The silence was almost holy.
It lingered like incense in the vast chamber , neither oppressive nor empty, but charged—like a held breath. The great hall of the Palace of Mirrors stretched outward in endless black stone, polished to reflect every shadow as though they had lives of their own. The long table of obsidian shimmered with the faintest gleam, and in its surface Toki saw himself reflected—sharp, pale, his eyes carrying the weight of sleepless nights.
On the throne he sat motionless, fingers curled on the armrests, his body still but his mind restless. The black mist curled around him in slow coils. This time, it no longer resisted. It poured into him, merging with his veins, his breath, his very heartbeat. What had once felt invasive and suffocating now seeped through him with familiarity—like a toxin he had learned to survive.
Opposite him, Sephira sat upon a tall-backed chair of carved silver that had not been there moments ago. She had conjured it as though claiming her rightful place at his side. Her hair glimmered like moonlight polished into silk, her pale eyes narrowing with restless anticipation. She leaned forward slightly, chin resting against her knuckles, watching him.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Toki's gaze stayed on the obsidian table, watching his own reflection tremble within it, distorted by the shifting black mist. His hands tightened together, resting atop the polished surface. He thought he had prepared himself for this—another plunge into the void, another step into divine weight—but silence revealed the cracks he tried so hard to ignore.
It was Sephira who broke first.
Her voice cut the air with sharp indignation, though it carried the melody of something startlingly human.
"You know," she said, tilting her head with an expression somewhere between irritation and boredom, "it is not polite to summon me here only to gawk at your own reflection. My time is not endless, little knight. And at this moment, I feel it is being wasted on you."
The words jolted him. He turned his eyes on her, startled by her tone. She was different—less divine, more biting, almost like a woman scolding a distracted child.
"…I apologize," Toki said after a pause. His voice was low, steady, though he felt heat in his chest. "You're right. I should not have called you only to sit in silence."
Her expression softened, the edge fading into something warmer—maternal, even. "Then speak. If you wish my presence, you must give it shape. I will listen, this time."
For a moment he hesitated, weighing the words before letting them fall. "Too much has happened. Too fast." He pressed his palms against the table, leaning closer, his reflection beneath him warped by the mist. "My rapid rise through the Order—it's stirring suspicion. Among my peers. Even among those close to me."
Sephira's lips curved, not in surprise, but in confirmation. "Of course it has. I knew this would come. Did you truly believe that ascending through the ranks in days would go unnoticed? No matter how gifted you appear, mortals are suspicious by nature."
Her eyes glittered, sharp as daggers though her voice had softened again. "You should conceal more of your potential. The higher you rise, the sharper their doubts will become. And doubts have a way of festering into fear. Conservatism binds them—they cling to what they understand, and reject the rest."
Toki's mouth twisted faintly, his voice sharpening. "Even if I were to tell them everything? About the Red Priest, about this throne, about the Palace of Mirrors itself?"
Sephira shook her head slowly. "They would not believe you. Truth means little when it does not fit their world. At best they would dismiss it as delusion. At worst… they would brand you a liar. Or a danger."
Her tone grew colder, but it carried a trace of admiration. "But you already know this. You sit on the throne of a dead god, drinking the smoke of shadows. You are walking a path that demands sacrifice. To expect welcome arms is naïve."
Toki's breath drew shallow. He lowered his gaze, fingers lacing tightly together on the table. "…And yet, what choice do I have?"
"You pay a price already," she continued, her voice weaving like silk through steel. "Do not forget: the responsibility of being successor to the Red Priest is not a small one. It is a burden greater than the blade at your side or the army under your command. Do you think you can carry it?"
The words struck deep. Toki fell silent, staring into the mist that rippled across the floor like a sea of black glass. He had no answer he could give without betraying himself.
At last he spoke, his voice hushed but firm. "This process… this absorption… it is not as effective as it was the first time. The shadows feed me less. If I want to reach the third phase, I must find another way."
Sephira's eyes narrowed. "You are in such a rush. Must you always hunger for more? Is it not enough that you will reach the second phase tonight? Already you risk exposure. Already suspicion dogs your every step. To chase further, faster—it will burn you."
Her words cut, but then she leaned back, her arms folding elegantly. "Still… you are right. The mist alone will not sustain you forever. It was never meant to."
Toki exhaled, the sound heavy. "I have no choice. If I stop, if I allow myself to stand still, it is not only I who will suffer. Those I love… they will be the ones who pay. I will not dance like a puppet in the hand of Fate."
As the words left his mouth, the mist around him shifted violently, then sank, flattening against the ground. The atmosphere trembled as if recognizing his resolve.
Sephira's eyes widened slightly. A faint smile curved her lips, dangerous and radiant all at once. "Ah. So that is it. You've bound yourself to motion, no matter the cost." She leaned forward, her voice swelling like a bell of judgment. "Then hear me: the process is complete. Congratulations, little knight. You have ascended to the second phase of the Division of Darkness."
The weight of her words pressed into his chest. He swallowed, though his jaw was tight. "…Then it is time for me to return."
Sephira rose in one smooth movement, her hair cascading down her shoulders like a river of starlight. She walked toward the towering doors, her gown whispering across the black stone. One hand came to rest on the door, but before she opened it, she turned back.
Her pale eyes, sharp as blades, lingered on him. "Be cautious, Toki. There are eyes everywhere, waiting for the smallest crack in your armor. Do not give them reason to strike."
The words lingered even after the great doors swung shut behind her.
The silence returned.
Toki sat alone on the throne, breathing slowly, the weight of her warning pressing into him like a hidden blade. He closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he was back in the sealed chamber.
The darkness was absolute—no flame, no window, not even the memory of light. And yet… he could see. Perfectly. Every corner of the chamber unfolded to his sight as though painted in silver. The ritual had worked.
He drew out his pocket watch, the faint ticking loud in the silence. To his astonishment, the hands had not moved at all. Not even a second had passed.
Of course. Time bends differently here.
The watch read six o'clock. He exhaled, steadying himself. I'll remain here another hour. Better to avoid suspicion. Let them think the ritual takes its time.
He leaned back against the cold wall, the echo of Sephira's words chasing him into the silence. Eyes everywhere. Waiting. Watching.
And as the chamber settled into stillness, Toki found himself whispering into the void, almost against his will:
"…How long can I keep outrunning them?"
The shadows, as always, gave no reply.
An hour slipped by like a dream.
Toki had spent it in silence, folded into thought, his back against the cold stone of the sealed chamber. The shadows clung to him like a second skin, and for a time he lost the sense of where his body ended and the void began. When at last he stirred, it was as though waking from a long fever.
His hand reached for the great bronze bell fixed to the wall. Its surface was bitterly cold, and the chill jolted him back to reality. He struck it once.
The sound was deafening. Not in volume, but in weight. It rolled through the chamber like a thunderclap underwater, resonating in his chest.
The door groaned, then parted. A flood of light burst inward.
Toki flinched, instinctively shielding his eyes with his arm. After so long in the suffocating dark, the sudden brightness stabbed at him like blades. It took several breaths before his vision adjusted enough to glimpse the figures waiting beyond.
Smith. Lorelay. Felix. Bernard. Ozvold.
They stood in the corridor, a line of expectation. All of them were tense, eyes sharp, yet the moment they saw him step across the threshold their restraint broke.
"Toki!" Lorelay exclaimed first, rushing forward. "Are you alright? Did it work? Tell us it worked!"
"Don't crowd him," Smith muttered, though even his lined face betrayed relief.
Bernard leaned in with boyish impatience. "Well? Don't keep us guessing—"
Felix's cane tapped once against the floor, his weathered eyes narrowing with scrutiny. Ozvold, ever calm, simply watched his commander, waiting for the smallest gesture.
Toki lowered his arm slowly, letting the light swallow him. His lips curved into a faint smile, though fatigue clung to every syllable. "The ritual succeeded. You needn't worry."
The hall erupted with voices.
Lorelay exhaled with audible relief. "Thank the heavens…"
Bernard clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to rattle his bones. "I knew you'd pull it off! You're unstoppable, brother."
"Careful," Ozvold said sharply, prying Bernard's hand away before Toki lost balance.
Felix's cane tapped again. "Do not mistake success for stability. These rites… leave scars unseen."
Smith raised a hand and the others fell silent. His voice carried authority that brooked no argument. "Enough. He's exhausted. Toki, you should rest. Tomorrow, you'll have a full day free of duty."
Toki frowned, shoulders stiffening. "Rest? But who will oversee the men? They still require—"
Ozvold cut him off with the firm patience of an older brother. "I will handle them. You entrusted me with that long ago. Do not insult me by doubting now."
Lorelay and Felix both nodded in agreement.
Bernard, however, could not resist mischief. He leaned closer, grin wide. "Use the day wisely, my friend. Perhaps invite Utsuki on a little… stroll? A dinner? You've earned more than strategy reports."
Before Toki could reply, Lorelay seized Bernard by the collar with such sudden ferocity that his words choked into wheezes. "Say one more word," she hissed, "and you'll eat through a straw for a month."
Bernard's hands flailed, his face reddening, while the others looked away with studied disinterest.
Despite himself, Toki exhaled a faint laugh. It was brittle, but genuine. "Very well. I'll rest. You win."
The tension dissolved a little. Together with Ozvold, he turned from the palace gates. As he walked, he felt Smith's gaze burning into his back.
When Toki glanced over his shoulder, just for an instant, the old man's eyes widened—he had seen it.
A flicker. A glint of black in Toki's pupils, gone as quickly as it appeared.
Felix's gnarled hand settled on Smith's shoulder. "What troubles you?"
"…Did you see it?" Smith murmured.
"See what?"
Smith shook his head, lips pressed thin. "Nothing. Perhaps nothing."
The city awaited beyond the gates. Cobblestones damp from afternoon rain gleamed under the lanterns. The streets bustled still, though quieter now as evening pressed its weight on the world.
Ozvold fell into stride beside Toki. "Shall I call a carriage? You look like death on two legs."
Toki shook his head. "No. I'd rather walk. Besides… I promised the children we would visit after training."
Ozvold sighed, though there was affection hidden beneath it. "Always promises. One day you'll drown in them."
"Perhaps," Toki said softly. "But not tonight."
They turned toward the outskirts.
The slums unfolded in crooked alleys and flickering torches, yet the moment the children spotted them, the streets bloomed with life. Dozens of small feet pounded the stones, laughter spilling like water.
"Captain Toki!"
"Did you really fight ten demons?"
"Show us your sword!"
"Dance with us!"
They swarmed him, tugging at his sleeves, peppering him with questions faster than he could hope to answer.
"Enough, enough," Ozvold called, holding up his hands. "Don't exhaust him—"
"It's fine," Toki interrupted gently, lowering himself to their level. "I have strength enough left. Ask what you wish."
And so he let them.
Ozvold, after a moment, produced his violin from its worn case. He set bow to string and drew forth a lively tune, sharp and bright, cutting through the dusk. The children clapped and spun, voices raised in song.
Toki let himself be pulled into their orbit. He danced with them, awkward at first, then freer, the rhythm carrying him. Their laughter warmed him more than the ritual's power ever could. For a brief span, he forgot the weight on his shoulders.
The sun dipped, smearing the sky in crimson and gold. Shadows stretched long, and the music softened.
At last, he raised a hand. "Enough for tonight. We'll meet again soon."
Reluctant goodbyes followed, but joy lingered in their eyes.
By the time they reached the Maho estate, the sky had deepened to violet.
On the balcony, Utsuki leaned against the railing, her silhouette framed by the glow of lanterns. She lifted a hand, waving. "You're late! Dinner's ready, hurry before it grows cold!"
Inside, the conac glowed with warmth. Laughter, clinking cups, the aroma of roasted meat and spiced bread. Toki felt the exhaustion melting from his limbs, the tension bleeding away under the weight of simple camaraderie.
He allowed himself to smile, to laugh when Leonard recounted some ridiculous story, to breathe without measuring every breath.
For a time, he felt almost human.
Later, as he rose from the table, Utsuki intercepted him in the corridor. Her eyes searched his face. "How was your day?"
"Ordinary," he lied gently. Then, with an apologetic bow, "Forgive me for missing training. The ritual consumed more time than I expected."
She shook her head, dismissing the apology.
"I have tomorrow free," Toki continued, voice softening. "If you are willing, perhaps we could train then."
Utsuki's lips curved faintly. "Of course. I'll be ready. Sleep well, Toki."
He inclined his head. "And you."
In his chamber, he hung his cloak, laid his sword aside. The window was open, and a cool breeze swept through, carrying the scent of late summer. Crickets sang in the gardens. He lay upon the bed, the sheets cool, the silence soothing.
And yet unease lingered. Even surrounded by warmth, the shadows clung. His mind churned.
The second phase… but at what cost? How long until the mask cracks? How long until they all see?
Sleep came only when exhaustion crushed him beneath its weight.
But elsewhere in the conac, another stirred.
Leonard's footsteps echoed lightly through the empty corridors. He moved like a shadow himself, silent save for the faint creak of wood beneath his boots. At last, he entered his study.
The lantern flared with a snap of his fingers. Papers lay scattered across the desk, maps and reports piled in disorder. He lowered himself into the chair, leaning back, eyes half-lidded.
A whisper, almost too soft to hear, slipped from his lips—words meant for no one but himself.
"…You never cease to surprise me, Toki."