I'm standing somewhere that used to be stone.
It was old Now. The kind of old that doesn't mind being forgotten.
Firelight breathes against the walls, slow and steady. It doesn't flicker like it's afraid. It knows it belongs here. The air smells warm—like ash that's already forgiven itself.
Someone is here with me.
I don't need to look to know who.
She's large, but not in a way that crowds the room. Her presence fills space the way a blanket does—by settling, not by pressing. When she moves, the floor doesn't complain. When she speaks, the room listens.
I can't see her face clearly. I don't need to.
Her voice reaches me first.
Soft. Careful. The way you talk when you already know the answer, but you're hoping—just a little—that you're wrong.
"You look tired..."
I shrug and smile. Or maybe I don't. It feels like I do. Everything here feels like intention instead of motion.
"always am... guess you can say I'm tired to the.. Bone" I say. The pun coming out easily
My voice sounds strange in this place. Too light. Like it doesn't belong to something with weight.
She hums. A sound that isn't judgment and isn't agreement. Just acknowledgment.
The fire pops once.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. Silence stretches—but it doesn't strain. It's comfortable. The kind of quiet you share with someone you've already cried in front of.
She turns toward me.
I feel it before I see it. Warmth, layered with worry. Something maternal, but not smothering. Something that wants to protect without trapping.
There's another presence here too.
It's faint. Not standing. Not sitting. Watching.
It feels like a child who wandered too close to a conversation they weren't meant to hear.
I don't look at it.
She speaks again.
"If a human ever leaves this place..." she says slowly, carefully, like each word matters more than the last, "can you... watch over them for me..?"
The question lands heavier than it sounds.
I know what she's asking.
For him be there when they step into a world that doesn't care whether they're ready. To make sure it was a little more fair to them.
I open my mouth to joke.
Something easy. Something lazy. Something that would let me pretend this isn't permanent.
But the words don't come.
Because this isn't a joke-shaped question.
This is the kind that stays with you.
I look down at my hands.
They're empty.
They've always been empty.
That's the problem.
"you know i can't promise things like that..." I say finally.
She doesn't answer right away.
The fire breathes again.
When she speaks, her voice is softer—not because she's uncertain, but because she understands.
"I know."
That makes it worse.
"I won't ask you to protect them from everything," she continues. "I won't ask you to fix what's broken."
She pauses.
"I just don't want them to be alone... not out there.... They always end up..." she doesn't finish
That's it.
That's the knife.
I feel something in my chest twist. Not pain. Recognition.
I've seen loneliness that kills faster than monsters ever could.
I've watched people fall apart quietly because nobody was there to notice.
I don't answer immediately.
Because answering means accepting that this isn't optional.
Because answering means I don't get to look away anymore.
The warmth beside me waits.
Patient. Steady. Like she already knows what I'll say.
"...alright.." I mutter.
It's not brave.
It's not noble.
It's resigned.
"I'll watch."
The fire flares once—brighter than before—then settles.
She steps closer.
When she places a hand on my shoulder, the warmth spreads deeper than skin. It sinks into bone. Into memory. Into something that doesn't belong just to me.
"Thank you," she says.
I nod.
I don't feel proud.
I feel... bound.
The child-presence shifts again.
Closer now.
Not physically. Emotionally.
I don't turn.
If I turn, this becomes real.
If I turn, this becomes mine.
The warmth begins to fade.
The fire dims.
Stone softens into nothing.
As the space dissolves, I feel the promise settle—not like a chain, but like a weight you decide to carry because putting it down would hurt worse.
The last thing I feel before waking—
Is the sense that the child is made of pure darkness
—
The bell didn't save me from the dream.
It just dragged me out of it—too fast, too bright, like someone yanking a blanket off a feverish body.
My eyelashes felt heavy. My fingers were still curled like I'd been holding onto something warm, something that wasn't here anymore. My chest rose too high, too quick. The classroom smelled like chalk dust and cheap floor cleaner and the faint sweetness of somebody's gum, and none of it matched what I'd just seen.
A shadow leaned over my desk.
"Yo. Shidou!"
Something tapped my forehead—light, annoying, familiar.
I flinched like it was a bullet.
Tonomachi grinned down at me, his eyebrows doing that stupid dance they always did when he was about to make my life worse for entertainment.
"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. You were out. Like, gone gone. I almost checked your pulse."
My mouth opened. A normal comeback should've come out. Something snarky. Something that fit the rhythm of a normal Monday.
Instead I blinked at him like an idiot.
"...What."
"Wow," he said, offended. "He speaks."
I swallowed. My throat was dry. My heart was still tapping its knuckles against my ribs as if it expected something to hit me again.
Tonomachi's smile softened a notch, just for half a second. Then he slapped it back into place like it was his job.
"You okay? You looked like you were having one of those dramatic dreams where you marry a celebrity and then wake up and realize you're still you."
"I don't have dreams like that."
"Sure," he said, and leaned closer. "Then what was it? You were making this face like—"
He pulled a horrifying expression that looked like a dying fish.
"...like that."
I forced air through my nose. It sounded almost like a laugh. Almost.
My fingers flexed against the desk. For a split moment, the warmth from the dream clung to my skin. A weight that didn't belong in a classroom. A presence that didn't belong in this world.
My stomach tightened.
Dreams. Again.
After all this time.
And of course they came back now—at the worst possible moment, when I'd finally gotten used to pushing everything down and moving forward like it was normal.
I stared at the edge of my notebook, as if the blue lines could anchor me.
"Hey," Tonomachi said, quieter. "You sure you're not sick? You look... off."
Off.
Yeah. That was one word for it.
I sat up straighter. My chair squeaked. "I'm fine."
He squinted. "That's the most unconvincing 'fine' I've ever heard."
I gave him a look. "Im still breathing. That means I'm fine."
He laughed, relieved to have my usual bite back. "There it is! Welcome back, Itsuka Shidou. We missed your charming personality."
I didn't tell him that my "welcome back" didn't feel real.
Because nothing did.
It was Monday.
The school had been repaired so fast it almost felt like a lie.
The Restoration Forces—men in uniforms and yellow helmets—had swarmed the campus like ants over a cracked sugar cube. Walls that had been broken were whole again. Windows replaced. Floors patched. The outside still carried the faint scars of the spacequake damage—new concrete that didn't match old concrete, paint too fresh, fences that looked temporary—but inside the classrooms, the world insisted on pretending it had never screamed.
Students gathered and talked and complained about homework and weekend plans.
Normal.
The word felt like an insult.
A weekend had passed. Three days since...
No. Don't.
I kept my eyes on the ceiling tiles. If I stared hard enough, maybe I could burn a hole straight through the roof and see the truth hiding above it.
My thoughts kept spiraling back anyway.
Three days.
Three days since my lips had touched hers, since I'd tasted sweetness like a parfait, since her light had shattered and dissolved into the air like snow in sunlight.
Three days since I'd been allowed to see her.
They'd taken me back to Fraxinus after everything. I'd barely had time to breathe before I was shoved into an infirmary bed, wires on my chest, cold machines reading my heartbeat and my blood and whatever else that "shady secret organization" decided they had the right to examine.
I'd woken up, demanded her name—Tohka—and gotten the same answer, again and again.
"Undergoing examinations."
Examinations.
The word made my molars grind.
It sounded like lab coats. It sounded like cages. It sounded like a clipboard with "subject" written where a person's name should be.
It sounded like ownership.
And I hated it.
I didn't care if it was "necessary."
She wasn't a tool. She wasn't a bomb you could disarm and store in a box. She wasn't a lab rat you could poke until you felt safe.
She was volatile as they came, sure—for God's sake, she'd carved up the earth like it was cake three days ago—but she was still—
She was still Tohka.
And they'd kept her from me.
Ratatoskr had helped. That was true. They'd saved me, saved her, stopped a massacre, and I knew that.
But it didn't erase the feeling that the whole thing was a machine—cold gears turning, deciding where I could stand and what I could say and when I could see the person I'd—
My hand drifted to my lips before I could stop it.
Warmth.
It was still there. Not physically, not really, but... like a memory that refused to fade properly. Like the kiss had left a mark on the inside of my head.
What was that warmth?
Was it just emotion?
Or had something... moved?
Changed?
Did it mark me?
The thought made my skin prickle.
And then the anger came back. Hot and ugly.
Because I'd thought saving her would mean being with her.
I'd thought it would be simple.
I'd thought—stupidly—that if I did the right thing, the universe would reward me for it.
Instead I got three days of being treated like a patient and her being treated like a specimen.
And I hated being weak.
I hated needing permission.
If I was strong—if I was strong like she was—then I'd make my own rules.
My own—
A word slid into my mind like a blade.
JUDGEMENT.
I blinked.
My breath caught.
...What?
Where did that even come from?
I stared at my own hand like it had betrayed me.
The word wasn't mine. It didn't feel like my thought. It felt like something that had been... waiting in the corner of my mind, and I'd turned too quickly and caught it moving.
I swallowed hard, forcing the panic down. Forced my eyes away from my hand, away from my lips.
Not now.
Not here.
Not in front of everyone.
Tonomachi plopped down into the seat beside me like he owned it.
"Hey," he announced loudly, "if you keep looking that miserable, I'm gonna die."
How does that even make sense?
I glanced at him. "Good."
He put a hand to his chest, offended. "Wow. Cruel. I'm saying I'll die of loneliness. Like a delicate flower."
Flower....
I felt a strange tug.
"That's disgusting..." I said
"It's tragic," he corrected. "And if I die, everyone will blame you. You'll be known as the guy who murdered his best friend with emotional neglect."
"Ugh...."
He leaned closer anyway, grinning. "So what's the deal? You've been gone from school, then you show up and you're acting like a brooding protagonist. Did you get dumped?"
My jaw tightened.
If I answered honestly, I'd rip the classroom open with words.
So I gave him the safest thing I could.
"It's nothing."
Tonomachi stared at me for a long moment—longer than his usual attention span allowed. Then he shrugged like he was letting me keep my secrets.
"Fine," he said. "But if you start glowing or summoning demons, let me know before it happens. I want a front row seat."
I almost smiled.
Almost.
The classroom door slid open.
The air shifted.
The whole room did that subtle thing crowds do when they sense a change—heads turning, whispers starting.
Someone stepped inside.
Bandages.
That was the first thing my brain registered. White wrapping layered around arms and torso, visible under the uniform like a reminder that what happened wasn't a rumor.
Origami Tobiichi walked in like she owned the hallway.
She was covered in bandages..
Realizers existed. Advanced medical tech existed. Bandages were rare.
Which meant her injuries had been serious.
My throat tightened.
Origami's gaze found me immediately. No hesitation. No searching.
Just target-lock.
She walked straight toward my desk.
Tonomachi whispered, "Uh... Shidou?"
I didn't answer.
Origami stopped in front of me.
Then—without warning—she bowed.
A full, formal bow. Deep enough to make the bandages pull.
"My actions," she said, voice flat as always, "were inexcusable. An apology cannot repay what happened."
The room held its breath.
I felt the weight of everyone watching.
Me.
Her.
The space between us.
My mind flashed, unwanted, to the moment of impact. The cold. The shove. The hole in my chest.
Tohka's scream.
I swallowed, forcing my voice to work.
"Origami... it's... fine."
It wasn't fine.
But if I didn't say something, the room would explode.
She raised her head. Her expression didn't change.
"Is it fine because you survived?"
My mouth went dry.
I felt the eyes of thirty classmates sharpen.
I forced a laugh that didn't reach my chest. "You apologized. That's... enough."
I could feel how fake it sounded. How thin.
But Origami didn't react like she cared about tone.
Instead she stepped closer.
Too close.
Then her hand reached out and grabbed my tie at the base of my throat.
My spine went rigid.
She pulled.
Not violently, not dramatically—just enough to make my face tilt toward hers.
Her eyes were still blank. Still calm.
She said, very quietly, so only I could hear:
"No cheating..."
What....?
The class collectively stopped functioning.
Tonomachi made a strangled noise beside me.
Origami's fingers were warm through the tie fabric. My pulse kicked against my collar like it wanted to escape.
"What—" I choked. "What does that even—"
The homeroom chime rang.
Perfect timing, like reality itself had decided to slap a laugh track over my humiliation.
The teacher slid the door open with her usual bright energy.
"Oh! Good morning, everyone!"
Okamine—Tama-chan—strode in with a smile like she'd never heard the word "spacequake" in her life.
Her gaze landed on Origami holding my tie.
She paused.
Then, without missing a beat, she clapped her hands.
"A-ah! Youth! I love it. But please, save the dramatic romance for after class, okay?"
The room exhaled like it had been punched.
Origami released my tie and stepped back, as if nothing had happened. She returned to her seat—still far too close to mine—while Tama-chan started writing attendance on the board like we weren't all seconds away from turning into gossip machines.
I sat frozen, throat burning, tie crooked.
Tonomachi leaned in. "Cheating?! Cheating on who?!"
"Shut up," I hissed.
He grinned like he was about to explode. "You're dead."
I roll my eyes. Tonomachi was a real piece of work
Tama-chan turned to us again, cheerful. "Before we begin, I have a surprise announcement!"
The room perked up instantly. Anything was better than the tension Origami had dropped like a bomb.
"A transfer student will be joining our class," Tama-chan said, eyes sparkling. "Now, come in!"
A voice responded from the hall.
My heart stopped in a completely different way.
Origami's posture shifted beside me, just slightly.
Then the door slid open.
Tohka stepped in.
For a second, the classroom went silent like the world itself had forgotten how to make noise.
She was wearing a school uniform.
It fit her, somehow—like she'd always belonged in this world, like the idea of her sitting in a classroom wasn't impossible.
She smiled wide, bright, too honest for this place.
"Good morning!" she said, voice clear.
The class erupted instantly.
"She's cute—"
"Who is that?"
"Wait, transfer student?"
Tohka walked to the board like she owned the front of the room, took the chalk, and wrote "Tohka" with handwriting that looked like it had been carved by a child holding a rock.
She nodded to herself, satisfied.
Tama-chan applauded. "Wonderful! Please introduce yourself."
"I am Tohka Yatogami!" she declared proudly.
The name hit my brain like a small shock.
Yatogami.
Surname.
She had a surname now.
My anger—my simmering, ugly anger—stuttered.
Because she was here.
Because she was okay
Because the second my eyes landed on her, my body relaxed before my mind could stop it.
It was like my ribs unclenched.
Like some instinct deep inside me went, There. There she is.
The resentment toward Ratatoskr didn't disappear.
But relief shoved it into the background like a tide washing over hot stones.
Tohka turned from the board.
Her eyes scanned the room.
Then she saw me.
Her whole face lit up like a Christmas tree.
"Ohh! Shidou!" she called out happily. "I missed you!"
The classroom detonated.
Before I could even stand, she hopped down the aisle and landed beside me like gravity had been invented just to deliver her there.
She was suddenly right there.
Close enough that I could see the tiny details—the way her hair caught the light, the way her expression didn't carry any of the hollow grief from three days ago.
My throat tightened anyway.
"T-Tohka..." I whispered, trying desperately to keep my voice low. "Why are you here?"
She leaned closer, matching my volume like she understood I was trying not to set the room on fire.
"Those weird lab people said The examinations are finished," she said, matter-of-fact. "And they said over ninety-nine percent of my power is gone."
My stomach dropped.
She said it like it was good news.
"I can stay here," she continued, eyes shining. "Without making the world cry just by existing!"
My fingers curled on the edge of the desk.
Relief and anger collided in my chest.
We declawed her...
But we also helped her..
I didn't say it.
I didn't even want to think it.
But the thought was there, bitter.
Still—she was smiling. She was here.
"And your sister did a lot of things," Tohka added. "Also... that sleepy woman gave me my name."
"...Sleepy woman," I echoed.
Tohka nodded. "She said I should have a family name. So now I do."
Reine.
Of course.
I exhaled slowly. My shoulders loosened even more against my will.
"Okay," I whispered. "That's... good."
It was good.
It was the best possible outcome.
It still made my teeth ache.
I slumped forward, scratching at my scalp and letting my forehead hover near the desk like my body needed somewhere to put all the pressure.
There were probably other ways to do everything.
There had to be.
I hated being weak.
I hated needing permission.
I hated that she'd been treated like a volatile object.
If I was strong like her, I'd make my own rules—
JUDGEMENT.
The word struck again, sharper this time.
I blinked hard and lifted my head, startled.
Tohka tilted her head. "Nu? Shidou? What is wrong?"
"I'm fine," I muttered automatically.
Then Tohka, fully serious, said—loud enough for the room to hear:
"Ah—could it be you were lonely when I was gone?"
The classroom exploded.
My face went nuclear.
"What?!" I choked. "No! Don't say it like that!"
Tohka pouted. "But you did chase after me so wildly before."
"That was—" I flailed mentally for words. "That's not—! That's different!"
Tonomachi made a noise like he was dying.
Whispers spread like a disease.
Tohka leaned closer, still not understanding how badly she was setting me on fire.
"Nu? Are you saying it was a misunderstanding? Even though it was my first time—"
I felt my soul leave my body.
Somewhere in the universe, Kotori was laughing.
I could feel it.
"STOP," I hissed, trying to clamp down on her words with sheer desperation. "Please. For the love of—"
Something sliced through the air.
A pen.
It moved so fast it made a whistle, then lodged into the desk with a sharp thunk.
The room went dead silent.
I turned slowly.
Origami sat perfectly straight, her eyes locked on Tohka like a sniper sight.
Tohka's expression shifted instantly, like a predator noticing another predator.
"Nu," she said, voice dropping. "Why the hell are you here?"
Origami didn't blink. "That is my line."
The air between them tightened.
I could practically see the invisible tension—like two storms building on either side of my desk.
Tama-chan rushed in, waving her arms. "Okay! Okay! Everyone! Calm down! We are not having a duel in my classroom!"
Tohka looked at the teacher like she was considering whether rules applied to her.
Then she looked at the empty seat beside me—the one opposite Origami.
Tama-chan cleared her throat, trying to regain control. "Tohka-chan, your seat will be—"
"No need," Tohka said bluntly.
She turned to the student sitting beside me, stared him down, and said one word.
"Move."
The poor guy practically teleported out of his chair.
Tohka sat down like she'd always been there.
Then she glanced sideways—past me—meeting Origami's gaze.
The two of them stared at each other over my body like I was a piece of contested territory.
I slapped my head.
This was a nightmare.
And yet—
Tohka was here...
She could live here now.
She wasn't crying. She wasn't screaming. She wasn't rampaging.
She was... Tohka.
My anger at Ratatoskr didn't disappear.
My distrust didn't vanish.
But relief pressed down on everything like a heavy blanket.
I let out a long, exhausted groan.
Tonomachi leaned in, whispering with cruelty, "Bro. Your life is over."
"I hate you and your 3d Wife..." I said with a tick mark growing
He just gave me a look betrayed comrades give each other.
But still...
underneath the comedy—underneath the classroom chaos and the ridiculous misunderstandings—something still lingered.
The residue of the dream.
The wrongness of it returning at the worst time.
And that word, sharp and alien and too heavy for a normal thought:
JUDGEMENT...
I stared down at my desk, pretending I was just embarrassed.
Pretending my hands weren't shaking.
Pretending I didn't feel like something inside me had opened its eyes.