Toki slept deeply.
So deeply, in fact, that not even the faint creak of floorboards, nor the whisper of slippers brushing across the polished wood, reached him. The room was steeped in the hush of early dawn—crickets fading, the faintest birdsong beginning, the cool breath of morning drifting through the half-open window. Wrapped in his blanket, his body gave in to exhaustion at last, every muscle slack, every thought drowned in the black tide of sleep.
And then, in the span of a heartbeat, peace shattered.
The blanket was ripped away with sudden, merciless force. Cold air stabbed into his skin, shocking his body awake. He jolted upright, a sharp breath tearing from his throat as his hands groped for a sword that wasn't there.
A voice, sharp and commanding, cut through his confusion:
"Rise and shine, slacker! We've got work to do!"
Toki blinked, disoriented. The words sank in slowly, and with them came a sharp flare of irritation. His eyes adjusted to the dim light, narrowing at the figure standing triumphantly at the foot of his bed.
"Yuki…" His voice was gravel, low and dangerous. "Have you lost your mind? What hour is this?"
She crossed her arms, utterly unrepentant, hair glinting in the faint light from the window. Her expression was one of smug satisfaction, the kind of smile that thrived on irritating others.
"It's already six in the morning," she declared, her tone dripping with mockery. "Most of the world's been awake for hours. Only you would cling to your sheets like a spoiled prince."
"Six," Toki repeated flatly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He rubbed a hand down his face, groaning. "It's my day off. A rare, precious day off. And you storm into my room at this unholy hour? What if I'd been naked?"
Yuki tilted her head, smirk tugging at her lips. "Please. It's not like you've got anything extraordinary to show."
His jaw clenched. "You—"
Before he could finish, something flew through the air. Reflex guided him before thought did—his hand shot up, catching the object inches from his face. He stared down at the weight in his palm.
A woodsman's axe. Heavy. Sharp. Cold.
"Are you trying to kill me?!" His voice cracked with indignation, anger stirring hot beneath his skin.
Yuki snorted. "Don't flatter yourself. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have had time to catch it. Now quit whining—the firewood out back isn't going to chop itself. While you're under this roof, you'd better be useful."
Toki stared at her, disbelieving. "Woodcutting? That's what you drag me out of bed for?"
She leaned against the doorframe, perfectly at ease, lips curling in that infuriating half-smile. "Yes. Exactly that."
For a moment he considered throwing the axe right back at her. Instead, he exhaled hard through his nose, forcing down the anger.
"…Get out."
"Gladly," she chirped, slipping out the door as if she'd won some great victory.
Toki remained sitting on the edge of the bed for a long moment, glaring at the axe in his hand. His day off—gone, stolen before it had begun. With a long groan, he forced himself upright. His body still ached faintly from the ritual, the weight of shadows clinging to his bones, but Yuki had left him little choice.
He made for the bath first, splashing cold water across his face until the sting of it drove away the last vestiges of sleep. Staring into the mirror, he caught sight of his reflection—blueish hair falling messily across his forehead, pale skin, shadows under his eyes that no amount of rest seemed to banish. He lingered there a moment, studying himself with quiet unease.
He shook the thought away, wiped his face with a towel, and tightened his grip on the axe.
The conac was silent as he walked its halls. Doors closed, curtains drawn. The others still slept, untouched by Yuki's tyranny. Toki scowled to himself. Of course she'd single him out.
Stepping outside, the chill morning air greeted him. The garden was painted in silver-blue, dew clinging to every leaf. Birds chattered faintly from the trees. And there, waiting like a cruel joke, was the task Yuki had promised.
A mountain of firewood.
Toki's shoulders sagged at the sight. "She's trying to break me," he muttered under his breath.
Still—he lifted the axe.
The first swing fell clean. The wood split with a satisfying crack. He gritted his teeth, falling into rhythm. His arms moved with the same precision as sword drills, each stroke sharp and measured. The morning stretched. Sweat dampened his hair, his shirt clung to his back. Piles of neat firewood grew behind him, yet the towering stack before him seemed unending.
Hours passed. His back ached, muscles burned. He buried the axe into another log, panting faintly, and leaned on the handle. His breath fogged in the cool air.
Footsteps approached. He straightened, wiping his brow with the back of his arm. Three figures came into view.
Utsuki, Kandaki, and Ozvold.
"Good morning," Utsuki called gently, her voice a soft lilt against the crisp air. Her silver hair shimmered as it caught the light of the rising sun. In her hands, she carried a small tray.
Toki blinked, caught off guard. "Utsuki?"
"You didn't come to breakfast," she explained simply, stepping closer. "So I brought you something." She lifted the tray, revealing a neatly prepared sandwich.
He stared at it, then at her face. Her eyes fixed on him, calm but expectant. The corner of her mouth lifted in the faintest smile.
Toki hesitated. His stomach twisted with hunger, but something about the moment unsettled him
Before he could speak, Ozvold appeared at his side, leaning down with a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't worry, Commander. I made sure it's safe. Lady Utsuki didn't poison yor food this time."
Toki shot him a look, but Ozvold's expression was perfectly deadpan.
Utsuki's lips pursed, cheeks flushing faintly. "That was one time."
"Two," Ozvold corrected smoothly. "I was being generous."
Kandaki snorted, failing to hide his grin.
Utsuki huffed, turning her back slightly. "You don't have to eat it if you don't want to."
Toki, suppressing the urge to laugh, accepted the tray at last. "No. I'll eat it. Thank you."
The first bite surprised him. It was simple, but fresh—the bread soft, the filling balanced. His stomach roared its approval. Utsuki's expression softened, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes.
Ozvold nodded, satisfied. "Good. He's fed. Now I'll head to the palace. As we agreed, I'll handle the division for today." He straightened, adjusting his violin case across his back.
Kandaki saluted Toki with crisp respect. "Master. With you home, I have a rare chance to escape Lady Yuki's endless task lists. So I'll go with Ozvold."
The boy gave a quick wave and darted after him, leaving Toki and Utsuki alone.
"Don't overwork them," Toki called after Ozvold, his tone firm. "They're not invincible."
Ozvold lifted a hand in wordless acknowledgment, not breaking stride.
Silence lingered in their wake.
Toki finished the sandwich slowly, savoring it more than he cared to admit. Utsuki watched him, her expression unreadable, but when he finally set the tray aside she exhaled softly, almost like a mother relieved her child had eaten.
"…Thank you," Toki said quietly. "For this."
Her eyes softened. "You've carried everyone else for so long. Let someone else carry you, if only a little."
He stared at her, words caught in his throat. The weight of her gaze pressed against him, steady, unwavering. For a heartbeat, the ache in his back, the sting in his muscles, the heaviness of shadows—all of it eased.
But he said nothing. Only lifted the axe again, driving its blade into the next log.
The crack echoed across the garden.
But just as he lifted the axe, Utsuki's hand slid gently over his own.
"Enough," she said softly, her voice calm but firm. "Leave the wood for later. Right now, we have something more important to do."
Toki turned to her, brow furrowed. "More important than this mountain Yuki threw at me? If I don't finish it, she'll—"
"—She'll find something else to torment you with anyway," Utsuki interrupted, her eyes holding his. "But your mana… that's another matter. You've been too cautious with it. I've seen the way you hold back. Like you're afraid of yourself."
Toki stiffened. Her words hit closer than he wanted to admit. He looked away, jaw tightening. "…Maybe I am."
Utsuki's lips curved faintly, but there was no mockery in her smile—only quiet determination. "Then it's time you faced that fear. I didn't come alone."
From the folds of her cloak, a small shape wriggled free. A rabbit leapt gracefully into her palm, fur like snow and eyes gleaming with an uncanny intelligence. With a dignified shake of its ears, it stood tall, radiating an aura far larger than its tiny frame.
The rabbit's voice rang out, clear and resonant, with a tone bordering on royal decree.
"Rejoice, mortal! Utsuki has arranged for you to be trained under the watchful gaze of the great Spirit of wind—Arashi himself!"
Toki blinked, then stared at the rabbit in disbelief. "...You're joking."
Arashi puffed up, indignant. "Do I look like a joke to you, boy? You stand in the presence of a spirit older than your ancestors' bones! Show proper reverence!"
Toki exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Of all the things I expected today, being lectured by a pompous rabbit wasn't one of them."
Utsuki gave him a look. "Toki. Be respectful. He agreed to help you."
Arashi hopped down from her palm, landing with surprising grace. "You may grovel later. For now, follow me. We need space—unless you'd prefer to destroy what little order this courtyard has left?"
Toki muttered under his breath but set the axe aside. "Fine. Lead the way, Your Majesty."
The three of them walked about five hundred meters from the woodpile, across a grassy field where the morning mist still clung low. The air was quiet, heavy with the promise of something about to unfold.
Arashi stopped, twitching his nose imperiously. "Here will suffice. Now listen, human. Stretch out your hand and release your mana—not the flood you hide within, but a small stream. Gentle. Controlled. Think of it as… letting water seep from a crack in a dam."
Toki lifted his hand reluctantly. His chest tightened. Small stream. I can do that. He closed his eyes, focusing inward.
At first the flow that emerged was crooked, flickering like a flame in a storm. A wavering ribbon of dark energy curled away from his palm. His brow furrowed, sweat beading on his temples as he forced it straighter. Slowly, painfully, the mana steadied.
Arashi nodded. "Acceptable. Now, imagine this energy rotating around your mana core—like a vortex. Picture the spin, the rhythm. Then… increase the output."
Toki hesitated. "That's—dangerous."
"Do as I say!" Arashi's voice thundered with surprising force for such a small creature. "Or remain a coward forever!"
The jab hit Toki's pride. He grit his teeth. "…Fine."
He visualized the rotation. At first, the mana curled sluggishly, like smoke. Then it spun faster, spiraling around him. He pushed harder, letting more mana slip free.
The air around them shifted. A wind stirred, low at first, then fierce. Grass flattened. Dust lifted.
Suddenly the ground trembled as a gale burst outward, tearing at their clothes and hair.
Toki's eyes snapped open. His entire body convulsed with the surge—pain searing through him, cell by cell, as if his flesh was unraveling. His own mana felt alien, monstrous, spiraling out of control.
Arashi's fur whipped in the storm as he shouted, "No! Not around us! Around your core! You'll tear yourself apart!"
He unleashed a current of wind to try and contain the storm, but Toki's energy was shifthing . The vortex raged wildly, reversing directions unpredictably. The three of them were lifted into the air, hundreds of meters high, suspended in the eye of a storm that clawed at the sky itself.
Toki's scream ripped free, raw and agonized. His veins burned with fire, his heart hammered like it would burst. Around them, explosions tore reality open—jets of flame, shards of ice, pillars of stone erupting uncontrolled. Logs from the courtyard were dragged upward, splintering into violent shrapnel.
"Control it, boy!" Arashi roared, his voice nearly lost to the howl. "One direction! One!"
"I—I can't!" Toki gasped. His body twisted, wracked by the collision inside him. He could feel them—two mana cores, each spinning opposite, clashing violently. Sparks of agony flared with each collision, tearing him apart from within.
Utsuki's hand gripped his tightly. Her other hand pressed against his back, firm, grounding him. Her voice, steady even amidst the chaos, cut through the storm.
"Toki! Focus on me! You're not alone. Hear me—listen to my voice. Breathe. Find the rhythm."
Her touch steadied him, even as his vision blurred. The storm roared, a beast of his own making, and yet—her voice was an anchor.
I have to stop this. Or it'll kill us all.
The thought struck him like lightning. And then—an idea. A mad, desperate idea.
"Collision," he whispered hoarsely.
He shut his eyes, dragging mana from the core of Death, shoving it violently into the core of Darkness. The impact was blinding, a clash that sent shockwaves through his soul. But in that clash, something shifted. The twin vortexes aligned, forced into the same path—spinning together in a unified loop. Like the endless turn of an infinity symbol.
The storm collapsed inward.
The winds faltered. Explosions ceased.
Gravity reclaimed them.
The three plummeted.
Toki acted on instinct, seizing Utsuki and Arashi into his arms. His palm thrust downward. Golden mana surged, and a shining slide of ice burst into existence beneath them. It arched upward, hurling them back into the air before dissolving into mist.
Then Toki stamped against the very air, forcing mana beneath his feet, cushioning their fall. They landed hard but alive, amid a wasteland of devastation.
The courtyard was unrecognizable. Every log had been flung wide, but the storm had cleaved them into perfect halves, as if thousands of invisible axes had split them at once. The ground was scorched, frozen, shattered.
Toki staggered, chest heaving, sweat and blood mingling on his face. His body shook with aftershocks, but his eyes burned with raw light.
Utsuki clutched his arm, awe and relief mingling on her face. "Toki… that was incredible. You… you reached the third level of cultivation!"
Arashi, brushing dust from his immaculate fur, scoffed but with clear respect. "Hmph. Not quite. What you witnessed was a mana burst—an uncontrolled surge. But…" His sharp eyes glinted. "The body remembers. And yours has shown signs of rare potential. If you can learn to shape these bursts instead of being consumed by them, you could forge them into weapons far beyond common mages."
Toki grimaced. "And if I fail?"
"Then you'll kill everyone around you."
The words hung heavy.
Arashi's tone softened—slightly. "For now, use such force only in true emergencies. Your control is leagues beneath Utsuki's. Learn patience before you dream of mastery."
Toki nodded slowly, swallowing hard. His body still buzzed with the chaos of mana, but beneath it was something new: a rhythm. The storm within him hadn't faded—it had become… aligned. For now.
The rest of the day bled away in silence as he and Utsuki worked to repair the devastation. Logs were gathered, debris cleared, shattered earth patched. The sun sank low, painting the world gold.
By the time the courtyard resembled order again, evening had fallen.
Toki leaned on the axe, exhaustion bone-deep. He looked at Utsuki, her silver hair catching the last light of dusk. "…Don't tell anyone about today. Not Ozvold. Not Kandaki. No one."
Her eyes searched his, then she nodded. "If that's what you want."
"It is." His voice was low, haunted. "Even I don't understand how I did it. If I lose focus even once… it could end everything."
Utsuki reached out, brushing dirt from his cheek with a tenderness that froze him in place. "Then promise me you'll only use that power when there's no other choice."
"I promise," he whispered.
In the distance, two figures appeared—Ozvold and Kandaki, returning at last.
Utsuki stepped back, giving him space. "Rest for now. And don't forget dinner."
Toki watched her go, silence heavy around him. His hand flexed unconsciously, the faint hum of controlled mana still vibrating beneath his skin.
Two cores. Two storms. One misstep, and I could drown us all.
His gaze lingered on the horizon where the sun disappeared. The question gnawed at him, unrelenting.
How long until the cracks break open for good?