But behind the flawless mask, behind the too-perfect act... it might be someone else. Someone the same — yet not. Someone familiar, yet unknown.
The unknown Kuradome smirked faintly, his eyes half-hidden, glitching like fractured glass shards reflecting shards of light and darkness. Beyond the main gate, he waited. Not just for anyone—waiting for Lady Bài Qíyuè.
The entire Kazomaki palace lay silent, hollowed out. The entire court gathered outside, gathered under the high sun to attend the royal guard parade and welcome the queen. Only a handful of royal chefs and servants lingered indoors, tending to elaborate feasts and delicate dishes with practiced hands...but in the kitchen...
Along the shadowed corridor, a whispering breeze stirred. The thin golden fabric of the curtains trembled like a wounded spirit—like a broken shard dancing with its ghostly reflection.
The wind whispered a muted lullaby as it drifted toward Kyoren's room, carrying a secret message, unspoken yet clear:
"Broken souls dwell here... in the shadows..."
Inside, all was still. Ragged breaths, soft coughs, panicked gasps. The room itself felt weighed down by an oppressive chill, heavy as grief. Golden morning light spilled through the window, but it felt cold—lifeless—draining warmth, hope, and color.
The breeze slipped in, lifting the blood-red curtain briefly before letting it fall again.
A familiar silver crown clattered softly onto the cold marble floor. Kuradome's crown—the one he wore this morning before entering Kyoren's chamber.
But what had truly happened here? Were these even the real Kyoren and Kuradome? Or were they mere shadows—frayed reflections of what once was?
The room held an unnatural stillness. Objects floated in the air as if submerged underwater or trapped inside a cruel ritual. Tiny droplets of blood scattered like dark stars on the floor—cruel reminders of tragedy, or perhaps silent proof of a desperate love.
A faint light fell over two figures.
Once, Kyoren's silver hair had been neatly tied, a symbol of grace and control. Now, it fell loose, veiling his face like a shroud—hiding him from a merciless world. The edges of his hair glowed faintly red—more fiercely than last night.
For Kyoren, last night had been fire in the heart.
But this morning—coldness had taken root deep in his soul.
Frozen.
He sat on the cold floor, cradling his son like a fragile relic. His hands were stained red—burned, raw, trembling from strain. One hand cupped the back of Kyoren's head, fingers tangled gently in soft silver locks; the other rested on his upper back—clinging desperately to a lifeline.
Kuradome looked like a broken angel. A shattered father.
A glamorous darkness hiding beneath glittering, haunted eyes. A king adored by thousands, but truly seen by none.
In his arms lay his only son—pale, unmoving, lips parted dry and colorless. Occasionally, a desperate gasp tore from Kyoren's throat—like invisible hands squeezing his lungs—sending Kuradome's panic spiraling, tightening his hold.
"I'm trying... I'm trying... don't leave me. Don't you dare leave me. I raised you. I raised you alone. You can't leave me."
His voice cracked and gasped. His lips, cracked and stained with his own blood, trembled with each word.
Tears had dried long ago but his eyes burned red with a despair deeper than grief.
The blood on the floor was his own—silent proof of the pain he'd caused—for the sake of his son. His one and only family.
He rubbed Kyoren's back, slowly, gently lifting his son's head, desperate.
"Please... please work this time."
He whispered a prayer, resting his head lightly against Kyoren's chest.
The faint, uneven heartbeat was still there—fragile and weak, but unmistakably alive.
Just enough time.
Just enough hope to try something else.
To save him.
His gaze drifted toward the window, where the faint melody of the ceremony floated through the air.
It was starting soon—just like every year.
But this time... without them.
Without the real ones.
And yet Kuradome didn't care.
He just wanted his boy back.
But the kingdom pulled at him—the throne, the people, the crown ribbon. All his burden by blood, by birth, and by his own iron will.
As the 5th Core Pillar of the Kazomaki royal line, failure was unthinkable.
The kingdom had trusted him for centuries.
If it shattered now, like fragile glass cracked by a single breath, it would be unforgivable.
"I hope those shadows can be us in the light... while we bleed in the darkness."
He wondered if the ceremony would go on smoothly without them.
[Flashback]
"What am I going to do now? I'm stretched thin... useless as a father... useless as a king."
Kuradome whispered, pacing his chamber. Kyoren lay still, sweat-dampened face turning restlessly from side to side.
Time was running out.
He could almost see his son's soul slipping away, like sand through trembling fingers.
It terrified him more than anything he had ever felt.
He stopped, chest heaving, sinking into the cold stone floor.
Suddenly, a thought struck him—the one he'd pushed aside before.
Now, he had no choice.
"What if... I try the Kagetsu Jutsu? To make shadow clones... to handle the crowd outside? At least... one burden off my shoulders."
Hope flickered like dying embers in his eyes.
But the bitter truth returned.
"Yokai can't use that jutsu... only humans. We don't have souls like them."
Hopelessness settled over him like a suffocating fog.
But his resolve remained.
"But... I'll still try. Or else..."
His voice cracked, wavering but fierce.
Hands trembling, he raised them carefully, inch by inch.
Eyes fixed on his shadow, he spoke through his gaze.
The red glow in his eyes flared faintly; the edges of his hair blazed again with silver, gold, and black light.
A painful cough wracked his throat; bitter blood spilled from his mouth.
His royal mark flickered and glitched like molten lava, burning deep beneath his skin.
Still, he forced the energy into the shadow.
But the shadow tilted its head, confused.
And then... nothing.
The energy faltered.
The clone did not form.
"Ah!"
A burning heat seared his skin as his attempt failed.
"No... no... it was almost working... but—why? Was it my mistake? My hands? The rules?"
Kuradome gasped weakly, tears fresh in his red-rimmed eyes.
He stared at his trembling hands—streaked with his own blood, burned raw.
A silent warning etched in pain and warning:
"Stay away, or lose half of yourself."
Kuradome's breath hitched as he collapsed onto the floor, his body trembling with exhaustion and despair.
The weight of crown and son pressed heavily on his soul—a king trapped between fading hope and unyielding duty.
Outside, the kingdom waited.
Inside, shadows bled in glitter.