A calm silence settled between them, like a veil gently drawn across a stage after a long and heavy performance. The air in the room was thick with everything unsaid. Toki's gaze lingered on Utsuki with something close to reverence, as though seeing her anew in the softened lamplight. He opened his mouth to speak—but she lifted her hand, silencing him before a single word could escape.
"Let's not talk here," Utsuki said, her voice quiet and sure. "This room... it's too suffocating. Come. Outside. The moon is too beautiful to be wasted within these four walls."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and stepped toward the balcony, the soft rustle of her robe echoing faintly in the stillness. Toki followed, almost involuntarily, as though drawn by something more than her words.
The door opened with a whisper, and they stepped out into the night.
The balcony overlooked a slumbering garden, where pale petals danced in the light breeze, their fragrance drifting up like forgotten memories. Above them, the moon hung heavy and full, a radiant sentinel presiding over the world below. Its silver glow bathed the balcony in a surreal brilliance, as though the two of them had wandered into a play staged for the stars alone.
Utsuki leaned forward, placing both hands on the wrought iron railing. Her posture was graceful, statuesque—yet something about it suggested a deep weariness. Her long, pink robe fluttered gently in the summer breeze, mirroring the movement of her silver hair, which shimmered like living mercury in the moonlight. Her rose-colored eyes were fixed on the far horizon, where the last traces of sunlight had been swallowed by the ever-creeping dark.
She stood still, as though waiting—for the night to deepen, for time to slow, or perhaps simply for Toki to speak.
He watched her for a moment, reluctant to shatter the quiet. The moonlight made her seem unreal, almost sacred, as if carved from light and dreams. He stepped beside her, his own silhouette outlined in amber and silver. His bluish hair, tied back into a loose ponytail, swayed softly in the breeze. The gold-flecked irises of his eyes caught the moonlight as he glanced sideways at her.
He understood her unspoken invitation. She was giving him the stage, the moment.
He cleared his throat gently. "There are only two days left," he began, his voice quiet but steady. "Two days until the first royal selection hearing... and yet, there's still so much left undone." He exhaled, eyes narrowing slightly. "I keep wondering how I'm supposed to represent you as your knight, when all I've ever been is a wanderer... a fugitive running from the very pieces of himself."
Utsuki's lips curled into a faint smile, soft and melancholy. "You're not the only one who still has things to prove," she said. "But that's not why I brought you out here."
She turned her head slightly, her gaze now directly on him. "Yuki told me everything. What happened today in the capital?What is the reason you look like you'd been swallowed whole by something dark and ancient."
Toki's shoulders stiffened. He didn't speak right away. The air between them grew heavier, as if acknowledging the weight of memory.
"I was thinking about how useless I felt... when the assassin came into the tavern," he said eventually, the words edged with guilt. "I hesitated. Waited too long. Everyone could've died because of me."
Utsuki looked away again, back toward the distant night. "But they didn't," she said. "You saved us. Tora and I—we wouldn't be standing here if you hadn't been there."
"I couldn't even use my mana," he muttered. "There's too much of it, and it's so chaotic... I've never been able to control it."
"And yet you fought," she countered, her voice firmer now. "With your bare hands, you fought. You took the hits, the wounds, and you still stood up, again and again. And every time you did, your blows were stronger. Your will was fiercer. That's what makes a hero—not magic, not a sword, but that stubborn refusal to fall when it matters most."
He turned to her slowly, surprise flickering in his eyes.
"I fought from afar, but you stood between death and those you wanted to protect. I saw it. And if better control over your mana will make you feel more like the knight you already are... then I'll train you myself. But only if you teach me a few of those wild moves you keep pulling out of nowhere."
She smiled—a bright, heartfelt thing that chased the shadows from his eyes like sunlight parting storm clouds.
Toki let out a short laugh, leaning on his elbows beside her. "Today, a boy with no name begged me to become his master," he said quietly. "But a long time ago, I tried to help two girls... and one of them ended up consumed by darkness. If it happens again... I don't think I could bear releasing another monster into the world."
His voice faltered, but Utsuki didn't interrupt. She waited.
"How could I be a guide to anyone," he continued, "when I still have so much to learn myself?"
Utsuki's fingers curled lightly around the railing. "Let him grow beneath your teachings," she said. "If that boy saw something in you worth following, let him reach for it. People are like scattered seeds—you never know what you'll grow. Some become weeds, yes. But others... others bloom into flowers. And those flowers, Toki, they only grow in good soil."
He turned toward her again, watching the conviction play across her face.
"Maybe you're not ready now," she said. "But if the two of you learn together—if you fight to protect each other's hopes, and rise after each failure—you'll both become stronger. Strong enough to carry the weight of the roles you've taken on."
Toki nodded slowly, the words sinking into him like warm rain.
"You're right," he murmured. "I was too hard on Kandaki. All he wanted was the strength to protect his sister. I... projected my regrets onto him. That wasn't fair."
Utsuki gave him a soft look, neither pitying nor forgiving—just present, accepting.
"He has a fire in him," Toki added. "Wild, unshaped. But maybe... maybe he just needs someone to believe he can burn without turning to ash."
The silence between them had grown softer, more human, as if the night itself leaned in to listen.
"I forgot to ask you something," Toki said suddenly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've been distracted. Careless, maybe."
Utsuki turned slightly, her silver hair catching the moonlight like molten thread. "What is it?"
"Are you nervous?" he asked. "About the royal selection?"
Her expression didn't shift right away. Then, slowly, she tilted her head, the ghost of a wry smile brushing her lips. "Yes... and no. There are still three other candidates for the title of queen. I don't know their names, not yet, but I do know they each have strong factions behind them. Wealth, armies, reputation."
She exhaled softly, her eyes scanning the quiet horizon. "And we have... just us. The few members in the estate. We're not exactly shining with prestige or influence."
Toki watched her closely. "But you're not planning to fake anything either, are you?"
"No," she said simply. "This is who we are. If they're going to choose a future queen, they'll have to see me for who I truly am. I don't want to lie to anyone just to win."
He nodded slowly, then smiled. "That's a dangerous kind of honesty."
"It's the only kind I know," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
Toki leaned his weight against the railing again. "How are your studies going?"
"Better than expected," she admitted. "I've gone through most of the required material. Political theory, ceremonial customs, court history, mana theory... even military structure."
Toki gave a low, impressed whistle. "So you're ready to become a queen."
She snorted softly. "Ready to try, at least."
There was a pause, then he asked quietly, "What do you think about the creation myth?"
Utsuki didn't answer immediately. Her eyes traced the stars above them.
"I think... it's incomplete," she said finally. "There are gaps. Things we're not meant to understand yet. But maybe, if we climb high enough—far enough—we'll see the whole picture someday."
Toki stared at her, thoughtful. "You really believe that?"
"I believe we weren't born to be blind," she replied. "Only patient."
He smiled again, softer now. "You never asked me where I came from."
She looked at him. "Where did you come from, Toki?"
He shrugged. "I don't really know. My earliest memories are of the streets in the capital. I told you once—I don't remember my parents. I grew up drifting. From kingdom to kingdom. Always moving. Learning. Fighting. Searching for a reason to carry this sword."
Utsuki's gaze lingered on him, strangely distant. "You remind me of someone."
"Oh?"
She nodded. "A boy I met long ago. Under a cherry tree, just beyond the city walls. He was kind. Shy. But there was something inside him... something vast. Like a shadow that hadn't yet found its shape."
Toki's breath caught, but he didn't speak. He simply smiled—a small, sad smile—as a memory bloomed in his chest. Of course she wouldn't recognize him. Not after two hundred and fifty years. There was no need to remind her. Not now. What mattered was that they were here, again. Together.
"What do you think of the capital?" he asked, gently changing the subject.
Utsuki's jaw tensed. Her voice cooled. "I think it's broken. The divide between the heart and the edges... it's too wide. People near the palace live in glass towers, while those in the outskirts sleep on stones. The city's split into four parts: the Crown District—where the royal palace and the elite knights reside. Then the Aristocratic Ward, where noble families flaunt their bloodlines like banners. The Merchant Sector, run by traders and guilds... And finally, the Peripheries."
She paused. "The place where the people are forgotten. The ones they call rats. Filth. Creatures not worthy of dreams."
Toki's gaze darkened. "If it hurts you... it means you're alive. But if you feel the suffering of others as your own—that means you're human."
She turned to him slowly. Her eyes were wide and raw.
"We'll fix it," he said firmly. "Little by little. Step by step. But first—we need to understand the other candidates. And their knights."
She nodded. "And you have a task of your own. Securing a position in the Royal Guard. Specifically, command of the Fourth Division."
Toki exhaled, folding his arms. "Yeah... that won't be easy."
Utsuki gave him a sidelong glance. "The Fourth Division is the most neglected. Barely acknowledged. Underfunded. Practically forgotten."
"Which is exactly why I want it," he replied. "It's stationed closest to the outer rings of the capital. I'd be near the people who need help the most."
Her eyes softened. "You'd really choose obscurity... for that?"
"I didn't come here to climb thrones," he said. "I came to hold the line. Even if that line runs through the mud."
The moon had climbed higher now, a pale disc hanging heavy in the sky. The petals in the garden swayed like sleeping children. A breeze passed over the balcony, and Utsuki shivered faintly.
Toki noticed. "It's late," he said. "Let me walk you to your room."
She hesitated—just for a moment—then nodded.
They moved quietly through the hallways of the manor. The corridors were lit with gentle amber lamps, their footsteps muffled by the soft rugs beneath. Neither of them spoke. But the silence between them no longer felt uncertain. It felt shared.
When they reached her door, Utsuki turned to him.
"Thank you," she said. "For walking with me. And... for everything."
Toki smiled. "No need to thank me. Your company's the best part of my day."
He began to turn, but her voice stopped him.
"Toki."
He looked back.
"Be the kind of knight you want to be," she said. "Not the one they expect. Not the one they want to shape you into. Your way—your flaws, your strength, your madness... That's what makes you different. That's what makes you needed."
His breath hitched.
Then he nodded—once, firmly. "I will."
And with that, he turned and walked down the hall, the shadows stretching long behind him.
In the quiet of his own room, Toki sat on the edge of the bed. The walls were still. The world had gone hushed.
He reached for his sword, running a finger slowly along its sheath.
For so long, he had wandered, blade in hand, heart lost to the wind.
But now...
Now, at last, he had found something worth defending.
He lay back on the bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
A reason, he thought.
A reason to carry the blade.