The afternoon sun burned gently above the training fields, painting the dirt with shifting tones of gold and bronze. Dust clung to sweat, blades gleamed in restless hands, and the air rang with the rhythm of bodies in motion. Toki's Division had been driven through the long morning with steady cruelty: push-ups, pull-ups, sprints across the field, and now sparring drills with blunted swords. They staggered, grunted, cursed under their breath, but they followed, always following.
Their captain, however, seemed far away.
Toki's motions were precise—too precise. Each set of push-ups completed without hesitation, each sword swing landing with mechanical accuracy. His breathing was even, his stance controlled, but his eyes betrayed the truth. They were hollow, fixed beyond the horizon, as though his body was here but his mind was walking another road entirely.
"Comandante…" one of the younger soldiers muttered after collapsing from a set of squats. "He's not… human. He just doesn't stop."
Several others groaned in agreement, slumping into the grass. Their captain's discipline was legendary, but this… this was bordering on the uncanny.
It was Ozvold who finally broke the silence. He stood off to the side, watching his commander with sharp, unblinking eyes. His violin case rested near the shade of a tree, unopened, while his own sword hung quietly at his hip.
"Captain," Ozvold said at last, his voice calm but carrying the weight of iron. "You haven't eaten since dawn. The men are drained. And yet you continue as though you were forged from clockwork."
Toki paused mid-swing, sweat trailing down his temple. He blinked, then lowered his practice blade, exhaling through his nose. His stomach betrayed him at once—an audible growl clawed through the silence. Several of the soldiers exchanged uneasy looks, while one dared to chuckle nervously.
Toki turned to Ozvold. "What time is it?" His voice was steady, though the question carried more strain than he intended.
Before Ozvold could answer, another voice slipped into the field—gentle yet clear, like a silver bell carried by the wind.
"It's four o'clock. I think it's time you allowed yourself a pause."
Every head turned.
Utsuki stood at the edge of the field, her silver hair fluttering like strands of moonlight in the afternoon breeze. She wore a delicate rose-colored dress laced with ribbons, soft fabric moving as if it were part of the air itself. In her hands she carried a small metal box, held with the care of something precious. Her rose-pink eyes were fixed directly on Toki.
Toki blinked, his hand tightening slightly on his sword hilt. "Utsuki. What are you doing here?"
Her lips curved into a faint smile as she stepped closer, lifting the box. "I brought you something from home." She extended the package toward him, her movements delicate, almost ceremonial. "Yuki told us you left without breakfast. So the girls and I thought… we should prepare something for you."
For a moment, Toki stood frozen. Heat climbed unbidden to his face, a flush betraying the calm mask he usually wore. Utsuki's words, her presence—it was as if she were playing the role of a wife fussing over her husband. He cleared his throat softly before answering.
"You shouldn't have troubled yourself. But… thank you." He accepted the box with careful hands, as though afraid it might shatter.
Utsuki's eyes lingered on him, filled with quiet mischief, but her voice softened. "Don't thank me too much. It was a group effort." Then, with a graceful step backward, she added, "I'll leave you to your training. But promise me one thing—take breaks. The body is not a machine, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself."
Toki allowed the corner of his mouth to lift in the faintest smile. "I'll keep that in mind."
"And if you find time later this evening," she continued, her voice lowering slightly, "I'd like to train with you. On mana control. A sharper grip on your mana will help you master your power more efficiently. If you let me, I can help."
Her words lingered, and Toki could only nod, silently grateful though unwilling to let the softness show.
Utsuki turned then, lifting her hand in a small wave. Her gaze swept across the gathered soldiers. "Thank you all for working so hard with my knight. I appreciate your dedication."
The Division erupted into barely contained whispers as she walked away. Toki exhaled slowly and lowered himself onto a large stone at the edge of the field, staring at the box in his lap.
The whispers grew louder.
"Captain's got himself a wife, eh?" one soldier said with a grin.
"She's beautiful! Why didn't he tell us he had someone like that waiting for him?"
"He's less a man of steel now, more like one of us. Young love, it's a fine thing."
Toki's ears burned. He ignored them, but the faintest twitch at his lips betrayed his discomfort. Ozvold, however, was less forgiving. His eyes narrowed, sharp as blades, as he turned to the muttering soldiers.
"Another lap," he ordered flatly.
A chorus of groans rose. "But that's not fair!"
Toki raised his hand gently. "No. They're right. It's time for a meal break. I should've watched the clock more carefully. Forgive me."
The tension melted at once. Soldiers collapsed onto the grass, tearing open their own small parcels from home—bread, dried meats, fruit wrapped in cloth. Laughter bubbled through the exhaustion, the camaraderie of shared suffering easing their sore limbs.
Toki sat on the stone, the small box still unopened in his lap. Beside him, Ozvold settled with quiet precision, setting down his own neatly packed meal. He opened the lid to reveal an arrangement of roasted meat, boiled eggs, and fresh vegetables, all cut and portioned with meticulous care.
Toki raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you were so invested in nutrition."
Ozvold's voice was calm, matter-of-fact. "A good lunch fuels good training. The body cannot fight if it is starved. Nor the mind." He gestured to the box in Toki's hands. "Go on. Open it."
Toki hesitated, then clicked the lid open.
He froze.
Inside lay chaos disguised as a meal: meat charred on one side and raw on the other, vegetables buried under a flood of salt, an omelet scorched black around the edges. At the corner, a chocolate bar had melted into an unshapely puddle, its sweetness clinging to everything else. And on the omelet, drawn clumsily in ketchup, was a crooked heart.
Toki blinked once. Twice. His lips parted, but no words came.
Ozvold leaned forward, expression perfectly neutral but eyes betraying quiet confusion. "…I see."
Before either could comment further, a familiar voice rang out behind them.
"Well, well, what's this? A feast?"
Bernard strolled across the grass, hands in his pockets, his grin as effortless as ever. Without waiting for permission, he dropped onto the ground beside Toki, peering into the metal box. His expression froze, mirroring their disbelief.
"Dear gods," Bernard muttered. "Is it at least edible? Because from here it looks like a war crime."
Toki frowned faintly. "It was a gift."
Bernard tilted his head, smirking. "Ah, I see. A gift from someone who loves you but hasn't the faintest clue what salt is. Tell me, do you plan on surviving this meal?"
Before he could laugh, Toki speared a piece of the omelet with his fork and shoved it directly into Bernard's mouth. Bernard's eyes went wide, his hands flailing as he chewed with difficulty.
"Mmf—how—how does one make eggs bitter?" Bernard choked, eyes watering as he swallowed. "This is witchcraft!"
Toki actually laughed—quiet, low, but real. Ozvold's lips twitched in the shadow of a smirk.
As Bernard clutched his throat theatrically, Toki's gaze drifted to the lid of the box. There, pasted carefully, was a folded scrap of paper. He peeled it free and unfolded it slowly.
The words were simple, written in uneven hands: We love you.
Seven names were scrawled beneath—Hana, Haru, Natsu, Aki, Utsuki, Tora, Suzume. Near Kandaki's signature was a note: I made the meat extra spicy. For strength.
And at the very bottom, written in sharp, spiky script, another message: Don't choke, idiot. —Yuki.
Toki stared at the note. His throat tightened, heat rising behind his eyes. For a moment he could not breathe.
Bernard leaned over, squinting. "Well, well. That's… adorable. They adore you, Captain. Even enough to risk poisoning you."
Toki swallowed hard, folding the note carefully and slipping it back inside. He took another bite of the charred omelet, grimacing at the taste but refusing to stop.
Ozvold and Bernard exchanged glances.
"You don't have to eat it," Ozvold said at last. "Take some of mine."
Bernard nudged his own box forward. "Or mine. I promise my lunch doesn't fight back."
Toki shook his head firmly. "No. This is what they made. For me. If I can endure battles, I can endure this. It's not the taste that matters. It's… theirs. Their care."
His voice cracked, barely perceptible. He lowered his gaze, chewing through the bitter meal with tears gathering at the corner of his eyes.
Bernard watched him quietly, then opened his own box. Inside rested a simple sandwich and, taped to the lid, a small note. He peeled it off and held it up with a grin.
Two words, written in elegant script: Don't die. Signed: Elizabeth.
"She was sweet today," Bernard said, chuckling softly. "Usually she adds a threat. Progress, I'd say."
Toki exhaled a shaky laugh, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand as he forced down another bite of the ruined omelet.
Around them, the soldiers sprawled in the grass, sharing bites, trading jokes, voices rising like a chorus of survival. For a brief moment, beneath the afternoon sun, the weight of suspicion and darkness faded. What remained was simple: comrades, laughter, and the bitter-sweet taste of love hidden inside a clumsy meal.
Toki took another bite, tears stinging his eyes as he whispered to himself, unheard by the others: "I wouldn't trade this for anything."
The training had gone on longer than anyone had expected. At first, the men grumbled, muttered under their breath, and threw dark looks at their captain for pushing them so mercilessly. Yet, as the hours dragged on, something shifted. Muscles screamed, sweat streamed, and their lungs burned, but the complaints died down. The rhythm of the drills—push-ups, pull-ups, sword clashes, defensive maneuvers—sank into them like a pulse. They began to fall into silence, moving in unison, and though their bodies were exhausted, a strange calm seemed to take hold.
Toki himself was a machine. His movements were precise, mechanical, almost devoid of presence. Even when their swords clashed and sparks flew, his eyes looked elsewhere, as if his spirit had been dragged to another battlefield entirely. His men noticed. They whispered among themselves, but he gave no sign of hearing. He simply pushed on.
When the hour struck six, he finally relented. Toki lowered his practice blade, exhaled slowly, and raised a hand. "That's enough. You've given more than I could ask. Thank you for today. Rest now—we'll meet again tomorrow, same time."
Relief rippled through the squad like a wave. The men bowed their heads, wiping sweat from their brows, grateful for dismissal. Some collapsed onto the grass, others packed away their weapons, shoulders slumping.
As Toki stood watching them, Bernard approached, his own armor dulled by hours of sparring with his own division. His familiar smirk played across his lips. "Well, Captain, it seems you're not the only one driving your men into the ground today. But business doesn't wait. The old man's expecting you. It's time."
Toki glanced sideways at him. "Felix?"
Bernard nodded once. "The alchemy lab. He's finished preparing everything."
Before Toki could answer, Ozvold's deep voice rumbled beside him. "So… you're advancing already? The next stage of the Dark Division?"
Toki turned sharply, his expression narrowing. "And how exactly do you know about that?"
Ozvold's lips curled into something halfway between a smile and a grimace. "I'm not some green recruit, Captain. I'm a knight of the Third Phase of the Stellar Division—'Starwatcher.' Did you really think you were the only one walking a divine path?"
For a moment, Toki simply stared. The revelation was unexpected, but it explained a great deal—the calm resilience Ozvold carried, his way of watching the night sky as if it whispered secrets only he could hear.
Toki folded his arms. "How long have you been in the Order?"
"Same day as Bernard," Ozvold replied, as though it were nothing. His tone, however, carried weight. "And just like Bernard with the Lunar Division, my gifts share echoes with his. We don't need sleep, and our strength… it burns brightest beneath the moon and stars. So yes, I understand more than you might think."
Bernard chuckled. "And here I thought you were just brooding for style."
The three men exchanged a glance, the kind born of trust forged in hardship. No more words were needed. Together, they made their way toward the alchemy workshop.
Felix was waiting for them when they arrived, bent but unbroken, his long beard streaked with ash from years of experiments. His wrinkled hands moved with careful precision as he arranged vials and herbs, muttering incantations under his breath.
"Ah, you're here," he said, his voice rasping but filled with energy. "Good, good. Everything is ready."
On the table before him lay a vial of liquid so dark it seemed to swallow the light around it. It was violet-black, shifting like smoke in a bottle, and from it wafted tendrils of vapor that curled through the air, refusing to disperse.
Toki's gaze fixed on it. His pulse quickened. The sight of it alone pulled something inside him taut.
Felix caught the look and nodded knowingly. "The potion is complete. It contains your blood, as well as the sacred reagents provided by the Order. It will carry you to the threshold of the next phase."
He led them deeper into the hall, to a heavy door reinforced with iron. Waiting before it were Gerald Smith, tall and stern in his black coat, and Lady Lorelay, calm and serene in pale robes that shimmered faintly as if woven with moonlight.
"Toki," Gerald greeted, his gravelly voice respectful. "The chamber is ready. Beyond this door lies absolute darkness. The room has no light, no sound, no end. It will test you."
Lorelay stepped forward, her eyes gentle but firm. "When you drink, you will be sealed inside. There is no window, no flame, not a single crack for light. It will be just you—and the path you must walk. If the weight becomes too much, this bell"—she produced a small silver chime—"will summon us. But you must ring it only when you are certain the process is complete."
Her hand brushed his arm, a fleeting gesture of reassurance. "You will not be alone. I will be here. All of us will."
Toki looked around. Bernard, Ozvold, Felix, Gerald, Lorelay—they were all watching him. Each gaze carried trust, expectation, belief.
A knot tightened in his chest. They believe in me… more than I believe in myself.
Without another word, he took the vial. The glass was cold against his palm. With a steady breath, he uncorked it and stepped into the chamber.
Darkness swallowed him.
The door shut behind, sealing with a resonant clang. Silence fell. He could hear nothing, not even his own breath, as though the void itself had drunk up every sound.
He lifted the vial, the fumes stinging his nose, and whispered, "Here goes nothing." Tilting it back, he drank.
The liquid was thick, burning like ash and iron down his throat. His stomach churned, his veins ignited, and for an instant he staggered, clutching his chest.
Then the world shifted.
The darkness was not empty anymore. When he closed his eyes and opened them again, he was elsewhere he knew too well.
The throne loomed before him, polished black stone gleaming faintly in the unseen light. The long table of obsidian stretched outward, vanishing into infinity. Pillars rose endlessly on either side, their sheer enormity humbling. At his feet, black mist swirled, curling up his legs, tugging at him as though eager to devour.The red moon shone with mystery.
Toki sank onto the throne. The weight of it pressed upon him, familiar yet heavier than before. The mist licked higher, hungry, but he steadied his breath.
He placed a hand upon the table and knocked twice. "Sephira. You can come in."
The great doors swung wide, their groan echoing across the infinite hall. From the shadows stepped the goddess of the moon, her presence both radiant and suffocating. Silver light clung to her form, cascading like liquid silk, and her pale eyes gleamed with unreadable depth.
She moved toward him with the grace of a predator who knew there was no escape for her prey. "You're fortunate, little knight," she said, voice lilting with an almost mocking sweetness. "If you hadn't this throne—this place—you'd have been trapped for hours in that suffocating dark. Instead, you bring yourself here, to your sanctuary."
Toki smirked faintly. "Weren't you the one who told me to use every tool at my disposal?"
Her lips curved in a smile that could have been approval or scorn. "Sharp as ever. And why have you summoned me now? Do you seek my blessing? Or is it just my company you crave?" Her voice dripped with seduction, every word a blade sliding across his resolve.
He leaned forward, resting his arms upon the cold obsidian. "Neither. I just… don't want to face this silence alone. Talk with me. At least until the darkness has had its fill."
Her laughter echoed, low and intoxicating. "Very well. Let us talk. Until the shadows embrace you fully."