The 20th Ward hadn't changed much.
But Eiríkur had.
He moved like mist and breath, his figure draped in a worn wool coat, hood pulled low over frost-kissed eyes. Where his boots touched concrete, wisps of Veil-Frost curled and vanished — ghostly trails that faded before anyone could see them.
He couldn't risk activating Fimbulbrand. Even the faintest spike in RC energy would catch the CCG's attention.
But the wyrd had given him something new.
Veil-Frost — a passive adaptation from his last ascension. By slowing his metabolism and dispersing his RC signature, he could mimic death for short periods. The CCG's scanners read nothing. The drones passed him by. His scent grew thin as ice vapor.
And so, he returned.
Sliding between rooftops and alley shadows.
Home — or what was left of it.
He reached Anteiku just before dawn.
It was still. Too still.
Not peaceful.
Tense.
Inside, Kaneki sat at the counter with Hinami, helping her trace delicate kanji characters across a page.
Hinami looked up first.
"…Eiríkur?"
He stepped into the light slowly, lowering his hood.
Kaneki rose, half-shocked — half-prepared for whatever version of him walked through the door.
"You came back," Kaneki said, voice level but cautious.
"I heard what's coming," Eiríkur replied.
"It's already started," Kaneki muttered, dark eyes serious. "They're probing. Quietly. The CCG isn't going to wait this time."
Footsteps. Touka entered from the storeroom and stopped cold when she saw him. Her eyes widened, but she didn't flinch.
"I told you he would," she said.
Eiríkur glanced around the room. His gaze settled briefly on each of them — the ones he had once protected. The ones who had once accepted him.
"I don't know what I am anymore," he admitted, voice low. "But I haven't forgotten who you were to me."
The silence was broken only by the sound of soft footsteps.
Yoshimura emerged from the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, calm as ever.
"You remember enough," he said.
And just like that, the weight in the room shifted.
Not lifted — but shared.
Meanwhile: CCG Headquarters — Rooftop
The wind blew sharp and dry across the CCG rooftop.
Akira stood near the ledge, her coat flapping slightly in the dusk wind. She often came here after difficult days — to think, to breathe.
This time, Amon followed.
"You're not answering my messages," he said, quiet but firm.
"I'm working," she replied.
"You're hiding."
Akira turned. Slowly. Exhaustion ghosted beneath her eyes.
"You think I'm in love with him," she said flatly. It wasn't a confession. It wasn't defensive. Just… tired truth.
Amon didn't answer right away. But his gaze remained hard.
"You let him live. You protected him. Now you're asking me to ignore protocol."
"I'm asking you to see him," she snapped. "Really see him. He's not a monster. He's not even a ghoul anymore."
Amon folded his arms.
"Then what is he?"
Akira stepped forward. Close enough to feel the heat in his breath against the night chill.
"He's something between death and memory," she whispered. "And the fact that he hasn't turned on us yet means there's still something human in him."
Amon didn't step back.
"And when that 'something' fades?"
Akira's voice dropped, barely audible.
"Then I'll be the one to end him."
The silence between them stretched, brittle as glass.
And neither of them broke it.
Back at Anteiku
Later, on the rooftop, Eiríkur sat beside Hinami, wrapped in his coat, a small cup of tea steaming between his hands.
They watched the sun rise over Tokyo's quiet skyline, the city holding its breath.
"Do you still dream?" she asked gently.
He nodded.
"But they're not mine anymore."
"Do they scare you?"
He didn't answer immediately.
"Yes."
Hinami shifted, offering him another cup — this one warmer than the last.
"Then dream something different," she said.
And in the stillness, with the dawn creeping up the edges of the sky, Eiríkur didn't feel alone.
Not entirely.