"Luna's perspective."
The room was still.
Silence had a sound of its own—like wind that had forgotten how to move, or a breath held too long and left behind in the lungs. The girl lay upon a bed not made for comfort, wrapped not in blankets but in the stale hush of time unchanging.
A single candle flickered in the corner of the room, a dying thing. Its flame swayed as though swaying alone were its final act of defiance. Shadows performed a ghostly waltz along the walls, unsure whether to flee or embrace the corners they haunted.
The girl did not move.
She had eyes that were open, but saw nothing. Not out of blindness—but out of knowing. The kind of knowing that closed the heart the way night closes a flower. She stared at the ceiling like it owed her an answer. It didn't.
There were no clocks in this place. Time had been exiled for its insolence. Only the candle, bravely burning its life away, measured the hours now. She could hear its death. Each pop of wax was a heartbeat she didn't want to claim.
Her fingers curled slowly around the edge of the thin sheet.
She imagined it was someone's hand.
She imagined they were warm.
She imagined they were real.
But when she closed her eyes, the weight of memory became a flood. And memories were not gentle. They had nails, sharp ones, and they clawed at her thoughts with the hunger of wolves left in the dark too long.
She remembered a laugh. Hers? Someone else's? It dissolved like sugar in water.
Then the window cried.
Rain had begun.
Each drop on the glass was a voice in a language only the lost understood. The kind of speech that held no words, just emotion—pure and bruised. It spoke of longing. Of wanting something unnamed. Of sorrow too vast for tongues.
The girl turned her face to the side, and a single tear joined the rain's choir.
It slid down her cheek, an orphan seeking gravity's embrace. And when it reached the pillow, it vanished without sound. Like every promise she'd ever been given.
Like every person who had once meant "forever."
The candle was smaller now. Weak. Dimming.
But not yet dead.
Neither was she.
But what was left of her in this room—this stage of unmoving time—was less a girl and more an echo. And echoes, like forgotten lullabies, linger long after the voice that sang them has gone quiet.
In a room where only one breathes, even breathing feels like betrayal.
But still, she does.
Still, she waits.
Still… she remembers.
Even if no one remembers her.
She had awoken form a dream, a dream where she was held, a dream where she was not alone. In that dream someone made a promise to her.
But as her eyes opened, there was no one in the room except for her.
"Liar…" She whispered. As her presence continued to be alone, fading like the flame of the candle slowly burning out.
Part 2
There was warmth.
Fleeting, tender warmth.
It cradled the side of his face, softer than any pillow, warmer than any blanket, and trembling ever so slightly. He couldn't see. His eyelids were heavy. His body felt like it had been shattered and clumsily stitched back together. But still—he knew it.
That warmth—
Someone was holding him.
A lap.
Small hands trembling gently above his chest.
And then… a voice.
"…You're alive."
It wasn't loud.
It was so quiet, it nearly vanished into the breeze.
But it was there. Laced with disbelief, threaded with exhaustion.
Tatsuya's breath hitched.
He knew that voice.
"…Sora?"
His throat was dry. His lips cracked when he spoke. But the name escaped anyway, as if drawn from his soul.
There was silence.
And then—
"…You idiot."
He flinched.
The voice came again, sharp and bitter this time—but brittle. So brittle it could've snapped with a sigh.
"You idiot. Why did you do that? You were…you were going to die…"
The world returned slowly.
Scent first—damp soil, burned blood, singed fur. The stench of battle, fading under the scent of her. Lavender. Faint, clinging to her clothes, to her skin.
Then sound. The wind brushing the leaves. A bird chirping somewhere in the distance. The faint, wet sound of something dripping.
And then, finally—
Sight.
His eyes opened halfway, vision blurred. Above him was the forest canopy, green stained orange by the dying sun. Below his head… her dark green corset. Her lap.
And hovering over him—
Sora.
Her eyes were red.
Her face was wet.
There was blood on her hands. All over her white sleeves. A deep red that didn't belong to her.
"…You killed it," he murmured.
Her lips pressed into a tight line.
She didn't answer.
But she didn't deny it either.
The sword lay a few feet away, and not far from that, the beast's carcass. Mangled. Burned. Still leaking black smoke that hissed as it dissolved into the air.
Tatsuya blinked slowly.
"You… healed me, too."
"I didn't do it for you," Sora said sharply.
But her fingers clenched the fabric over her knees.
"I did it because… if you had died like that, for me…"
She stopped herself.
Her voice caught.
And then—
"…I didn't want you to die thinking you were the villain."
Tatsuya's heart skipped.
He looked up at her again. Really looked this time.
The girl who had once tried to kill him.
The girl he had nearly killed in turn.
The girl he'd cried in front of. Fallen before.
And now she sat there, trembling, with blood on her hands and tears on her cheeks, holding his broken body like he mattered.
"…Why?"
It was all he could ask.
Not why did you save me, not why are you crying, not why didn't you let me disappear.
Sora wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing more red across her face.
"…Because I know what it's like," she whispered. "To want to disappear. To believe that leaving is the only way to stop hurting people. I've lived with that for a long time."
Her voice trembled.
"I saw it in your face, Tatsuya. You didn't want to die… but you didn't want to stay, either."
She looked down at him.
"You were wrong. You're not better off gone."
Tatsuya's throat tightened.
For a moment, he wanted to argue. He wanted to push her away. He wanted to go back to that bitter clarity where everything was simple and he was the monster.
But…
He couldn't.
Not while laying there in her lap.
Not with her holding him like this.
"I didn't know," she said.
Tatsuya blinked slowly. "Didn't know what?"
Sora's shoulders shifted slightly.
"I thought you were dangerous," she said. "Not because of what you did. But because of what I thought you would do."
She swallowed.
"I saw the look in your eyes when we first met. The emptiness. The tension. The fear. I've seen that look before—in people who carry knives in their souls and smile with their mouths. People who let pain twist them until they lash out just to feel in control again."
Tatsuya didn't answer.
Because that's exactly what he had done.
He didn't need to deny it. She was right.
"I wanted to protect everyone," she said. "From you."
Tatsuya breathed in sharply.
"But now…" she continued, "I realize something."
She finally looked down.
Her eyes met his and they weren't sharp anymore. Just sad and honest.
"You're not the kind of person who hurts others for fun. You're the kind who's afraid he'll get hurt first."
Tatsuya's lips parted, but no sound came out.
Her voice dropped.
"You tried to kill me because you thought I was like them, didn't you? The ones who hurt you before. The ones you… killed."
The air felt colder somehow.
"…Yeah," Tatsuya murmured. "I thought if I didn't stop you, you'd take everything from me. Just like they did."
"And you told yourself it was justice," Sora said, her words soft but cutting. "That you were protecting the others."
"…But it was selfish."
Sora didn't nod. She didn't agree.
She didn't have to.
They both knew it was true.
Back when I saw her crying, I realized how stupid I was. How prideful I was for thinking I….
I'm such a sinner…. Tatsuya realized, sloth, pride, wrath are just some of the sins he had committed in just a few hours.
And I call myself a follower of Christ…
Tatsuya let out a long, shaking breath.
"I thought I'd learned something back then," he whispered. "Back when I killed them. I thought… if I just cut out the source of my pain, I'd finally be okay. That I'd finally be free."
He closed his eyes.
"But pain doesn't go away when you cut others down. It just gets quieter until it comes back worse."
Sora eyes widened and she realized something. She opened her mouth like she wanted to tell him something but she stopped.
She turned her expression into a smile. "I thought I understood people. That if I just judged them quickly, I could protect the people I loved before it was too late. But I didn't understand you at all."
"You're a fool," Sora continued. "But you're not a villain. If you really were a member of the demon cult, you would have cut me down without a second's hesitation."
"You're not just some monster in a boy's skin. You're not just rage and revenge and darkness. You're a person."
"You fought for me," she continued. "Even after everything I did. Even when you had every reason to leave me behind."
"I'm sorry." she said. "For everything I assumed. For attacking you. For—being so blind to how scared you were."
Tatsuya waved with his hand, like waving away a mosquito who was intervening with their conversation.
"Its okey. I'm sorry too. Let's just stop lying to ourselves," he said. "And stop lying to each other."
"Let's try trusting each other."
They both smiled at each other. Smiles that started a new relationship, a relationship of trust.
"You're still kind of mean." Tatsuya said.
Sora sniffled.
"Good," she said, looking away, "because if you say something corny again, I will punch you in your broken ribs."
He laughed again, weaker this time, but real.
Sora looked down at him.
Their eyes met for the first time since they met, there was no suspicion in hers. No bitterness.
Tatsuya moved of Sora lap and knelt down on his left knee.
"Hey," he said, voice rough, "can we… start over?"
Sora blinked.
"You want a do-over?"
"Yeah," he muttered. "I'm good at those. Terrible at first impressions."
She didn't respond right away. Her eyes searched his, weighing something.
A sign and then.
"…Fine."
Her voice was soft.
Sora gentle grabbed Tatsuya's hand.
"But if you try to kill me again, I'll bury you myself."
Tatsuya smiled faintly. "Deal."
Sora sighed and looked away, rubbing at her sore eyes.
"I don't know if I can forgive myself yet," she said. "But… I don't want to keep walking this path alone."
Tatsuya's heart skipped again.
"…Me neither."
"…Hey."
"Mm?"
"When we get back," he said slowly, "can you help me explain this to Luna?"
Sora exhaled softly.
"…I'll help you."
A pause.
"And I'll apologize too."
His vision blurred, happiness filled his chest together with relief.
"Thanks."
Part 3
The clouds didn't offer a warning.
They simply broke open, drenching the forest in a cold, merciless downpour.
SHHHHAAAAHHHH!
"Ah! Dammit, not now!" Tatsuya hissed. The moment he tried to sit up fully, his ribs reminded him that healing magic only did so much. "Tch… ow, ow—!"
"Don't be dramatic," Sora muttered, though her expression was grim. "Your wounds are fresh. You shouldn't even be standing."
"Great! And yet, here I am. Doing cardio. In the rain. While looking like I lost a fight with a carriage wheel."
"You did lose a fight—with a demon dog," she said flatly, hoisting his arm over her shoulder again.
"…Right."
The wind howled through the trees, cold needles of rain stinging their faces as they half-stumbled, half-sprinted toward the familiar ridge that marked the edge of the village.
Sora wasn't in great shape either. Her hair clung to her face, soaked through. Her sleeves, still stained with dried blood, now clung tight like second skin. But she didn't complain. She just kept moving. One hand clutched Tatsuya's arm, the other shielding her eyes from the storm.
Somehow, they made it.
The moment the treeline broke and the first cobbled path came into view, Tatsuya nearly cried.
Instead, he tripped on the first stone and face-planted into a puddle.
SPLASH.
"GHK!!"
"Seriously?" Sora muttered, looking down at him with the unflinching gaze of someone debating whether to help or just pretend she didn't know him.
From somewhere beneath the mud, Tatsuya's muffled voice groaned.
"…This is fine."
Sora stared at him.
And sighed.
By the time they staggered into the village proper, a few villagers poked their heads out, only to duck back inside immediately. Either it was too cold for concern, or their drenched, limping figures resembled something vaguely cursed. Probably both.
They finally found the chief's house—its warm yellow light glowing like a beacon—and half-collapsed against the door.
Tatsuya slammed a fist against it. "H-hello!? Emergency! Wounded teens! Suffering! Probably dying! Very damp!!"
There was a clatter from inside.
Then the door creaked open.
And standing there, in a long apron and with a cooking ladle still in hand.
"…Tatsuya?"
Misuki blinked.
Then stared with something like resentment glistening in her eyes.
Tatsuya understood her anger, he left Luna all alone it was only fair that she was angry at him.
But she spoke anyways "Oh my gods! You're both soaked and—wait—is that BLOOD!? Tatsuya, why is there BLOOD!?"
Sora raised her hand casually. "Demon beast."
Misuki stared at her. Then back at Tatsuya.
Tatsuya raised a weak thumbs-up. "I lost."
Sora hesitated, then added under her breath, "He didn't die, though."
Misuki's brows twitched. "Why does that sound like a complaint?"
"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to," Sora mumbled.
Tatsuya groaned, still being slowly crushed. "Can we… go inside now…? Or do you want to hold a funeral out here?"
"Right, right—get in, get in! Gods, you're both freezing!"
She hauled them both inside, still in shock, and sat them down on cushions near the small hearth. A kettle of soup was already warming on the fire.
Misuki and Sora where the once that found the source of the scream that started all of this. It was a little girl who was lost in the forest.
Misuki had brought her back to the village and Sora had gone of to search for us.
That's why Sora was alone when she found me. So much had happened, it almost difficult to process it.
I'm glad no one died in the end, god thank you.
Within moments, they were wrapped in thick woolen blankets, bowls of steaming broth thrust into their hands.
"Eat. Drink. Don't die," Misuki ordered, pacing in small, agitated circles. "I swear, every time I turn around, someone is nearly murdered. This place is cursed."
Tatsuya sipped the soup.
"…It's good."
"I seasoned it with rage," she said flatly.
Sora, seated next to him, tried not to laugh, but a small, unwilling snort escaped her nose.
"Pff—"
Tatsuya turned toward her.
"You laughed," he said quietly.
"I didn't."
"You did. It counts."
"It doesn't. It was nasal exhalation. Totally different."
"You snorted. That's worse."
"Shut up."
The two locked eyes.
Then broke into quiet, exhausted laughter.
Misuki blinked, looking between them.
"Okay. What happened out there, and why do you two suddenly look like you went through therapy and a war at the same time?"
The laughter faded.
Sora looked at Tatsuya.
Tatsuya looked at her.
Then he said, voice soft, "…We almost didn't make it back. But we're here now."
Sora nodded.
"And we're not going to lie to ourselves anymore."
Misuki opened her mouth to ask what the hell that meant.
Then paused.
And slowly smiled.
"…Alright," she said, sitting beside them. "Good. About time."
Part 4
After finishing the soup they had gone of to bed. Going home in this weather would probably kill you.
Sora and Misuki slept in the living room, as Tatsuya stood still in front of a familiar door.
The maid had gone off to her own room and Tom had tucked himself in bed with his parents.
Only Tatsuya didn't had a place to sleep yet.
Would she still be asleep? He thought. He was terrified of opening the door, what if she had woken up and noticed he wasn't there anymore.
He had made a promise to stay by her side, to only moments later break that promise and go after his own vengeance. He know it was wrong but he still did it anyways.
I should apologize when she wakes up.
Taking a deep breathe opened the door.
The room was dark, the candle from before had completely burned up, their was no light that came into the room.
Poor girl…
Tatsuya was overrun with guilt but also relief when he saw Luna laying quietly on a small mattress.
"I am sorry what happened to you…" Tatsuya said softly, not waking her up. "I am sorry that I left you, I will never leave you. Okey."
He tried to wash away his guilt by promising her things but it didn't help.
Actions speak louder than words, don't they? And Tatsuya showed that he wasn't trust worthy.
Tatsuya sat down against the wall besides Luna, looking up at the ceiling.
He felt his eyes getting heavy, "I'll be here Luna."
And he fell asleep.
Part 5
The next morning.
The road stretched ahead of them, lined by tall, whispering trees.
Clip. Clop. Clunk.
Tatsuya rocked gently in rhythm, seated atop Stefan.
"I still don't get how this thing counts as a pet," Tatsuya mumbled, gripping the reins as Stefan strolled down the road at his own indifferent pace.
"Because he's domesticated," Misuki called from the back of the carriage. "Mostly."
"He tried to chew my pants twice."
"Affection."
"His eyes are demonic. He keeps looking at me like he knows I've sinned."
"That's just how he looks at everyone," Luna chimed in, her voice sleepy from behind a basket of potatoes. "Right, Stefan?"
The goat flicked an ear and grunted.
Tatsuya flinched.
"…I think he knows my specific sins."
"Don't flatter yourself," Sora said, trotting beside him on Adino—the earthy, broad-backed estate dragon, her scales a pale clay brown and her posture poised. "He probably just senses your chronic guilt and unresolved trauma. That's a common smell."
"Thanks, that helps," Tatsuya muttered. "Your support means everything."
She didn't smile.
But she didn't snap either.
Her expression remained composed—quietly observing him with those ever-watching eyes, now just a bit less cold.
Luna peeked out of the carriage window, cheeks puffed slightly. "Hey! Don't get all moody again, okay? You two already made up in the rain, right? That's, like, the ultimate trust-building scenario. Super dramatic. Very emotional. No take-backs."
Tatsuya glanced over his shoulder.
Luna was practically buried in sacks of vegetables and loaves of bread, with Misuki at her side trying to keep an overstuffed crate of eggs from toppling into her lap.
Sora sighed softly. "You're going to crush the cabbages."
"I am the cabbages," Luna mumbled.
"I'm just saying," Misuki added, nudging the eggs gently, "this is the most peaceful supply trip we've ever had—despite the demon dog incident."
Tatsuya raised an eyebrow. "That's what counts as peaceful now?"
Sora gave a light shrug. "No one lost a limb. That's a win."
"…Right."
As they continued along the road, conversation drifted in and out like clouds above them. Sometimes silent, sometimes loud. There was laughter. Complaints. Sarcasm. The kinds of words that meant nothing on the surface but meant everything because they came without fear.
Tatsuya found himself looking over at Sora now and then.
She noticed, of course.
"I'm not going to cry again," she said dryly.
"Didn't say you were."
"You were thinking it."
"…I was wondering if Stefan could take you in a fight."
She blinked.
Then snorted.
"Don't tempt me."
Tatsuya smiled faintly.
The path bent, and the forest gave way to open fields. The distant rise of a familiar hill came into view—its silhouette crowned with the estate's iron spires, tall and watchful like guardians that had waited quietly in their absence.
Tatsuya felt something shift in his chest.
That place…
It had once felt like a prison.
Now, it looked like something else.
He couldn't name it yet.
But as the carriage pulled ahead and the others made their way up the gravel path toward the estate gates, Tatsuya gently pulled Stefan to a stop.
He looked up.
The manor loomed tall and dark against the pale sky.
Its windows glinted with morning light.
Its doors were closed, but not cold.
It waited.
Tatsuya stared for a long moment.
And then—
He dismounted.
Stefan gave a grunt of approval, shook out his shaggy mane, and began nibbling on a bush.
Slowly, he stepped forward.
Each footfall was quiet, soft against the dew-covered ground.
And when he reached the edge of the gravel path, just before the manor's main steps—he stopped.
The wind passed over him, brushing through his hair.
Behind him, the others laughed. The carriage creaked. A door opened. Someone called out.
But he didn't move.
He just stood there.
In front of the estate.
Facing it.
Facing everything it meant and knowing what he had to do.
He narrowed his eyes and a confident smile appeared. The village had taught him so much and showed him what his flaws were.
But he didn't want to run from it anymore. He made a promise to himself, "I'll face my problems head on." He said. "I'll fix what I lack and keep my word."
He had to except that not everyone will like him because of his scent of the devil, many people will persecute him for that.
He had to became stronger in order to protect not only himself but also the once he loved.
He had to swallow his pride in order to move forward. And he needs to realize and trust that he can't do anything alone.
"Hey, Tatsuya." He heard. It was Luna who called out to him. "Let's go inside, we won't got all day!"
Tatsuya smiled. "Of course."
Part 6
The garden behind the manor was still damp from the storm. Beads of rain clung to the tall grass, drooping from the petals of the red clover bushes like tiny glass tears. The sky had lightened, but the sun had yet to dry the coldness from the wind. Everything shimmered faintly beneath the greyish-blue veil of dawnlight.
And into this stillness… came footsteps.
Soft. Deliberate. Not fast.
As if the one walking had no interest in being unseen.
Because he had never needed to hide.
click… click… click…
Wooden sandals tapped gently against the stones. The hem of a water-patterned kimono drifted with his motion, its indigo waves rippling across silver-white silk. The pattern shimmered faintly when the light caught it—like a pond disturbed by breath.
His katana was fastened neatly at his left hip, sheathed in lacquered blackwood. A tassel hung from its hilt—blue thread. No emblem. No crest. No clan.
And no name spoken aloud.
The man walked the perimeter of the estate without knocking. Without a word.
He passed the stables first.
Adino raised her head, a low rumble catching in her throat, her heavy tail twitching behind her. Her breath misted in the air, and she narrowed her ancient eyes.
But she did not move.
Stefan, lazing on the straw, opened one eye.
Then closed it.
The man paused.
Not long.
Just long enough to place his hand—bare, pale, calloused—on the edge of the stable gate.
A drop of water rolled down his sleeve.
Then, he moved on.
Next, the garden.
It was small. Modest. A circle of herbs and fruit-bearing bushes with a single wooden bench beneath a thorny, half-blossomed tree. The kind of place someone might cry in secret… or confess something they shouldn't have.
He stopped again.
Bent slightly.
Picked a leaf from the garden's center.
Held it to his nose.
And inhaled.
He looked up.
Toward the manor's windows.
Not searching for anything.
Just… remembering.
click… click…
He walked again.
No one noticed.
No one had seen him enter.
He didn't leave a trail.
No footprints in the mud. No scent for animals to trace.
Only the faint sound of moving water, like the echo of a stream where there should be none.
Then—
A breeze rolled across the estate.
And the wind whispered through the garden as if it, too, recognized him.
The man did not look back.
He just kept walking.
Toward the front of the house.
Toward the door.