of grass, catching the first hesitant light of the rising sun. For a moment, it was difficult to tell whether the world was still dreaming or already awake. The Maho estate, vast and timeless, lay in a rare hush: no footsteps down the long corridors, no voices rising in chatter.
Toki stirred in the quiet guest chamber, blinking at the faint shafts of light creeping through the curtains. He reached toward the small watch on the nightstand, its needle-thin hands glinting faintly. Seven o'clock. Still hours remained until his scheduled noon meeting with his Division.
He sat up slowly, rubbing the stiffness from his shoulders. The thought of staying still—waiting, letting the morning stretch into idleness—made his skin prickle. No. He needed to move, to prepare, to sharpen himself before the day asked too much of him.
With practiced ease, he slid into his clothes: the dark jacket, clean shirt, and fitted trousers he favored when blending into the palace's rhythm. His hands worked quickly, methodically, as though he were already behind schedule.
When he finally crossed the polished floorboards to the door, he paused, listening. The house still breathed in its half-slumber, shadows resting gently across the walls. Perfect. He could slip out without disturbing anyone.
His hand closed around the handle.
And then—
"Comandante."
The voice was calm, almost airy, yet it carried enough presence to cut through the quiet like a bell. Toki turned his head slightly. In the hallway behind him, framed by the soft gloom, stood Ozvold. His arms were folded loosely across his chest, his dark coat draped around him like a curtain. The faint curve of a smile touched his lips, though his eyes were grave.
"You're leaving so early?" Ozvold asked, tilting his head just slightly. "It's still a long while until noon."
Toki exhaled through his nose, caught but not embarrassed. "I want to prepare the ground before anyone else arrives."
A pause. The silence between them was comfortable, threaded with the mutual understanding of soldiers who had seen too much of the world already.
"You've never been good at waiting," Ozvold said quietly. "But do not rush on my account. I'll come at my own rhythm."
Toki gave a faint nod, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "I wasn't going to drag you."
Before Ozvold could respond, another voice—sharper, younger—slipped in.
"You'd better hurry before she finds you."
Kandaki stepped out from a side corridor, arms crossed over his chest, his expression carrying both mischief and warning. His hair was disheveled, as if he'd only just pulled himself from bed, but his eyes were awake enough to watch Toki carefully.
Toki raised a brow. "And which 'she' are you so worried about this time?"
Kandaki opened his mouth to answer, but before the words could form, a sudden yank dragged him backward. His yelp echoed against the walls.
"Where do you think you're going?"
The voice was icy, threaded with sarcasm sharp enough to cut stone. Toki blinked as Kandaki flailed, caught in the merciless grip of Yuki. Her hand was clamped around his collar, tugging him with no sign of effort toward the corridor behind her. She, unlike the others, was fully awake, her sleeves rolled, her posture crisp with morning energy.
"Today," Yuki declared, ignoring Kandaki's protests, "you are helping me in the kitchen."
"Wait—what?" Kandaki sputtered, stumbling as she dragged him. "I didn't agree to—"
"You don't have to," she snapped without looking back.
Toki, despite himself, nearly laughed at the sight. Kandaki, usually so composed, reduced to a struggling child under Yuki's iron grip.
But then her eyes turned, sharp as a blade, settling on him.
"And you," she said coldly, "were about to leave without breakfast, weren't you?"
Toki froze a fraction, then gave a faint shrug. "You know me too well."
Her gaze narrowed, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. "How thoughtful of you. And here I thought you'd at least pretend to care about your health."
"I'll manage something at the palace," Toki answered evenly, his tone calm, almost polite.
Yuki's lips curved in a thin, humorless smile. "Don't mistake this for concern. I don't care about you more than the dirt under my nails. But if you collapse out there, you'll only make trouble for everyone else."
Her words were knives, but her eyes lingered on him a little too long, as though daring him to see past the surface.
"I'll be fine," he said softly.
"See that you are," she retorted. Then, tugging Kandaki hard enough to make him stumble, she turned down the corridor. Kandaki threw Toki a desperate glance, mouthing something like help me, but Toki only shook his head faintly.
The hallway fell silent again, save for the faint scuffling of Kandaki's protests fading into the distance.
Toki released a slow breath, turned back to Ozvold, and inclined his head. "I'll see you later."
Ozvold's smile deepened just a little. "Run well, Comandante."
Outside, the estate gates opened onto a road bathed in golden light. Toki adjusted his jacket and began to jog, letting his steps fall into the measured rhythm of training. His breath steadied, his body easing into the familiar balance of pace and endurance.
The air was cool, scented faintly with grass and morning blossoms. Birds called from the hedges, their song weaving with the whisper of leaves stirred by the early wind. Above, the sun climbed slowly, scattering clouds with a patient hand.
For a moment, it was easy to forget the weight of everything waiting for him.
The road carried him past the outer gardens and into the town's edge. The first stirrings of life were visible here: shutters opening, smoke rising in pale streams from chimneys, the clatter of buckets as wells were drawn.
People recognized him.
"Good morning, Sir Toki!" a woman called, bowing her head as she swept her doorway.
"Blessings on your training!" shouted a man hauling crates into his cart.
Everywhere, faces turned toward him, and though many wore the weariness of lives lived in scarcity, they smiled. Some bowed, others simply lifted their hands in greeting.
Each smile struck him like a blade and a balm at once. They trusted him—looked at him not as a man, but as a symbol, a shield against the cruelties of fate.
For this, he thought, for them, I cannot fall.
Children darted out of an alley, giggling as they ran alongside him.
"Play the violin for us again!" one shouted, his voice breathless with laughter.
"And dance with us!" another added, eyes bright.
Toki slowed slightly, enough to meet their gaze. His voice softened, filled with the warmth that rarely touched his battlefield tone.
"After today's training," he promised. "Ozvold and I will return, and we'll play until the sun sets."
The children cheered, scattering with renewed laughter. Toki allowed himself a faint smile before pushing forward again.
By the time he reached the training grounds, the sun had risen higher, spilling light across the field. The place was quiet, almost too quiet, the silence pressing against his ears. He checked his watch again. Eight o'clock.
He stood a moment, catching his breath, letting the stillness settle around him.
And then—
A hand landed on his shoulder.
Instinct made him whirl, ready to strike—
But he froze when he saw the familiar, unhurried smile of Mr. Smith. The older man stood as though he had been waiting for hours, his dark coat brushing against the grass. Beside him, leaning slightly on a cane yet carrying an aura of sharp intelligence, was Old Man Felix.
"Good morning," Smith said lightly, his voice as smooth as the mist that seemed always to cling to him. "Early, aren't we?"
Felix chuckled, the sound like gravel rubbed between palms. "He's young. Youth always mistakes urgency for strength."
Toki exhaled, forcing his heart to slow. "I thought I'd use the quiet to prepare."
Smith's eyes gleamed. "Then perhaps the quiet isn't yours alone."
The weight of the hand on his shoulder had startled him, but what followed pierced deeper.
Mr. Gerald Smith stood close, his usually relaxed expression sharpened into something far sterner than usual. The lazy, almost mocking air that often clung to him like mist had evaporated, leaving behind only a man whose eyes were knives in the morning light.
"Toki," he said, his voice low, steady, and all too serious. "We need to have a very serious conversation. And this time, I will need the truth from you."
The sudden gravity made Toki's throat tighten. He turned his gaze toward Felix, hoping for some sign of relief, but the old man's expression mirrored Smith's exactly. The usual spark of sly amusement was gone from his face; instead, he looked at Toki with a grim, almost solemn weight.
"…Truth?" Toki repeated, trying to keep his tone level, though the word lodged itself in his chest like a stone.
Felix's voice carried the roughness of gravel yet lacked any warmth. "You owe us honesty, boy. We've stood beside you until now. But today… today you must answer without shadows."
Toki inhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly. He could feel the tension building around him, pressing against his ribs. Still, his voice came out calm. "Then I'll give you the truth."
Smith nodded once. "Good. Because after your ritual—the one where you killed a cultist three ranks above you—things… changed."
Toki stiffened but forced his face to remain impassive.
"You didn't just complete the ritual," Smith continued. His eyes burned into Toki's, sharp enough to strip away pretenses. "You absorbed it. Entirely. You gained every capability of the first level of the Division of Darkness. That is not something ordinary initiates accomplish."
Felix took a step forward, his cane pressing into the dirt, his voice rasping. "We all saw what happened. You closed your eyes before slipping free of the chains that bound you. Immediately after, you consumed the ritual fully. That act is not chance, Toki. It is knowledge."
Smith's voice dropped to a near growl. "So the question becomes… how do you know about the Absorption Method?"
The words hung in the air, heavier than any chain.
Toki blinked once. The phrase alone was dangerous—something whispered only in hidden chambers. His mind reeled, scrambling through memory, through the cold halls of the Palace of Mirrors, through Sephira's voice unraveling truths never meant for mortal ears.
They can't know about her. They can't know about the mirrors. If I speak her name, suspicion will turn to certainty. I will lose everything.
Felix's explanation broke through his storm of thoughts.
"The Absorption Method," Felix said slowly, "is the practice of consuming the essence of the element tied to your Division. Darkness for you, Moon for Bernard, Death for Lorelay, Fate for me. It is how we move deeper, but the method itself is forbidden knowledge. Only those of the Fourth Rank and higher are ever taught its existence. And yet you—an initiate, untested—used it as though it were second nature."
Smith's gaze was merciless. "The members of the Order have begun to speculate. They whisper that you are a cultist. That no one could know this but someone raised in the shadows of forbidden rites."
The word cultist struck Toki like an axe. His pulse quickened. He kept his face still, but inside, a roar of thought surged.
A cultist? That's what they think I am? If they even suspect too deeply, everything I've fought for will collapse. Ozvold. Utsuki. The children. Bernard. All of them will fall away, and I'll be nothing but a hunted thing. I can't let them see.
He drew in a breath, steadying himself. When he spoke, his voice was firm, grounded.
"I didn't know of any method," Toki said, his tone edged with controlled honesty. "When I closed my eyes… it was instinct. I've always done it. To think, to focus, to still the chaos. That's all it was."
For a moment, silence reigned.
Felix's eyes searched his, drilling deep, hunting for cracks. Smith's lips pressed into a thin line, unreadable.
Then Smith's mouth twitched, the faintest shadow of a smile breaking the severity. "Instinct, hm? That… I can believe."
Toki's eyes flicked upward in surprise.
Smith folded his arms. "You've always carried an unnatural affinity for the Division of Darkness. More than once, I've noticed you move as though you were born in it. That you would stumble upon Absorption by instinct—it fits."
Felix grunted, reluctant but not disbelieving. "Perhaps."
Smith leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Felix, Bernard, and I… we've already put in a word for you with the higher council. They granted you permission to proceed. Tonight, after training, you will attempt the next ritual. The rank of Born of Darkness."
Toki's heart lurched, though he kept his face calm. The words carried both promise and peril.
Felix nodded, tapping his cane against the ground. "I'll gather the ingredients. By evening, it will be ready. But hear me, boy—this time, you must be careful. One slip, and the Darkness you seek to claim will swallow you whole."
Smith's voice cut through, sharper. "And one more thing. Do not speak of Absorption. Not to your comrades. Not to your closest allies. Let them believe you stumbled forward by chance. The Order tolerates your advancement because we vouched for you. Without that, you would already be in chains."
Toki's jaw tightened. He gave a slow nod. "…I understand."
Smith's gaze softened, just faintly. "Good. Remember, Bernard practically groveled before the council to clear you. He was on his knees, begging, if you can believe it. If nothing else, repay him by walking carefully."
The tension cracked slightly as a familiar voice drifted from behind them.
"Well, well, speaking of me on my knees—though I'd rather they didn't spread that story too far."
Bernard appeared, hands in his pockets, his grin broad and unbothered, as though he hadn't just been dragged into the gravest of suspicions. His eyes twinkled, his tone deliberately jovial.
"Congratulations, Toki," he said warmly. "To advance so quickly is no small privilege. You've earned it—even if the rest of us had to twist a few arms for you."
Felix huffed. "Twist? You nearly broke your back groveling."
Bernard raised his hands innocently. "Ah, but what are comrades for if not to humiliate themselves now and then for each other?"
Even Smith cracked the faintest smile at that.
"Enough," Smith said finally. "The council has permitted Toki to retain his revolver. The weapon has changed—it awakened into a Third-Grade artifact during your last battle."
Toki's eyes widened slightly. The revolver… an artifact.
Bernard chuckled knowingly. "I expected nothing less. That weapon was bound to awaken sooner or later. You and it share the same temperament—stubborn, unyielding, and just a little mad."
Smith straightened, his coat shifting in the morning breeze. "When training is finished, come to the alchemy hall. Felix will be waiting. Tonight, you'll take your next step."
The three men inclined their heads in unison, then turned to depart, leaving Toki with the heavy silence of their revelations.
Not long after, footsteps stirred the still field. His division—his soldiers—arrived even earlier than expected, ten minutes before the bell. Their faces carried the same mixture of eagerness and dread.
Toki studied them, his own expression unreadable.
"We begin," he said. His voice carried across the ground like steel. "Ten kilometers. Light pace."
A chorus of groans rose immediately.
"Ten? At this hour?"
"Light pace, he says—he'll kill us!"
Their mutters broke quickly under the slicing glare of Ozvold, who had arrived silently at Toki's side. His eyes, sharp and merciless, swept across the soldiers until their complaints died in their throats.
Without another word, the group fell into motion.
Toki's pace was steady, his breath calm. Behind him, the sound of reluctant feet pounded against dirt. Ozvold fell into stride beside him, his voice low enough only Toki could hear.
"I heard," he murmured. "Bernard told me everything."
Toki didn't answer at once. His thoughts twisted.
Even here, even among them, I must tread carefully. If suspicion grows again, I'll lose the trust I've fought to build. I must be cautious. Always cautious.
Ozvold's gaze flicked toward him. "Still. Congratulations."
Toki's lips curved in the faintest of smiles, though his eyes stayed fixed ahead. "Thank you."
Together, they pushed forward, overtaking the groaning pack of soldiers until they led the line.
And in Toki's mind, the thought rang like a silent vow:
I must be careful from now on. Careful not to let suspicion rise again. Careful not to let the truth slip. If I falter, it's not just me who will fall—it's all of us.