Dawn had just broken when the scent of iron and boot-polish reached Eiríkur.
He stepped outside the shrine house barefoot, steam rising faintly from his shoulders in the cold. The air was still — unnaturally so. Even the birds had gone silent.
The wyrd pulsed inside him, ancient instincts flaring like a tuning fork.
They were not alone.
In seconds, five CCG operatives emerged from the treeline — rifles drawn, armor sealed, visors reflecting the pale light of morning. They moved with trained precision, fanning out in a semi-circle.
And at their center stood Koutarou Amon.
Towering. Cold-eyed. A black coat swaying like a blade's shadow around him.
Akira stepped out of the house just behind Eiríkur, composed as ever — face unreadable.
Amon's voice carried cleanly through the frost-laced air:
"Eiríkur Elric. Half-ghoul. Subject of interest in connection with a possible new RC mutation.You're surrounded. Don't make this worse than it already is."
Eiríkur's kagune itched, curling beneath his skin like hibernating serpents. But he didn't move.
Then Amon's gaze turned, cold and sharp, toward Akira.
"You've been off-grid for two weeks.You've been with him, haven't you?"
Akira didn't blink. "Yes."
The squad shifted. A dozen fingers tensed on triggers.
She raised her voice, steady. Commanding.
"But not as a traitor.As a CCG field researcher executing an unsanctioned hybrid-monitoring protocol."
A beat of silence — the kind that kills men.
"You gave me autonomy," she continued. "I used it."
Amon's jaw flexed. "You didn't report."
"Because I didn't have results until now."
She stepped forward. Just slightly. Not shielding Eiríkur — but positioning herself. Owning the space.
"I have confirmed RC data.Degradation logs.A Draugr corpse.And control over a hybrid ghoul the size of a small SUV."
She glanced back, just once, at Eiríkur.
"He's unstable. But containable.And I believe he can be redirected."
Amon narrowed his eyes. "And you're not compromised?"
Akira's voice dropped half a note.
"I'm in control."
Eiríkur said nothing.
He didn't have to.
The clearing held its breath.
Then Amon turned to the squad.
"Stand down."
The operatives hesitated. But the order was clear. They lowered their weapons — confused, uneasy, but obedient.
Akira approached Amon, producing a black hard-case from her coat. She handed it over silently.
Inside: tissue samples, video logs, and a sealed container filled with frost-etched RC cells — cold enough to fog the glass.
"This is what I've been working on," she said. "I'll return to HQ for debriefing."
Amon didn't open the case. He stared past it — at Eiríkur.
"And him?"
Akira followed his gaze.
"…He stays here. For now."
Amon didn't reply immediately. But eventually, he nodded once — slow and mechanical.
"You're walking a razor's edge, Akira."
She met his gaze.
"So are we all."
The Fire and the Ice
That night, after the soldiers were gone and the trees reclaimed their silence, Eiríkur stood at the edge of the clearing. The snow beneath his boots shimmered faintly under the moonlight.
He stared into the darkness where the squad had vanished hours earlier.
Akira leaned against the porch post beside him, arms crossed.
"You didn't have to lie for me," Eiríkur said quietly.
"I didn't lie," she replied. "I just… framed the truth differently."
"You called me a threat."
"You are a threat."
He turned slightly, eyes like blue coals.
"And you said I could be redirected."
Akira held his gaze for a long time. Measured. Calculated.
"…I didn't say which direction."
A silence passed — one that wasn't romantic. Just real. Weighted.
She stepped back.
"I'm going back to HQ. I need to keep this clean. For both of us."
Eiríkur didn't move. "Will you come back?"
She paused. The wind stirred her coat.
"…Only if you're still worth saving."
She disappeared into the trees without looking back.
And Eiríkur remained standing in the snow, unmoving, until her scent faded from the air — until even the wyrd could no longer find her.