Tetsuo woke to pain before he woke to the room.

It pressed against him from too many places at once, a deep ache through his chest, a sharper burn along his face, a stiffness in his limbs that made his body feel borrowed and badly repaired. For several seconds, he lay still because moving felt like a decision he had not agreed to make yet. 

Tetsuo opened his eyes to a ceiling of pale stone.

The ceiling above him was pale stone.

Tetsuo stared at it, trying to understand why that mattered. He knew ceilings. He knew rooms. He knew waking up after doing something stupid and regretting it before anyone even had the chance to call him stupid. But this ceiling was not the dorm ceiling. It was not the training hall. It was not any inn, dungeon room, or carriage roof he could place. It belonged to somewhere quieter, colder, and more careful than anywhere he wanted to be.

He tried to sit up, and the pain in his face came alive.

A broken sound escaped him before he could stop it. His hand flew toward the left side of his face, but the moment his fingers brushed skin, the sting became so sharp that he jerked away from himself. His vision swayed. The room tilted strangely, not from dizziness alone. Something about the way he saw the space was wrong. The left side of the world felt thin and missing, as if someone had taken part of the room away and expected him not to notice.

“What…”

His voice sounded terrible.

Tetsuo pushed himself onto one elbow. His chest objected immediately, tightening so hard he almost fell back against the pillow. Beds lined the healer hall around him, but they were empty. White sheets had been folded at the ends. Curtains were tied back. A tray sat near his bed with clean cloth, a small bowl of water, a half-used jar of salve, and strips of fresh bandage waiting to be wrapped. The old bandage lay discarded on another stool nearby.

He was alone.

That made the room feel larger than it was.

“Hello?” Tetsuo called.

The word came out hoarse and too small for the hall.

He waited for footsteps, but when none came, his breathing began to quicken. He looked from bed to bed, searching for a familiar shape, a familiar voice, a hint of Illumina. 

“Shunjiro?” Tetsuo called, more urgently this time.

He swallowed and forced one leg over the side of the bed. His body felt heavier than stone, which seemed unfair, since stone was supposed to listen to him. The floor waited beneath his bare feet, bright and polished and much too far away. He gripped the side of the bed and lowered himself carefully. The first step nearly sent him down.

His balance failed in a way he could not understand.

Tetsuo caught himself against the bedpost with both hands, breath hissing between his teeth. The room swam, and he turned his head too fast, trying to correct for a gap he did not know how to name. Pain flared along the left side of his face again, deep and hot, and his stomach twisted.

He dragged in a breath and tried to laugh, because that was what he did when things became too serious and no one else had started speaking yet. It came out wrong, a cracked little sound that did not belong to him.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Standing is bad. Good to know.”

Hearing his own voice helped for half a second, until movement in the corner of the room made him flinch hard enough to stumble. A tall mirror stood near a cabinet along the far wall, angled slightly toward the beds, its silver frame catching the morning light. For one confused instant, Tetsuo thought someone else had entered the hall.

Then the person in the mirror moved exactly when he did.

Tetsuo froze.

The reflection stared back at him.

His hair was messier than usual, flattened in places from sleep and sticking up in others. His face looked thinner, paler, pulled tight by exhaustion. Scars and smaller cuts marked places he barely recognized. But none of that mattered because his left eye was gone. The healers had closed the wound rather than leaving an empty socket, sealing the eyelid shut beneath a clean, brutal scar that ran from his brow down to his cheek. The scar was red and new, standing out against his face like something drawn there by a hand that hated him.

His breath stopped.

The room disappeared.

Suzu’s face flashed through his mind, pale and empty, framed by blood and ruin. A red line snapped across the air too fast for him to block, and the blood whip struck before heat tore through his face. The world split into pain, light, and the sound of someone shouting his name too late.

Tetsuo staggered backward, then forward, unable to decide which direction meant escape.

Another image struck him. Suzu’s hand lowering. Blood curling around her like it had always belonged there. His own body dropping before he understood he had been cut.

He touched the scar.

The present and memory crashed together.

Pain surged beneath his fingers, and Tetsuo made a sound he would have denied making if anyone asked later. His knees gave out. He fell in front of the mirror, one hand braced weakly against the floor, the other clamped near the left side of his face without quite daring to touch it again. His chest tightened until air came only in broken pieces.

He tried to breathe, but his body would not cooperate. One entire side of the world still felt missing. He squeezed his right eye shut, but that made the memory sharper. The blood whip returned behind his eyelid, cutting again and again in quick flashes that gave him no time to prepare.

He bent forward, shaking.

“Stop,” he whispered, though he did not know whether he meant the pain, the memory, or himself. “Stop. Stop.”

Footsteps sounded from the adjoining corridor.

A woman’s voice called, “Tetsuo?”

He tried to answer, but his throat refused.

The helper healer entered carrying fresh bandages and a small jar. She stopped so abruptly that the bandages shifted in her arms. “Tetsuo!”

She set everything down on the nearest bed and hurried to him, dropping to her knees at his side. She was young, maybe not much older than some of the adventurers who passed through the guild hall, but her hands became steady the moment they reached for him.

“Tetsuo, listen to me,” she said. “You are in Radiance Castle’s healer hall. You are safe. I stepped into the next room for clean salve. I am right here now.”

Tetsuo shook his head, dragging in another useless breath. “My face. My eye. I can’t…”

“I know.” Her voice stayed firm without becoming harsh. “Look at me.”

He tried, but the mirror caught him again.

The healer moved slightly, placing herself between him and the reflection. “Not there. Look at me.”

Tetsuo’s right eye snapped to her face.

“That’s it,” she said. “Stay with my voice. Breathe when I tell you.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. Your body is frightened, and it is lying to you.”

That sentence was strange enough to reach him.

The healer placed one hand lightly against his shoulder and the other near the center of his chest, careful to avoid the deeper wounds. Warmth spread from her palms, soft gold with a faint green edge, not strong enough to force anything open, but steady enough to give his body something else to follow. The warmth moved through him slowly, easing the worst of the tightness around his ribs and smoothing the jagged edge of his breathing.

“In through your nose,” she said. “Slowly.”

Tetsuo tried, and the breath broke halfway.

“Again,” she said. “Do not chase the air. Let it come.”

He hated how impossible that sounded, but the warmth in his chest helped. He followed her count once, failed on the exhale, then followed again. His hands still shook and his face continued to burn. The left side of his vision remained absent, and every time he noticed it, panic clawed at him again. But the healer kept her voice even, guiding each breath until the room stopped folding in on itself.

“There,” she said after several minutes. “That’s better.”

Tetsuo sat on the floor with his back against the side of the bed, sweat cooling along his neck. He felt hollowed out and furious about it. 

He wiped at his face with the back of his hand, avoiding the scar. “I’m fine.”

The healer looked at him.

“I am,” he insisted.

His voice shook so badly that even he did not believe it.

The healer’s expression softened, but she did not embarrass him by pointing it out. “You woke earlier than expected, and your bandage was off because I had just cleaned the wound. I should have returned sooner.”

Tetsuo shook his head quickly. “Not your fault.”

“It still frightened you.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

The healer glanced at the mirror, then back at him. “Seeing worse happen to someone else is different.”

Tetsuo had no answer for that.

He swallowed hard and looked toward the empty beds again. His thoughts were beginning to arrange themselves in painful pieces. He remembered fighting Suzu and the blood whip striking his face, but everything after that remained blank. If he had been brought back to Radiance, then the battle had ended somehow, but he did not know who had ended it, who had survived it, or why no one from Illumina was here now.

His chest tightened again, but this time the fear had names.

“I need to see my guild,” he said.

“I will send for them.”

“Now.”

“I will send for them,” she repeated, calm but immovable. “After I check a few things.”

Tetsuo tried to push himself up. The attempt ended almost immediately when his body reminded him that dramatic exits required working ribs, steady legs, and a face that did not feel like it had been split apart by lightning.

The healer caught his arm before he could slide sideways. “Absolutely not.”

Tetsuo looked away, jaw tightening. “Please.”

The healer’s firmness eased at the edge. “I know you want them. I will call for Illumina. But you need to stay here long enough for me to make sure waking did not reopen anything or disturb the healing around your eye.”

The word eye made him flinch before he could stop himself, and the healer noticed immediately, softening her tone. “Around the scar,” she said instead.

Tetsuo’s hand curled against the blanket hanging from the bed. “Do they know?”

“Yes.”

The answer hurt, though he had asked for it.

“All of them?”

The healer hesitated for less than a breath, but Tetsuo caught it. Something in his stomach turned cold.

“I will call your guild,” she said carefully.

Tetsuo stared at her, trying to push through the haze in his head. “What does that mean?”

“It means you have just woken up, and I am not going to bury you under reports before your friends arrive.”

He wanted to demand every name. He didn’t know why she had chosen those words, why her face had tightened, why the empty healer hall suddenly felt like it was keeping secrets from him. But another pulse of pain moved through his face, and his breathing threatened to break again.

The healer squeezed his shoulder once. “Stay here. Let me check you, let me wrap the wound, and then I will send someone immediately.”

Tetsuo forced a grin.

It probably looked awful.

“Great,” he said, voice still rough. “I wake up after who knows how long, and my first order is to sit still. This is exactly why I hate mornings.”

The healer stared at him for a second, then gave a small breath that might have become a laugh under better circumstances. “You can hate mornings from the bed.”

She helped him back onto the mattress with careful strength, guiding him slowly so his balance did not betray him again. Tetsuo kept his right eye fixed on the wall instead of the mirror. He could still feel the reflection behind him, waiting in the glass, but the healer moved the mirror aside with one hand before returning to the tray.

Having the mirror out of sight helped more than he wanted to admit.

As she began checking the healing along his face, Tetsuo stared at the ceiling and tried to keep breathing evenly. 

The healer wrapped a fresh bandage around the left side of his face, blocking the scar from the air and the world from what remained of the wound. Her healing warmth lingered beneath the cloth, gentle but not enough to erase the truth he had already seen.

When she finished, she stepped back and gathered the used supplies.

“I am going to call for your friends,” she said. “You are going to stay exactly where you are.”

Tetsuo looked at her with his one uncovered eye.

“I’m fine,” he said.

The healer paused at the doorway. “Then staying put should be easy.”

She left before he could argue.

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The healer returned sooner than Tetsuo expected, though not alone.

He heard the hurried footsteps before he saw them. More than one pair came down the corridor, quick enough that the healer’s voice rose in warning just before the doors opened. Tetsuo had managed to sit upright with his back against the pillows. He turned his head toward the entrance carefully.

Yoshinori, Aiko, and Ryuji entered together, and for one second none of them seemed to know what to do with the sight of him awake. Tetsuo did not give them time to decide.

“Well,” he said, voice rough but carrying the same easy confidence he always forced into uncomfortable rooms, “this is a little dramatic. I take one nap, and everyone rushes in like I died.”

Aiko’s face changed so quickly that Tetsuo almost lost the grin. Relief hit her first, then anger, then the kind of softness she usually hid by yelling at someone. Yoshinori stopped just inside the healer hall, shoulders easing in a way Tetsuo had never seen from him before. Ryuji stared for half a breath, then smiled like he had been holding it back for a week.

“You were unconscious for days,” Aiko said, her voice catching at the edge.

Tetsuo tilted his head slightly. “So it was a really good nap.”

“Tetsuo.”

“What? I’m trying to look at the bright side.”

“There is no bright side to this.”

Ryuji gave a quiet laugh before he could stop himself.

Aiko turned on him. “Do not encourage him.”

“I tried not to,” Ryuji said, though he did not sound sorry enough. “It slipped out.”

Tetsuo pointed toward him with two fingers. “See? Injured people understand me.”

“You are both injured,” Aiko snapped.

“That’s probably why we’re so wise.”

The healer stepped in before Aiko could decide whether to scold him harder or cry. “He woke earlier than expected, and he is stable for the moment, but he still needs rest. Please do not overwhelm him.”

“I’m not overwhelmed,” Tetsuo said quickly.

The healer looked at him, then at the three friends who had rushed in. “Pretending you are not overwhelmed also counts.”

Tetsuo’s grin widened because it had to. “That feels personal.”

“It is.” She gathered the used cloth and salve from the nearby tray. “I will give you a few minutes, but he is not cleared to leave yet. If he tries to turn this into a test of endurance, call me.”

Aiko nodded at once. “We will.”

“That was too quick,” Tetsuo said.

“I have been waiting to tell you not to do something stupid,” Aiko replied.

The healer left them with that, closing the door softly behind her.

Aiko moved first, crossing to his bedside. She stopped close enough that her hand hovered near his arm, then dropped to the blanket instead. Yoshinori came to the other side of the bed and stood there with his hands at his sides. Ryuji lowered himself carefully into the chair beside the bed.

Tetsuo looked between them and lifted his eyebrows. “You all look terrible.”

Aiko let out something between a laugh and a scoff. “You are literally in a healer bed.”

“Yes, but I’m making it work.” Tetsuo touched the edge of the bandage near his face, careful not to press too hard. “Also, I have been informed there is a scar under here, and I have decided it is badass.”

Ryuji laughed again, a little more openly this time.

Aiko stared at Tetsuo. “You have not even seen it properly.”

“I saw enough.”

Yoshinori frowned slightly. “You saw it?”

Tetsuo caught the concern and waved it away immediately. “Mirror ambush. Completely unfair. Nobody told me the healer hall had reflective enemies.”

Aiko’s mouth tightened. “Tetsuo.”

“I’m serious. Once this thing heals, people are going to assume I fought a dragon.”

“You fought Suzu,” Yoshinori said quietly.

The name entered the room with enough weight that even Tetsuo’s smile thinned for a second before he forced it back into place. “Exactly. Worse than a dragon. At least dragons are big enough to see coming.”

Aiko did not laugh, but some of the panic left her eyes because he sounded like himself. Ryuji’s smile lingered. Yoshinori still looked serious, though that was normal enough that no one questioned it.

Tetsuo shifted, testing his body beneath the blanket. Everything answered, though reluctantly. His chest felt tight, and his limbs carried the strange weakness of someone who had slept too long and trusted the bed too much. His face hurt the most, deep beneath the bandage, a constant burn that pulsed whenever he spoke or moved wrong. He ignored it with practiced confidence and lifted one leg toward the side of the bed.

Aiko’s eyes widened. “Do not get up.”

“I can move.”

“You just woke up.”

“And now I’m awake.”

“Tetsuo.”

He planted both feet on the floor and stood before she could reach him. The room tilted for an instant as his body adjusted to the missing side of his vision, but he kept one hand on the bedframe and turned the movement into something close to a stretch. It almost worked. He straightened slowly, smiled at her, and raised both arms slightly.

“See? Perfect.”

Aiko narrowed her eyes. “That was not perfect.”

“It was upright. I’m counting it.”

Ryuji leaned back in the chair, one hand near his ribs. “I have counted worse.”

“You should not be the judge,” Yoshinori said.

Ryuji looked at him. “I can still judge from a chair.”

Tetsuo took one step away from the bed to prove he could. His foot landed steady enough, but when he reached for the tray beside him, his hand missed the cup by a few inches. The mistake was small, probably too small for anyone else to make much of, but Tetsuo felt the gap like a slap. His depth perception was wrong, as though the world had changed its measurements without telling him.

He corrected quickly and picked up the cup on the second try.

Aiko noticed only enough to frown. “You should sit.”

“I was getting water.”

“You missed the water.”

“The water dodged.”

Ryuji nodded solemnly. “Common problem.”

Yoshinori sighed. “Sit down before the healer comes back and blames us.”

Tetsuo considered arguing, but his legs were already starting to tremble. He sat on the edge of the bed like it had been his idea, took a drink of water, and decided the room could stop spinning whenever it wanted.

For a few breaths, the four of them simply existed in the same place again.

Tetsuo’s smile eased. “Where are Itsuki and Shunjiro?”

Aiko’s expression tightened, Ryuji briefly lowered his gaze, and Yoshinori’s face became completely still.

“Itsuki is with Mariah,” Yoshinori said carefully. “She is working on her energy.”

Tetsuo looked from one face to another, waiting for the part they had not said. “And Shunjiro?”

Yoshinori did not look away.

“He is missing.”

Tetsuo stared at him.

The words made no sense at first.

“What do you mean, missing?”

Yoshinori drew a slow breath. “After you were injured, the battle continued. Suzu was defeated, but before anyone could secure her, Tsubasa appeared.”

Tetsuo’s fingers tightened around the cup. “Tsubasa?”

“One of Eclipsed Abyss,” Aiko said. “A portal user.”

Yoshinori continued, voice steady because someone had to make the impossible understandable. “Tsubasa took Suzu. Renjiro was involved too. Everything happened quickly, and in the middle of it, Shunjiro disappeared. We do not know where he is.”

Tetsuo looked down at the water in his cup. His right eye tracked the faint ripples there because watching anything else felt too difficult for a moment. “How long have I been out?”

“A week,” Yoshinori said.

Tetsuo’s chest tightened.

He had lost a week.

The thought almost slipped through his face, but he caught it behind another crooked smile and took a drink he did not want. “Wow. That’s rude. Everyone had a whole week without me?”

Aiko’s eyes softened. “Tetsuo.”

“I’m just saying. Important decisions should wait until I’m awake to offer terrible ideas.”

Ryuji’s smile faded around the edges.

Tetsuo lowered the cup. “Is Shunjiro alive?”

Yoshinori answered with the same care Kaito had used with him. “We believe he is. Kaito believes he is. Two SSS-ranked guilds are searching for him right now, and Kaito said that wherever Shunjiro is, he is surviving.”

Tetsuo went quiet, unable to find the joke fast enough this time.

He imagined Shunjiro somewhere beyond Radiance, hurt or lost or yelling at someone stronger than him because fear had never stopped him from being ridiculous. He imagined a whole week of everyone waiting while he slept through it. The bandage on his face suddenly felt too tight.

Aiko spoke gently. “There is more.”

Tetsuo looked at her.

She did not interrupt Yoshinori, though the sadness in her face told Tetsuo she wanted the words to be anything else.

“Hikari died,” Yoshinori said.

The cup stilled in Tetsuo’s hand.

He had known Hikari was badly hurt. Some part of him must have known, even before memory returned fully, because the name carried the taste of blood and the weight of a battlefield he could barely piece together. Still, hearing it confirmed made the healer hall feel colder. Hikari had laughed with him before.

“Oh,” Tetsuo said.

It was a terrible answer. He knew that. Nothing better came.

Ryuji leaned forward slightly. “The Titans held a funeral.”

Tetsuo nodded once. He had missed that too. Of course he had. While everyone else buried the dead and counted the missing, he had slept in clean sheets with his face wrapped and his body refusing to wake.

His grin returned, but weaker. “I really picked the worst week to be unconscious.”

Aiko’s face twisted. “You did not pick anything.”

“Still feels like I missed the vote.”

“Tetsuo.”

He looked at her and saw that she wanted to say more, but she did not know where to put it. He did not either, so he helped them both by moving on before grief could settle too firmly around the bed.

“What about us?” he asked. “Illumina. What’s the plan?”

Yoshinori’s posture shifted back toward the role he had been forced to carry. “Kaito has forbidden us from leaving Radiance. We are not allowed to search for Shunjiro ourselves or chase rumors. He did give us permission to begin training again.”

Tetsuo set the cup down carefully. He focused hard enough this time that his hand found the tray without missing. “Good. Then I need to see him.”

Aiko blinked. “Kaito?”

“Yeah.”

“You woke up today.”

“And look at me. Thriving.”

“You fell out of bed.”

Tetsuo pointed at her. “Allegedly.”

Ryuji gave another faint laugh, but Yoshinori did not.

“Kaito will not approve you yet,” Yoshinori said.

Tetsuo swung his legs fully over the side of the bed again. His body complained, but it did not collapse, and that was enough for him to call it cooperation. “He might.”

“He will not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know Kaito.”

Tetsuo stood, slower this time, careful not to show how much effort it took to make the room behave. The fresh bandage held the left side of his face tight, and he kept his head angled so he could see all three of them with his right eye. “Then I’ll ask anyway.”

Aiko moved closer. “You are not walking to Kaito’s office right now.”

He held up both hands. “Fine. Not right now. Soon.”

Ryuji shifted in the chair. “When you do start, I can train with you. I am limited too, so it would make sense.”

Tetsuo shook his head immediately. “No.”

Ryuji looked mildly surprised. “No?”

“Your ribs are cooked. I’m not getting blamed when you try to help me and fold in half.”

Ryuji’s brows lifted. “That is almost responsible.”

“Do not spread that around. I have a reputation.”

Aiko looked between them with exasperated fondness before turning back to Tetsuo. “What exactly do you think training looks like for you?”

Tetsuo tried to shrug, regretted the pull through his chest, and pretended he had meant to roll one shoulder only. “Balance. Walking. Not grabbing cups like they have teleportation powers. Maybe seeing if stone still likes me.”

“It does,” Yoshinori said.

Tetsuo glanced at him.

Yoshinori’s expression did not change, but his voice held quiet certainty. “Your power is still yours. Losing an eye does not take that from you.”

Tetsuo looked away before that could reach too deeply. “Good. Because if stone abandoned me too, I would have to start throwing furniture.”

“I would stop you,” Aiko said.

“You would try.”

“I would swap you back into bed.”

Tetsuo paused. “That is unfair.”

“That is the point.”

Yoshinori stepped closer, and the humor thinned into something steadier. “I will not stop you from trying to get back on your feet.”

Tetsuo looked at him carefully.

“But slowly,” Yoshinori continued. “I will stop you from being stupid.”

“That sounds like a full-time job.”

“It has been.”

Ryuji nodded. “Very demanding work.”

Tetsuo breathed out something close to a laugh, and for a moment it almost felt real. “So this is how it is now? I wake up, and everyone immediately starts managing me?”

“Yes,” Aiko said.

“Terrible reunion.”

“You are welcome.”

The door opened again before Tetsuo could answer. The healer stepped inside and immediately looked at him standing beside the bed.

Her expression flattened. “I was gone for a few minutes.”

Tetsuo pointed at Yoshinori. “He allowed this.”

Yoshinori’s eyes narrowed. “I did not.”

“I felt supported.”

Aiko stepped aside, not even trying to hide her satisfaction. “He also wants to go see Kaito.”

The healer looked at Tetsuo.

Tetsuo smiled.

The healer did not.

“Bed,” she said.

“I was told my friends were coming. I greeted them standing up. That feels polite.”

“Bed.”

Tetsuo held the smile for another second, then surrendered because his legs were beginning to threaten him anyway. He sat back down with as much dignity as possible.

The healer came to his side and checked the bandage with careful fingers. “You can speak with them while sitting. You can plan your future while sitting. You can even make terrible jokes while sitting, although I cannot recommend it. But you are not leaving this hall until you have been properly checked.”

Tetsuo sighed. “Everyone is very controlling today.”

“Everyone is very reasonable today,” she corrected.

Aiko leaned closer to him. “Did you hear that? Reasonable.”

“I heard propaganda.”

Ryuji smiled faintly. Yoshinori shook his head.

The healer finished checking the bandage and looked to the three standing around the bed. “He is awake and stable. Weakness is expected after a week unconscious. His body has healed enough that, if nothing worsens, he should be able to return to light routines in a few days, but any serious training decision belongs to Kaito and the senior healers.”

Tetsuo lifted one finger. “Light routines include secret dorm training?”

“No,” the healer said at the same time Aiko said, “Absolutely not.”

Ryuji’s mouth twitched.

Yoshinori folded his arms. “Secret training stops being secret if you announce it in front of everyone.”

Tetsuo looked wounded. “I trusted this room.”

“You chose poorly,” Aiko said.

The healer gave him one last warning look, then began gathering her tools again. “I am going to report that you are awake and stable. Stay in bed.”

Tetsuo gave her a thumbs-up. “I am getting better at that.”

“You are becoming famous for the opposite.”

She left again, and this time the door remained partly open.

Tetsuo looked at them and smiled again.

“So,” he said, “when do we start?”

Aiko groaned while Ryuji laughed under his breath. Yoshinori glanced toward the open door before looking back at Tetsuo. “When you are cleared to stand for more than five minutes without terrifying every healer in the castle.”

Tetsuo nodded as if considering a serious training schedule. “Ambitious, but fair.”

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Three days passed, and Illumina learned that getting back on their feet did not mean standing the same way they had before.

Progress came in uneven pieces. Yoshinori’s energy had returned fully, but he treated it less like relief and more like a responsibility placed back into his hands. He trained with restraint, rebuilding the rhythm of his lightning until each spark answered cleanly instead of flaring with emotion. Aiko moved beside him most days, focusing on footwork, timing, and the instant before a swap became necessary. Her energy had settled back into place, and though she was not as reckless with herself as she might have been before, there was a sharpness in her movements that made it clear she hated how long she had been forced to wait.

Ryuji went to Yumi every morning, accepted healing with as much patience as he could pretend to have, and returned annoyed that ribs could mend quickly and still feel slow. He was almost able to train normally again, but almost was a word that irritated him more every time he heard it. Tetsuo had been cleared for light work under restrictions strict enough that Aiko enjoyed repeating them. He practiced balance, walking, turning his head without overcorrecting, and reaching for objects until his hand stopped misjudging distance by a few inches. His stone still answered him when he called, but he had not pushed that yet. One eye changed the world in small, humiliating ways, and Tetsuo learned quickly that stairs, cups, doorframes, and people standing too close on his left side had all become enemies with excellent timing.

Itsuki’s days looked different from theirs. She returned to Mariah again and again, studying the thin gold flicker of energy that had come back to her and learning how to feel it without forcing it into something too fragile to survive pressure. Some sessions ended quietly. Others ended with Itsuki leaving the research room angry, her hands curled at her sides, while Mariah watched her go with the expression of someone who believed frustration was still a useful result. Itsuki told her friends only that her energy was returning slowly. She did not mention the deeper conversations, the dark signature Mariah kept charting, or the butterfly she still refused to speak about aloud. Even so, she was with them more. She ate in the common room, answered when spoken to, and cooked again one evening, insisting on vegetables with enough calm firmness that Tetsuo declared her recovery official and then ate everything before she could glare at him properly.

There were moments when laughter returned, not loudly enough to erase the empty spaces, but honestly enough that the dorm no longer felt afraid of sound. Then Shunjiro’s name would come up, or someone would glance toward his side of the room, and the warmth would thin. No update came. No message arrived from the guilds searching for him. Itsuki carried that absence more quietly than before, but it had not become lighter. Her heart still reached toward a place no one could point to, and every morning without news made the reach ache.

On the third morning, Kaito sent for them.

Rayne was expected to arrive before midday.

They met Kaito in one of Radiance’s open markets. Stalls lined the wide stone square beneath bright banners, merchants called out prices for fruit, cloth, charms, and polished trinkets, and the smell of bread and grilled vegetables moved through the air. The noise should have been comforting. Instead, it made the five members of Illumina stand a little closer together than they might have before, as if crowds had become something they needed to relearn.

Kaito waited near the edge of the square where the main road from the outer gate opened into the market. When Illumina approached, his eyes moved across them one by one.

Yoshinori stood straighter than he had three days ago, energy controlled beneath a composed expression. Aiko looked ready to move at the smallest command, her attention shifting between the road, the market, and the rest of her guild. Ryuji’s breathing was easier, but he still held himself carefully when the crowd pressed too near. Tetsuo’s bandage covered the left side of his face, and he kept turning slightly more than necessary to track movement around him. Itsuki stayed beside Aiko, quiet but present, her hands folded in front of her skirt and her gaze steady enough that Kaito noticed the change.

“You look better,” Kaito said.

Tetsuo lifted one hand. “That was mostly me.”

Aiko looked at him. “It was mostly Yumi, several healers, and you being forced to stay in bed.”

“I contributed by not escaping.”

“You tried.”

“I failed. That still counts as staying.”

Ryuji glanced toward Kaito. “He has been very proud of that technicality.”

Kaito’s mouth moved slightly, though he did not fully smile. “I heard.”

Tetsuo’s confidence slipped a fraction. “You heard?”

“Kaito hears everything,” Aiko said.

“That feels invasive.”

“It is useful,” Yoshinori said.

Kaito let them have the exchange, his attention lingering longer on Tetsuo’s balance and Ryuji’s careful posture before settling on Itsuki. “Mariah said you would be here.”

Itsuki nodded. “I wanted to meet him.”

“You will return to her afterward?”

“Yes.”

Kaito accepted that without pushing. “Good.”

A carriage rolled into view from the direction of the outer road before anyone could say more. It was not ornate, but it was sturdy, built for long travel rather than ceremony, with dark wheels dusted from the road and two horses pulling it at an even pace. Conversation in the nearby stalls softened as people noticed Kaito watching it. A few merchants stepped aside, more curious than afraid, and the carriage slowed near the edge of the square.

Tetsuo leaned slightly toward Ryuji. “That is the mysterious trainer?”

“The carriage?” Ryuji asked.

“I’m judging the whole arrival.”

Aiko sighed. “Please wait until the person gets out before anything.”

The carriage stopped.

The door opened.

A man stepped down.

For a moment, Illumina simply looked at him.

Rayne was shorter than any of them had expected, barely taller than Itsuki, with a compact, powerful build that made his height feel almost misleading. He was an elf, though not the delicate kind people sometimes imagined from old stories. His pointed ears showed clearly through his short dark hair, but everything else about him looked built for weight, impact, and endurance. His arms and shoulders were thick with muscle, and his vest left enough of both visible that even Ryuji, who had opened his mouth as if preparing a comment, seemed to reconsider halfway through. A massive broadsword rested across Rayne’s back, the weapon so broad it looked almost unreasonable on someone his size until he shifted and the weight moved with him as naturally as a cloak. 

Tetsuo stared.

Then he leaned toward Ryuji again and whispered, “That’s him?”

Ryuji’s eyes moved from Rayne’s height to the heavy muscle packed across his chest and arms. “I was going to say something.”

“And?”

“I have decided I enjoy living.”

Tetsuo coughed into his hand, badly hiding a laugh.

Aiko turned just enough to glare at both of them. “He can probably hear you.”

Rayne looked directly at them.

Tetsuo straightened. Ryuji became very interested in the nearest fruit stall.

Rayne did not seem offended. His face remained calm, his expression respectful without being soft. He had short dark hair, steady eyes, and the kind of stillness that made the space around him feel measured. Not empty. Measured. As if he knew exactly how much movement the world needed from him and had no intention of giving it more.

He walked toward Kaito and stopped at a respectful distance.

“Kaito,” Rayne said.

“Rayne.”

The greeting was simple, but there was history in it. Kaito’s voice carried the tone he used for people he trusted, while Rayne’s carried the discipline of someone who had once learned by listening and had never fully stopped.

“You made good time,” Kaito said.

“The roads were clear.”

“Any trouble?”

“Nothing worth reporting.”

Kaito turned toward Illumina. “This is Rayne. He will be responsible for your training from tomorrow onward.”

Rayne faced them fully.

His eyes passed over Yoshinori first, then Aiko, Ryuji, Tetsuo, and Itsuki. 

“Illumina,” Rayne said. “I know the name.”

Yoshinori bowed his head. “Yoshinori Raikawa.”

“I know yours as well.”

That answer made Yoshinori pause.

Rayne continued before it could become awkward. “Kaito has written about all of you. Enough for me to understand that reports are useful and incomplete.”

Tetsuo looked toward Kaito. “You write about us?”

Kaito’s expression remained flat. “Reports exist.”

“That sounds less fun than what he said.”

“It was less fun,” Kaito replied.

Rayne’s attention settled briefly on the empty place within the group, not physically empty, but felt. “Shunjiro Tenzai is the one missing.”

The market noise seemed to draw back.

Itsuki’s fingers tightened. Aiko’s gaze sharpened. Yoshinori became very still, and Tetsuo’s joking expression faded before he could hide it. Kaito watched Rayne carefully, but did not interrupt.

Rayne did not say the name casually. He spoke it with the weight of someone who understood that a missing person was not a detail in a report.

“I know what he is connected to,” Rayne said. “I know who his brother is. I also know that none of that tells me who he is to you.”

Yoshinori held his gaze. “He is our leader.”

Aiko answered at the same time, quieter but firm. “He is our friend.”

Tetsuo’s mouth twisted slightly. “He is also an idiot.”

Ryuji nodded. “An important one.”

Itsuki looked down, but she did not step back.

Rayne accepted all of that as if every answer mattered. “Then train as if he expects to find you standing when he returns.”

The words did not offer proof. They did not pretend comfort could become certainty. Maybe that was why they reached the group so cleanly.

Kaito looked toward Illumina. “That is the purpose of bringing him here. Until there is news, you prepare.”

Aiko studied Rayne. “Kaito said you would not be gentle.”

“I do not see value in gentleness that leaves people unprepared,” Rayne said. “I also do not see value in breaking injured students to prove I am difficult.”

Ryuji visibly relaxed by half a breath.

Rayne looked at him. “That does not mean your ribs are an excuse to avoid work.”

Ryuji’s relaxation vanished.

Tetsuo smiled. “I like him.”

Rayne turned to him. “Your eye changes your balance, range judgment, blind-side defense, foot placement, and reaction timing. If you try to train as if nothing changed, you will fail and possibly reopen wounds that are already inconvenient enough.”

Tetsuo’s smile held for one determined second before becoming slightly strained. “I like him less.”

Aiko looked satisfied. “I like him more.”

Rayne’s gaze shifted to her. “Your movement has to become precise before your ability becomes fast again.”

Aiko closed her mouth.

Yoshinori’s eyes narrowed with interest.

Rayne faced him next. “Your energy is back.”

Yoshinori did not answer immediately. “Yes.”

“Then tomorrow we find out whether it obeys you or only returned to you.”

Kaito’s approval showed only in the smallest shift of his eyes.

Itsuki remained quiet through the exchange, but Rayne did not ignore her. When his attention reached her, his voice changed only slightly, becoming less instructive and more careful.

“You are not training with me often.”

Itsuki looked up.

“Mariah is better suited for what you need,” Rayne said. “That does not make you separate from them.”

The sentence caught her off guard.

Aiko glanced toward her, concern softening her face. Yoshinori noticed the way Itsuki absorbed the words, not smiling, but not closing herself off from them either.

“I know,” Itsuki said.

Rayne nodded once, accepting the answer without pressing for more.

Kaito stepped beside him. “Rayne will observe today, speak with me, and prepare your schedule. Tomorrow morning, you report to the training grounds. Ryuji and Tetsuo will follow restrictions. Yoshinori and Aiko will build back to full intensity under Rayne’s judgment, not their own. Itsuki, you continue with Mariah.”

Itsuki nodded. “I should go back soon.”

“Go when you are ready,” Kaito said.

She looked once at Rayne. “It was nice to meet you.”

Rayne bowed his head slightly. “You as well.”

Tetsuo leaned toward Ryuji again, softer this time. “He is polite. That makes the sword more concerning.”

Ryuji murmured, “The arms already did that.”

Rayne looked at them again.

Both straightened.

Kaito sighed. “They will improve.”

“I assumed they would,” Rayne said calmly. “Otherwise you would not have asked me here.”

That quiet confidence did more than any display of power could have. Yoshinori felt it settle over the group, not as pressure, but as expectation. Rayne did not seem impressed by them. He did not seem disappointed either. He seemed like a man who had arrived, measured the damaged pieces of Illumina, and already begun deciding how to sharpen them without pretending the cracks were gone.

A carriage driver unloaded a small travel bag near Rayne’s feet. Rayne picked it up with one hand, the enormous sword shifting across his back without slowing him.

Aiko watched the movement. “That sword is real, right?”

Rayne looked at her. “Yes.”

“I meant because it looks too heavy.”

“It is.”

Tetsuo lowered his voice. “I have questions.”

“You will have fewer after tomorrow,” Rayne said.

Tetsuo paused. “That was ominous.”

Itsuki stepped back from the group, and Aiko turned toward her. “Are you going now?”

“Yes.” Itsuki’s gaze moved over all of them. “I’ll come back to the dorm later.”

“We will be there,” Yoshinori said.

Itsuki nodded, then turned away from the market and headed toward the castle corridors that would lead back to Mariah’s research room. She did not look healed as she walked away. She did not look free of the grief that followed her. But she had chosen to come here, chosen to meet the person who would train her friends, and chosen to return to her own difficult path without being guided there.

Kaito watched her go for a moment before looking back at the remaining four. “Today is for preparation. Tomorrow begins the work.”

Rayne adjusted the strap of his travel bag. “Rest tonight. Eat properly. Do not stay awake imagining what training will be like. You will be wrong, and you will be tired.”

Tetsuo raised a hand. “What if I am naturally talented at worrying?”

“Then you will have the opportunity to become talented at something useful.”

Ryuji laughed before he could hide it. Aiko gave Tetsuo a look that said he had earned that one. 

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Itsuki returned to Mariah’s research room after leaving the market, still carrying the image of Rayne stepping down from the carriage with that enormous sword across his back.

He had not looked like what she expected, though she was not sure what she had expected from someone Kaito trusted. Taller, maybe. Colder. More obviously frightening. Instead, Rayne had been calm, respectful, and difficult to read in a way that made him feel more dangerous than if he had tried to appear intimidating. He had looked at Illumina once and seemed to understand more than most people did after hours of speaking with them.

Itsuki was glad she had gone to meet him.

The path back to Mariah’s lab felt familiar now, though not comfortable. The silver-marked door waited at the end of the corridor, and Itsuki knocked before entering. Mariah answered almost immediately, as if she had been expecting her at that exact moment.

Inside, the room had changed.

Not much, but enough for Itsuki to notice. The counters were still clean, the papers still stacked with unnerving precision, and the strange stone still rested on its black tray near the desk. But now two travel cases sat near the wall, both closed and strapped. A folded cloak lay across one of them, and Itsuki recognized the careful arrangement of medical supplies beside it: bandages, sealed vials, measuring crystals, small instruments, and her own training notes copied into a thinner folder.

Mariah stood beside the desk, fastening the clasp on a leather case.

Itsuki slowed near the door. “Are you going somewhere?”

Mariah glanced up. “We are.”

The answer was so calm that Itsuki almost thought she had misheard.

“We?”

“Yes.” Mariah closed the case and set it beside the others. “Your training cannot continue properly inside Radiance.”

Itsuki’s hand tightened around the strap of the small bag she had carried from the dorm. “We are not allowed to leave Radiance.”

“Illumina is not allowed to leave Radiance without approval,” Mariah said. “You and I have approval.”

Itsuki stared at her. “From who?”

“King Shadis.”

The name should have settled the matter, but it did not. If anything, it made the unease sharper. Itsuki thought of Kaito’s office, of his order, of Yoshinori accepting that order because he had no choice. Leaving Radiance had become something dangerous before it had even become possible.

“Does Kaito know?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

Itsuki’s unease turned colder. “Mariah.”

“This is not being hidden from him to undermine him,” Mariah said, softer than Itsuki expected. “The approval came through the king because this is a medical training matter, not a guild assignment. You may tell Kaito before we leave. I expected you would want to.”

Itsuki looked at the travel cases again. “Where are we going?”

Mariah did not answer right away.

That pause was enough.

Itsuki’s stomach tightened. “Where, Mariah?”

“To a site outside Radiance where your energy can be tested without the castle interfering with the readings.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is the answer I can give you today.”

Itsuki’s fear moved close enough to anger that her voice strengthened. “You want me to leave the kingdom with you, but you will not tell me where we are going?”

Mariah stepped away from the desk. For once, she did not smile. “The place matters because you do not know it. If I explain too much before we arrive, your mind will prepare defenses before your energy has a chance to respond naturally. The entire point is to understand how your power reacts without you forcing it, bracing against it, or trying to please me by making something happen.”

“That sounds like observation.”

“It is training.”

“It sounds like you are trying to make me react.”

“I am trying to learn what conditions let your energy move again.” Mariah’s voice stayed even, but there was pressure beneath it now, carefully placed and carefully controlled. “Inside this room, we can measure fragments. We can name sensations. We can hold a crystal between your hands and celebrate a flicker so small most healers would miss it. That is useful, but it will not be enough. If your power only returns in quiet pieces, then on the next battlefield you will be quiet while other people bleed.”

Itsuki flinched.

Mariah saw it and did not apologize for the strike. She only softened the next words.

“I am not saying that to wound you. I am saying it because you came to me for the truth.”

Itsuki looked down at her hands. The tiny gold shimmer inside her remained faint, distant, and stubbornly unchanged. Three days of work had taught her how to feel it more clearly, but not how to make it grow. Mariah’s exercises had helped, and Itsuki hated that they had helped, because each useful discovery made it harder to ignore the woman’s methods.

“I don’t want to leave,” Itsuki said.

The admission came quietly.

Mariah did not move closer. “Because you are afraid?”

“Yes.”

“Of the road, or of what we may find?”

Itsuki pressed her lips together.

Both, she thought. The road meant distance from Illumina. It meant distance from the dorm. It meant being gone when Rayne’s training began. It meant Shunjiro could return while she was somewhere else.

The thought hurt enough that she had to breathe through it.

“If Shunjiro comes back while I’m gone…”

Mariah’s expression shifted, not into pity, but into something almost human. “Then he will be told where you are, and you will return to Radiance as soon as it is safe to do so. This is not exile, Itsuki. It is five days at most. Two days out, one day of focused work, two days back. A carriage will take us. SS-ranked knights will remain with us at every step.”

“I don’t know those knights.”

“You do not need to know them for them to keep you alive. You only need them to be capable, and they are.”

Itsuki looked at the cases again. “Why can’t we keep working here?”

“Because your energy is no longer only a healer’s problem. You know that now.”

The sentence settled heavily between them.

Itsuki hated how easily it found the fear she had been trying not to name. The butterfly had not appeared again. Mariah had not forced her to talk about it beyond written notes, and Itsuki was grateful for that, but gratitude did not make the memory less frightening. Something had entered her. Something had given her enough power to stand where she should have fallen. Itsuki wanted her own energy back, not that outside force, but wanting was beginning to feel less simple than it had before.

She wanted to heal.

She wanted to protect.

She wanted enough strength that her friends did not have to keep throwing themselves in front of monsters while she prayed her hands would answer.

“I don’t want to stand there again with nothing in my hands,” Itsuki said.

Mariah’s face grew intent. “Then we cannot keep training as if your power is ordinary.”

Itsuki hated the way those words fit.

Mariah turned slightly and picked up Itsuki’s staff from where it rested against the side of the desk. Itsuki had left it there during their last session, too tired and angry to carry it back to the dorm. Mariah held it carefully, not like a weapon and not like a healer’s tool, but like something whose purpose had not been fully decided yet.

“You will bring this,” Mariah said. “No output unless I permit it. No contact with active wounds. No forcing the gold shimmer to become more than it is. We are not going there for heroics.”

“Then why does it feel like you are asking me to do something dangerous?”

“Because I am.”

Itsuki’s eyes lifted.

Mariah did not dress the answer up. “Safe training would be easier for both of us. It would also be slower, and I do not believe time is generous to you right now. Eclipsed Abyss has already moved through Radiance’s life once. Suzu is gone, not dead. Shunjiro is still missing. Your friends are beginning to train because everyone understands what happens if you remain as you were.”

Itsuki’s fingers curled.

Mariah lowered the staff onto the desk between them. “Your path is not theirs. Rayne can teach Yoshinori, Aiko, Ryuji, and Tetsuo how to sharpen what they already understand. You are different. That does not make you less part of Illumina. It means your training cannot be shaped around their pace.”

“I know that,” Itsuki said, though the words hurt.

“I think you are starting to.”

Itsuki looked away.

“Is this really my choice?” 

“Yes.”

“If I say no?”

“Then we stay here, and we continue slowly.”

Itsuki searched her face, trying to find the trap.

Mariah allowed the silence to stretch. “I will not drag you out of Radiance. I will not ask the king to order you into a carriage. I will not pretend consent means anything if it is taken from you. But I will tell you that saying no has a cost, just as saying yes does.”

“What cost?”

“Time,” Mariah said. “Uncertainty. The possibility that your energy returns too slowly for the next crisis. The possibility that when you need power again, the only thing strong enough to answer is the part you fear most.”

Itsuki’s throat tightened.

That was the cruelest thing Mariah could have said, because it was not a threat. It was the exact fear Itsuki had carried since the butterfly appeared in her hair. If her own power did not return, then what would she do when someone she loved was about to die? Refuse the thing that saved them once? Accept it and risk losing herself? Stand still and hope someone stronger arrived?

Itsuki closed her eyes briefly and thought of her friends then opened her eyes.

“Can we leave tomorrow instead?”

Mariah studied her. “Tomorrow?”

“I need to tell them. All of them. Yoshinori, Aiko, Ryuji, Tetsuo, Kaito. They deserve to know I’m leaving.”

“They may dislike it.”

“They will.”

“And if they ask you not to go?”

Itsuki’s fingers tightened around the edge of her sleeve. “Then I’ll listen. But I’m not going to disappear on them.”

Something in Mariah’s face changed. Not regret. Not exactly approval either. Perhaps calculation shifting shape.

“Tomorrow may be better,” Mariah said after a moment. “You will travel more cleanly after rest, and leaving after proper goodbyes may make your energy less defensive when we begin.”

Itsuki noticed the phrasing. “You mean calmer.”

“It is training,” Mariah repeated, but this time there was enough softness in it that Itsuki could almost believe she understood why the word mattered.

Itsuki took the staff from the desk and held it close. The familiar weight helped, even though her energy did not rise to meet it the way it once had. “Where are we going?”

Mariah met her eyes. “To an old site beyond Radiance where energy residue behaves strangely. It has been used before for difficult cases, though not many. The location is kept quiet because places like that attract people who should not be curious.”

Itsuki watched her carefully.

The answer sounded prepared. It also sounded reasonable. Those two things together made it harder to challenge.

“How far?”

“Two days by carriage.”

“And the whole trip?”

“Five days at most, including the work there and the return.”

Itsuki looked down at her staff. Five days felt small when Mariah said it. It felt enormous when Itsuki thought of Shunjiro returning to a dorm where she was gone. It felt reckless when she thought of Kaito not knowing yet. It felt necessary when she thought of standing helpless again.

“I’ll go,” she said.

Mariah did not smile too widely. 

“Then tonight, pack for travel. Bring your staff, durable clothes, and anything that helps you remain steady. We leave in the morning after you have spoken with your guild and Kaito.”

Itsuki nodded.

“Do not spend the night frightening yourself into exhaustion,” Mariah added.

Itsuki gave her a tired look. “That is not something people choose.”

“No, but people do occasionally encourage it with imagination. Try not to.”

The words might have irritated Itsuki yesterday. Today, they almost sounded like Mariah’s awkward attempt at care. Itsuki did not know what to do with that, so she turned toward the door before the silence could grow complicated.

“I’m going to tell them.”

“I expected you would.”

Itsuki paused with her hand on the door. “You are sure this will help?”

“No,” Mariah said.

Itsuki looked back.

Mariah’s expression was calm, but not careless. “I am sure it matters. Help is what we are trying to discover.”

She left the research room with her staff in hand and the weight of tomorrow settling across her shoulders.

In the corridor, Itsuki stopped for a moment and pressed her hand over the place where the gold shimmer rested inside her.

She wanted her power back. She wanted to protect them. She wanted to be stronger before the next person she loved was taken from her reach.

Those wants carried her forward.