Rayne led them away from the open market.

Kaito did not follow.

That alone told Yoshinori more than any explanation would have. Kaito had trusted Rayne enough to hand Illumina over completely, and while that should have been reassuring, it also made the walk through Radiance feel heavier. The crowd noise faded behind them as Rayne guided Yoshinori, Aiko, Ryuji, and Tetsuo through the castle’s outer paths and toward a quieter wing of the grounds. 

The private training ground sat behind a tall stone wall on the eastern side of the castle grounds, removed from the larger yards used by regular guilds and knights. It was smaller than Yoshinori expected, but cleaner and more controlled. The floor was packed sand over stone, firm enough for footwork and soft enough to mark movement. Wooden posts stood near one wall, racks of practice weapons lined another, and thin white markers had already been placed across the ground in uneven rows. A few hanging ropes and bells swayed in the morning air, though no breeze reached them strongly enough to explain the movement.

Rayne stopped at the center of the yard with his broadsword still strapped across his back, then turned to face them. “No sparring today.”

Aiko’s brows drew together. “Then what are we doing?”

“I am seeing what you brought with you.”

Tetsuo looked down at himself. “Bandages, mostly.”

Rayne’s eyes moved to him, not sharply, but with enough attention that Tetsuo’s mouth closed on its own.

“You can joke after you finish,” Rayne said. “Not before.”

Tetsuo nodded once. “Fair.”

The answer came without its usual grin. That made Yoshinori glance at him, but Tetsuo was already looking at the training ground, his right eye studying the markers in the sand as if they might leap at him. Since waking, he had made light of almost everything. He had called the scar impressive, the bed prison, the healers tyrants, and his own restrictions a personal attack. But standing here, with no healer bed to perform from and no reunion to soften the moment, he looked quieter. The bandage across the left side of his face made that quietness harder to ignore.

Rayne pointed toward the markers. “You will cross the field one at a time. No abilities unless I permit them. No spiritual bursts to save poor footing. Step between the markers, reach the far wall, turn, and return. Simple.”

Ryuji studied the layout. “That cannot be all.”

“It is not.”

“What is the part you left out?”

“You will learn it when you fail.”

Ryuji’s expression tightened for a moment, but he stepped forward. His ribs had improved enough, but improvement had made him impatient. He wanted to trust his body again. 

Rayne walked along the edge of the markers, watching.

Ryuji made it halfway before he turned his torso to avoid a narrow cluster and stopped himself with a controlled inhale. It was not dramatic. He did not stumble. He did not cry out. But everyone saw the movement catch.

“Stop,” Rayne said.

Ryuji froze.

“What hurt?”

Ryuji looked over his shoulder. “A little pull. Nothing serious.”

“That was not the question.”

Ryuji’s jaw shifted. “My left side, near the ribs.”

“How much?”

“Enough to notice.”

“Then you noticed too late.”

Ryuji’s eyes narrowed slightly, more frustrated with himself than with Rayne. “I avoided the marker.”

“You twisted to avoid it. If this were a blade, you might have avoided the cut and opened the injury. That is not defense. That is trading a visible wound for one you are already hiding.” Rayne pointed toward the start. “Again. Smaller steps. Your shoulders do not turn unless your feet earn it first.”

Ryuji returned to the beginning without argument, though annoyance stiffened his posture. The second attempt was slower. He adjusted with his feet, not his ribs. It looked less impressive, almost cautious, but he made it farther before Rayne stopped him again.

“Better,” Rayne said. 

Ryuji exhaled and nodded.

“Tetsuo.”

Tetsuo stepped forward immediately, but the first step onto the marker field changed his face. The rows were not perfectly straight. Some markers were tall, others flat. A few sat near the left side of his path, low enough that he had to track them with attention instead of simply sensing their place. He moved past the first two cleanly. Then he turned his head too far to check his left side, and the correction threw his foot toward a marker he should have cleared easily.

He stopped before stepping on it.

Rayne walked closer. His voice changed slightly. “You found it.”

Tetsuo’s fingers curled. “Found what?”

“The place your body still thinks it can see.”

Tetsuo swallowed, and the motion shifted the edge of the bandage along his cheek. “I can fix it.”

“Yes,” Rayne said. “But not by pretending the old distance is still there.”

Tetsuo looked at him. “What do I do?”

“You slow down enough to learn the new measurement. Turn with your feet before your neck. Keep sound on your left. Do not overcorrect to prove you are unbothered. If you miss something, name it and adjust.”

Tetsuo looked back at the markers. “That easy?”

“No.”

Tetsuo started again. This time, he moved with more care, placing each step as if the ground had become unfamiliar territory. Halfway through, Rayne picked up a small wooden bead from a bowl near the wall and rolled it across the sand toward Tetsuo’s left. It moved quietly, almost too quietly. Tetsuo did not see it until it crossed in front of him. He flinched, shifted wrong, and his foot struck a marker.

The marker tipped over.

Aiko’s hand twitched as if she wanted to reach him from across the yard.

Tetsuo did not look at her. He stared at the fallen marker, face unreadable beneath the bandage.

Rayne did not scold him. “Again.”

Tetsuo bent to set the marker upright. His fingers fumbled once before he corrected the distance. That small mistake seemed to anger him more than the failed step, but he only placed the marker back and returned to the start.

Yoshinori watched him carefully. The others noticed now. They had seen Tetsuo miss cups and misjudge doorways, but here there was no easy way to laugh it away. The loss was in his movement, in the way his body searched for information it no longer received. For someone who shaped stone and trusted the ground beneath him, that uncertainty looked cruel.

“Again,” Rayne said, and Tetsuo went again.

By the fourth attempt, he did not clear the field, but he stopped turning his head too sharply. When the bead came again, he heard it before he saw it and shifted his foot instead of his whole body.

Rayne nodded once. “Better.”

Tetsuo’s shoulders loosened by a small amount.

“Aiko,” Rayne said.

Aiko moved into the field with focus. Her energy had returned enough for her body to feel quick again, and unlike Ryuji, she had no injury preventing her from twisting. Unlike Tetsuo, her vision was whole. She moved through the first stretch easily, too easily, then reached a narrow cluster and shifted her weight as if preparing to swap out of the angle by instinct.

“Do not use your ability,” Rayne said.

“I wasn’t.”

“You were about to.”

Aiko’s mouth tightened. “I did not activate it.”

“Your body prepared for it. That matters.”

She stopped in the center of the field. “My ability is part of how I move.”

“And that is why your combat foundation needs work.”

The criticism landed exactly where Rayne intended. Aiko’s eyes sharpened, and Yoshinori felt the air around her change. 

Rayne did not react to it. “You are fast when the swap is available. You are decisive when panic creates purpose. I am not worried about your ability. I am worried about what happens in the half-second before you use it.”

Aiko crossed her arms. “You learned all of that from watching me walk?”

“I learned enough to ask the question.”

She looked annoyed, but she did not argue further.

Rayne pointed to the cluster she had nearly avoided with a swap. “Go through it normally.”

Aiko moved again. Without the instinctive escape of her ability, the narrow space forced her footwork to tighten. She cleared the first two markers, brushed the third with her heel, and clicked her tongue in irritation.

“Again,” Rayne said.

Aiko returned to the start.

This time, she slowed down. That alone seemed to bother her. She was used to decisions made quickly, to turning danger into movement before fear caught up. Slowness asked her to feel every piece of the motion, and by the second attempt her annoyance had become concentration. She cleared the cluster without touching the marker, reached the far wall, and returned with her jaw set.

Rayne said, “Better.”

Aiko did not look pleased, but she did look like she had listened.

Yoshinori stepped forward before Rayne called his name, and Rayne noticed immediately.

“Did I tell you to begin?”

Yoshinori stopped. “No.”

“Then why did you move?”

Yoshinori lowered his gaze briefly, understanding the correction before Rayne explained it. “I assumed I was next.”

“You assumed correctly. You still moved before instruction.”

Aiko glanced at Yoshinori. Ryuji did too. Tetsuo remained quiet.

Rayne’s voice stayed calm. “You are trying to stay ahead of every gap. That is useful in a leader when it becomes decision. It is dangerous when it becomes reflex.”

Yoshinori accepted the words without defense. “Understood.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Then begin because I am telling you to.”

Yoshinori stepped into the marker field.

He cleared the first stretch cleanly. His body felt steady, his energy settled, and the ground answered exactly as it should beneath his feet. Yet Rayne had already found the problem. Yoshinori felt it every time he passed near the side where another person would have stood if the group were whole. He adjusted too much toward empty space, his positioning unconsciously widening as if he needed to account for an absent body. At one point, he chose a longer path because it would have kept a teammate safe if a teammate had been there.

Rayne stopped him near the far wall. “Who were you covering?”

Yoshinori looked back. “No one.”

“That is the problem.”

Rayne crossed his arms. “You are not moving as yourself. You are moving as if you are responsible for everyone who is not here. That will exhaust you, and it will make the others fight around your guilt instead of your judgment.”

Yoshinori’s hands tightened once, then relaxed. “I understand.”

“Do not become a substitute for missing people,” Rayne said. “Become useful to the people standing beside you.”

Yoshinori looked toward Aiko, Ryuji, and Tetsuo. None of them looked away. The correction hurt, but there was nothing cruel in it. Rayne was not telling him to care less. He was telling him that care without precision would become a burden.

Yoshinori returned to the start and crossed again.

This time, he narrowed his path. He did not cover space that belonged to no one. He moved as one fighter inside a four-person formation rather than a wall trying to replace two others. It felt wrong at first, but with every step, it became clearer.

“Better,” Rayne said.

The single word carried enough weight that Yoshinori kept it.

Rayne let them rest near the edge of the field long enough to drink water.

“I am not here to return you to who you were before,” he said.

The training ground grew quiet.

Rayne looked at them one by one. “That version of you already broke. I am not saying that to insult you. I am saying it because pretending otherwise wastes time. You survived something that changed how you move, how you trust, how you hesitate, and how you decide. If we train as if none of that happened, the next enemy will teach the lesson harder.”

Rayne continued. “You are four today. Not six. Do not train to replace the one missing from this field. Train so he does not return to people who stopped moving.”

The words carried Shunjiro’s name without ever saying it, which somehow made them easier to endure.

Rayne turned toward Yoshinori. “Lightning.”

Yoshinori stepped forward.

“No large output,” Rayne said. “You will light the rods without burning the cloth.”

He indicated a row of thin metal rods set into a wooden frame near the wall. Each rod had a narrow strip of white cloth tied around its center.

Yoshinori raised his hand.

He sent a narrow thread of lightning toward the first rod. It struck cleanly, lighting the metal with a brief blue-white glow. The cloth did not burn. He moved to the second, then the third, adjusting the energy until each spark arrived exactly where he placed it. His control held. The final rod lit with the same clean pulse as the first.

Rayne watched the cloth strips remain untouched. “Good.”

Yoshinori lowered his hand.

“You have strength,” Rayne said. “More than enough for most enemies you will face at your age. That is why restraint matters. A person with weak power learns control because waste punishes them quickly. A person with strong power can mistake excess for success.”

Yoshinori nodded. “I will remember.”

“You will practice until remembering is unnecessary.”

That sounded like Rayne’s idea of encouragement.

Aiko’s next drill used no swap. Rayne handed her a wooden practice blade and directed her through a series of close-range movement patterns against hanging ropes that swung unpredictably when struck. She had to pass through without using her ability, without knocking the ropes too far, and without relying on sudden displacement to fix bad positioning. The first attempt ended with one rope catching her shoulder and another brushing her side.

Aiko stared at the rope as if personally offended.

Rayne walked beside the pattern. “You are moving as if you can erase a mistake after it happens.”

“I usually can.”

“Sometimes the best swap is no swap.”

She looked at him. “That sounds like something people say when they cannot swap.”

“It is something people say when they have watched a good ability cover an avoidable habit.”

Aiko breathed out through her nose and started again. The second attempt was cleaner. The third was better. By the fourth, she no longer moved like she was waiting for her power to rescue her from the angle. She cut through the ropes with ordinary footwork, shoulders low, blade close, eyes tracking the movement before it reached her.

“Better,” Rayne said.

Aiko lowered the practice blade, breathing harder than she wanted to admit.

“You are tired,” Rayne said.

“I can continue.”

“That was not the question.”

Aiko’s expression tightened. “I am tired.”

“Good. Now you are useful to train.”

She looked like she wanted to argue with the wording, but she could not find a clean place to begin.

Ryuji’s work stayed frustratingly controlled. Rayne did not let him take hits, brace against weight, or do anything that made his ribs part of the exercise. Instead, he made him move through measured defensive steps while keeping a small cup of water balanced on a flat wooden board held between his hands. The task would have looked ridiculous if it had not immediately exposed every time Ryuji breathed too sharply, shifted too hard, or tightened his torso to compensate for pain.

After the third spill, Ryuji stared at the wet sand. “I dislike this.”

“I noticed,” Rayne said.

“I would rather block something.”

“You are not approved to block something.”

“I said I would rather do it. I did not say I was allowed.”

Rayne gave him another board and refilled the cup. “Then you understand the drill.”

Ryuji looked at the cup, then continued.

Tetsuo’s second exercise returned him to the marker field, but Rayne changed the spacing and added small sound cues from the left side. He was allowed no stone and no spiritual shaping beyond basic reinforcement; the drill depended entirely on movement, balance, and attention. Tetsuo hated it, though not loudly. In some ways, loud complaints would have been easier for everyone. Instead, he became quiet enough that Aiko watched him more closely and Ryuji stopped pretending not to notice.

He failed less with each attempt, but every mistake exposed something he had not wanted to see. He still turned too far at times, missed low movement on his left, and misjudged distance by reaching too short once and too far the next. When Rayne rolled the bead again, Tetsuo caught it with his foot instead of seeing it first.

Rayne nodded. “Better.”

Tetsuo looked down at the bead near his toes. “It still feels wrong.”

“It is wrong,” Rayne said. “You lost something. Training does not require you to pretend otherwise.”

Tetsuo’s jaw tightened. “That is not very motivating.”

“It is not meant to be. It is meant to be accurate.”

For a moment, Tetsuo seemed close to answering with something sharp. Then he inhaled, nodded once, and reset his stance.

Yoshinori watched him try again and felt something shift in the group. This was not the training they had imagined when they asked Kaito for permission. Yet every drill left them more aware of themselves than a sparring match would have. Rayne was not showing them how powerful he was. He was showing them how many ways they had become careless without noticing.

By the time the sun shifted higher, sweat had darkened their clothes and the private yard looked as if the most boring battle in history had taken place there. Markers had been kicked over and reset dozens of times. Cloth strips hung untouched from Yoshinori’s rods. The ropes from Aiko’s drill swung more gently now, several marked by clean practice cuts. Ryuji had finally crossed his section without spilling more than a thin ripple over the cup’s edge. Tetsuo had cleared the marker field once without stepping wrong, though when he reached the end he stood with his hands on his knees and said nothing for several breaths.

Rayne called them to the center.

They gathered slowly. Aiko looked tired enough that she no longer tried to hide it. Ryuji stood carefully but less stiffly than before. Tetsuo kept his head angled to include everyone in his sight without making the motion obvious. Yoshinori felt his lightning quiet beneath his skin, controlled and ready rather than eager.

Rayne looked at each of them. “You worked honestly.”

Tetsuo lifted his head slightly. “Is that praise?”

“It is a correction of what I expected.”

Aiko wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist. “Do we get to know what you expected?”

“No.”

Ryuji looked almost amused despite the exhaustion. “That may be for the best.”

Rayne continued as if none of them had spoken. “Tonight, you eat. You stretch before sleep. Yoshinori, thirty minutes of low-output energy control, no more. Aiko, write down three moments where you wanted to use your ability today and what your body did before the thought finished. Ryuji, record every movement that pulled at your ribs, even if you think it was minor. Tetsuo, walk the dorm slowly from memory, then walk it again while deliberately checking your left side before every turn.”

Tetsuo’s brow lifted. “Homework.”

“Training does not end because I stop looking at you.”

“That is a terrifying sentence.”

“It is also true.”

Rayne’s eyes moved between Ryuji and Tetsuo. “Neither of you hides pain from me tomorrow. If you lie badly, I reduce your work. If you lie well, I will eventually notice and reduce it more.”

Ryuji sighed. “That is unfairly thorough.”

“It is efficient.”

Aiko glanced at Yoshinori as a small smile touched her face. He understood why. They were exhausted, corrected, and nowhere near ready for whatever Rayne eventually intended to teach them, but none of it felt pointless. Their bodies hurt in useful places, and their mistakes had names. That was more than waiting had given them.

Rayne shifted the strap of his broadsword and turned toward the exit. “Get food before you return to the dorm.”

Tetsuo looked surprised. “That is part of training?”

“Yes.”

“I may like this part.”

“You still have to walk there correctly.”

“I like it less.”

Ryuji placed a hand lightly near his ribs and began walking toward the gate. “Food first. Complaints after.”

“Complaints during food,” Tetsuo said.

Aiko moved beside him, close enough to catch him if his balance betrayed him but not close enough to make it obvious. “Walk correctly.”

“I am walking beautifully.”

“You nearly hit the post.”

“The post was aggressive.”

Yoshinori followed with Ryuji, listening to the exchange without interrupting. It sounded ordinary enough to be comforting, but different enough that he did not mistake it for the past. They were learning new measurements. New limits. New ways to move around pain without letting pain choose everything.

At the edge of the private yard, Rayne stopped. “I have business elsewhere in the castle. Return to the dorm after you eat. Do not add extra training tonight because you feel encouraged.”

Aiko’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You knew we might.”

“I assumed one of you would suggest it.”

Tetsuo looked offended. “Why did everyone look at me?”

“Because we know you,” Ryuji said.

Rayne gave them one final nod, then left through the side corridor with his travel bag over one shoulder and the broadsword steady across his back. He did not look back to make sure they obeyed. That trust, or perhaps that certainty, made Yoshinori straighten without meaning to.

They bought food from a stall near the quieter side of the market, enough for the four of them and extra to bring back in case Itsuki returned before evening. Tetsuo insisted he could carry something until Aiko handed him the smallest wrapped bundle with the seriousness of assigning a sacred duty. Ryuji carried a larger bag despite Aiko’s suspicion, and Yoshinori took the rest before an argument could form.

By the time they started back toward the dorm, the exhaustion had settled into their limbs, but it did not feel like defeat. It felt like work that had begun properly.

Yoshinori looked ahead toward the castle corridors, toward the dorm that still held empty spaces and waiting belongings, and walked with the others at a pace Ryuji could keep and Tetsuo could measure. Rayne had not promised them strength. He had not promised that Shunjiro would return or that they would be ready when the next disaster came.

He had given them something simpler and harder to avoid.

A place to begin.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Yumi’s fingers glowed softly against Kaito’s chest as she leaned closer, her pink eyes narrowed in concentration.

Kaito sat on the edge of the couch in his office with his shirt pulled open enough for her to examine the place beneath his collarbone where Tsubasa’s poisoned kunai had struck him. The wound itself had nearly closed. Only a dark pink mark remained beneath the bandage, surrounded by faint discoloration where the poison had spread through his body days earlier. Every few seconds, Yumi shifted her hand slightly, sending another careful pulse of healing energy through the muscles around his shoulder and down his arm.

Kaito watched her expression instead of the wound. “You’ve checked the same spot three times.”

“B-Because you lied the first two times I checked you.”

“I did not lie.”

“You said you felt fine.”

“I did feel fine.”

“You could barely lift your arm.”

“That was unrelated.”

Yumi slowly looked up at him.

Kaito held her stare for a moment before conceding, “Possibly related.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Likely related.”

“Kaito.”

“Entirely related.”

Yumi sighed and returned her attention to his shoulder. The faint glow around her fingers traveled farther down his arm this time, following the nerves and muscles that had been partially paralyzed by the poison. Kaito flexed his hand when she instructed him, then rotated his shoulder carefully. There was stiffness, but nothing sharp enough to stop the movement.

Yumi moved behind him next and pressed two fingers against the muscles near his shoulder blade. “Again.”

Kaito rotated the arm.

“No numbness?”

“No.”

“Tingling?”

“None.”

“Dizziness?”

“No.”

“Chest pain?”

“Only when Hiroto talks too much.”

Yumi stopped.

Kaito glanced back over his shoulder. “That was a joke.”

“I know.”

“You did not look amused.”

“I am deciding whether being annoying counts as a medical condition.”

Kaito smiled faintly. It was the first time in several days that the expression did not look forced by exhaustion.

Yumi stepped around him again and took his wrist, checking his pulse while her healing energy faded. For the last few days she had treated his recovery like a personal responsibility, which meant Kaito had spent more time being ordered to sit, eat, sleep, and stop pretending he was recovered than he had spent actually doing anything useful. Shadis had already made it clear he was not allowed to leave Radiance while his condition remained questionable. Yumi had somehow managed to be stricter.

She counted silently, then finally released his wrist.

Kaito waited.

Yumi did not speak immediately.

“That expression concerns me,” he said.

“I am thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

She looked at him sharply. “Do you want me to change my answer?”

Kaito straightened. “You have an answer?”

Yumi gathered the used bandages from the small table beside them and began folding them with unnecessary precision. “The poison is gone. Your circulation is normal again. Your spiritual energy is stable. Your shoulder is still healing, but the injury is not limiting your movement anymore.” She paused, clearly reluctant to say the next part. “You can leave your office.”

Kaito’s brows lifted.

Yumi pointed at him immediately. “That does not mean you can disappear into the Shadow Realm.”

“I was not going to.”

“It does not mean you can take an SSS mission tomorrow.”

“I had not planned that either.”

“It does not mean you can decide you are fully recovered and stop sleeping.”

Kaito leaned back slightly. “You have a remarkably low opinion of my judgment.”

“I have an accurate opinion of your judgment when someone you care about is in danger.”

That answer took the humor out of him, and for a moment neither of them spoke.

Shunjiro remained missing. Kaito knew the search guilds were already preparing to move, and every hour he had spent confined to Radiance had felt heavier because of it. Being medically cleared did not change Shadis’s order that Kaito remain in the kingdom, but it meant he could stop being treated like a patient and start acting like a guild leader again.

He buttoned his shirt carefully. “So I am officially free.”

Yumi hesitated, then nodded. “Within reason.”

“I dislike that addition.”

“I know.”

A knock came at the office door before Kaito could test exactly how far Yumi’s definition of reason extended.

Both of them looked toward it.

“Come in,” Kaito called.

The door opened slowly to reveal Itsuki standing in the hallway, and Kaito’s expression changed immediately.

She looked better than she had when they first returned from the coast, but better remained relative. The empty distance that had once swallowed her expression was no longer constant, yet exhaustion still clung to her. Her blue eyes looked clearer today, though something uncertain moved behind them. Her silver staff rested in one hand, held more like something familiar than something necessary.

“Itsuki,” Kaito said.

Yumi was already standing.

Itsuki glanced between them. “Am I interrupting?”

“No,” Yumi said quickly. “W-We were finished.”

Kaito looked at her. “Apparently I have been released back into society.”

Yumi gave him a warning look before turning toward Itsuki again. “Are you feeling all right?”

Itsuki nodded, though not immediately. “I think so.”

That answer was honest enough that Yumi did not push.

Kaito gestured toward the chair across from his desk. “Sit.”

Itsuki stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She did not sit at first. Her fingers tightened slightly around the staff, and Kaito noticed the hesitation before she finally crossed the room and lowered herself into the chair.

Yumi remained near the couch.

Kaito moved behind his desk, testing his shoulder unconsciously as he sat. “What happened?”

Itsuki looked at him. “Mariah wants to take me outside Radiance.”

Kaito went still, while Yumi’s expression changed even faster.

“What?” she asked.

Itsuki swallowed. “Not permanently. Just for a few days.”

Kaito leaned back slowly. “Start from the beginning.”

Itsuki nodded. She had clearly rehearsed this in her head, but the words still came carefully. “Mariah thinks the reason my spiritual energy is not returning might be connected to what happened to me in the Shadow Elf Dungeon and what happened during the fight with Suzu. She has been studying the difference between the healing energy I used before and the black energy that came out when I fought.”

Yumi’s hands tightened together.

Itsuki continued. “She thinks they might be two different kinds of energy. Not one power changing shape. She said the gold is still there somewhere, but she cannot understand why I cannot reach it normally anymore.”

Kaito’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And leaving Radiance helps how?”

“There is a place she knows about. An old site where spiritual residue behaves differently.” Itsuki looked down at her staff for a moment. “She thinks being there might make it easier to separate what is mine from whatever happened to me. Maybe she can understand why my energy disappeared. Maybe I can learn how to reach it again.”

Yumi stared at her. “Mariah wants to experiment with you outside the kingdom?”

Itsuki looked up quickly. “She did not say it like that.”

“I know how Mariah thinks.”

There was no stutter in Yumi’s voice that time.

Yumi crossed the room toward her. “Where is this place?”

“I do not know the exact location yet. She said it is about two days away. We would spend one day there, then come back. Five days at most.”

“And who is going with you?”

“Mariah said SS-ranked knights would escort us.”

Yumi’s expression did not improve.

Kaito rested his forearms on the desk. “When were you planning to leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

His brows drew together. “Tomorrow?”

“I asked her to wait until then. She wanted to leave sooner.”

Yumi made a quiet sound that contained absolutely no approval for Mariah.

Kaito looked at Itsuki carefully. “Does Shadis know?”

Itsuki nodded.

“Know as in Mariah mentioned the idea to him?”

“He approved it.”

That silenced Kaito, his eyes shifting away from Itsuki toward the window behind his desk. “Shadis approved it,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

Kaito rubbed a hand over his jaw.

Yumi stared at him. “You are not actually considering letting her go.”

Kaito looked back at her. “If Shadis approved the expedition, I cannot overrule him.”

Yumi’s eyes widened. “Kaito.”

“I said I cannot overrule him. I did not say I like it.”

“You should hate it.”

“I am currently deciding how much.”

Yumi turned toward Itsuki again. The anger in her face softened immediately when she looked at the younger healer. “Itsuki, you do not have your spiritual energy back.”

“I know.”

“You cannot heal yourself if something happens.”

“I know.”

“You cannot defend yourself the way you could before.”

Itsuki’s fingers tightened around her staff. “I know.”

Yumi stopped because Itsuki had not said it defensively, which somehow made the answer harder to fight.

Yumi crouched slightly in front of her chair so they were closer to eye level. “Then why?”

Itsuki looked at her.

For several seconds, she seemed uncertain how to answer.

Then she said quietly, “Because I do not want this to be forever.”

Yumi’s expression changed.

Itsuki looked down at her hands. “Every morning I wake up and try to feel something that used to always be there. Even when I was tired, even when I had almost nothing left, there was still something. A little warmth. A thread. Something I could reach.” Her thumb moved slowly over the wood of her staff. “Now sometimes there is only silence.”

Kaito said nothing.

Itsuki continued, her voice steady despite the fear underneath it. “Mariah said there is still something inside me. I have seen the gold come back a little. I know it is not completely gone. If this place gives me a chance to understand it, then I want to try.”

Yumi shook her head slowly. “There has to be another way.”

“Maybe there is.”

“Then we find it.”

“And how long do I wait?”

The question came softly enough that Yumi went still.

Itsuki lifted her eyes. “I do not mean that angrily. I know you are worried. I know everyone is worried. But I have been waiting for my power to come back while everyone else starts moving again. Yoshinori has his energy back. Aiko is getting stronger. Ryuji is healing. Tetsuo is learning how to fight with one eye. They are training with Rayne right now.”

Her voice tightened slightly at the last sentence.

“I am happy for them,” she said. “I really am. But I cannot keep sitting here hoping that one morning I wake up normal again.”

Kaito’s eyes sharpened at the word.

“Normal,” he repeated, leaning back slightly. “Do you think this makes you abnormal?”

Itsuki hesitated.

“I think I want to feel like myself again.”

That answer was different.

Kaito accepted it.

Yumi looked down for a moment, then stood slowly. When she spoke again, the stutter had returned, but it came from emotion rather than uncertainty.

“I d-don’t trust Mariah with this.”

Itsuki’s eyes softened. “Yumi…”

“No.” Yumi shook her head, eyes brightening. “I trust her as a healer. I trust her intelligence. I trust that she understands things about spiritual energy that I never will.” Her fingers curled against her skirt. “But she gets curious. She sees something impossible and wants to know why it is impossible. And sometimes she forgets there is a person standing in the middle of the question.”

Itsuki did not argue.

Because some part of her understood exactly what Yumi meant.

Yumi stepped closer and took Itsuki’s free hand between both of hers.

“If anything happens to you because Mariah pushed too far…” Her voice trembled, then steadied through sheer force. “I will never forgive her.”

Itsuki stared at her.

Yumi’s grip tightened gently. “I mean that.”

“I know.”

“And if you feel wrong, you stop. I do not care what Mariah says. I do not care how close she thinks she is to an answer. You stop.”

Itsuki nodded. “I will.”

Kaito had watched the exchange quietly.

Then he sighed.

“There is another problem.”

Itsuki turned toward him.

“Illumina will not let you go.”

She already knew.

The knowledge showed in her face before she answered.

“Aiko will argue until somebody physically removes her from the conversation,” Kaito continued. “Ryuji will pretend to be reasonable while quietly looking for a way to follow you. Tetsuo will insist losing an eye does not prevent him from traveling. Yoshinori will make a logical argument for why one of them should accompany you, and it will probably be annoyingly good.”

The faintest trace of a smile touched Itsuki’s mouth before disappearing, though both Kaito and Yumi noticed it.

Kaito continued. “And if Shunjiro were here, we would not even be having this conversation because he would already be packing.”

That one hurt differently.

Itsuki looked down.

“Yes,” she said.

Kaito’s expression softened.

“Illumina will not want you to leave,” he said. “Not after everything that happened. Not while Shunjiro is missing. They barely accepted being told they cannot search for him.”

“I know.”

“They will think they are protecting you.”

“I know.”

“And they will not be entirely wrong.”

Itsuki looked back at him.

“But they are going to have to let me go.”

The firmness in her voice surprised both of them as she sat a little straighter.

“I do not want to leave them. I do not want to leave Radiance while Shunjiro is missing. I keep thinking about what happens if he comes back while I am gone.” Her fingers tightened around Yumi’s hand. “But five days is not forever. And if Mariah is right, then maybe I come back able to heal again. Maybe I come back able to understand what happened to me instead of being afraid every time I feel something different.”

She took a breath.

“I might have a chance to return to normal with this.”

Kaito watched her for a long moment.

She was no longer the frightened girl from the healer hall, nor the empty shell who had ridden home from the Coastal Kingdom, nor even the Itsuki who had first entered his office months ago beside Shunjiro, Yoshinori, and Tetsuo. She was still wounded and still afraid, but she was making a choice for herself, and that mattered.

Kaito leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly. “I still do not like it.”

Itsuki nodded. “Okay.”

“I especially do not like that Mariah went to Shadis before speaking to me.”

Yumi muttered, “Of course she did.”

“I heard that.”

“I wanted you to.”

Kaito ignored her and looked at Itsuki. “But Shadis approved it. Mariah believes there is something there worth investigating. And most importantly, you want to go.”

Itsuki held his gaze.

“Yes.”

Kaito nodded once.

“Then go.”

Yumi looked toward him, unhappy but not surprised.

Itsuki’s shoulders loosened slightly.

Kaito pointed at her before relief could become too comfortable. “That is not permission to let Mariah turn you into a research project.”

“I know.”

“You stay with the escort.”

“I will.”

“You do not wander away because you feel something interesting.”

“I will not.”

“If your body tells you something is wrong, you listen before Mariah convinces you that nearly dying would produce valuable data.”

Yumi nodded emphatically. “Exactly.”

Itsuki gave them both a small, tired smile. “I promise.”

Kaito studied her another second before lowering his hand.

“Then tell your guild yourself.”

Itsuki nodded.

“I was going to.”

“They will be angry.”

“I know.”

“Aiko may yell.”

“I know.”

“Tetsuo may try to hide in your luggage.”

That actually drew a quiet laugh from Itsuki.

Yumi’s eyes widened slightly at the sound.

Kaito smiled.

“Good,” he said. “You still remember how to do that.”

Itsuki looked embarrassed almost immediately, though the warmth remained faintly in her face as she stood. Yumi released her hand reluctantly.

Itsuki adjusted her grip on the staff and looked between them. “Thank you.”

Kaito shook his head. “Thank us when you come back.”

“I will.”

Yumi stepped forward and hugged her before Itsuki could leave.

Itsuki froze in surprise, then slowly wrapped one arm around her.

“Please be careful,” Yumi whispered.

“I will.”

“And if Mariah does anything reckless…”

“I will stop her.”

Yumi pulled back and looked directly into her eyes. “I am serious.”

“I know.”

Itsuki turned toward Kaito, who gave her a small nod before she opened the office door and stepped into the hallway.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Rayne left the castle grounds not long after separating from Illumina.

The horse waiting for him near the eastern gate was already saddled, a dark brown mare provided by the castle stables after Kaito had made it clear that Rayne would be free to come and go while he remained in Radiance. His travel bag rested behind the saddle, and the weight of his broadsword sat comfortably across his back as he mounted. One of the guards opened the gate without asking where he was going. Rayne gave the man a brief nod and guided the horse through, leaving the white stone walls of the kingdom behind.

Radiance remained visible for a long time.

Its towers rose above the surrounding land, their golden roofs catching the afternoon sunlight so brightly that they seemed to carry pieces of the sun itself. Even from a distance, the kingdom looked warm and alive. People traveled the roads leading toward the gates, merchants moved between villages, and fields stretched across the land in orderly sections.

Rayne kept riding.

He had no interest in the main roads.

After some time, he guided the horse onto a narrower path where wagon tracks became less common and eventually disappeared altogether. Grass grew higher there. The noise of travelers faded until only the steady rhythm of hooves remained.

He had taken this route enough times that he no longer needed markers. The path carried him past a shallow stream, around a low ridge, and through a sparse collection of trees that had grown crooked from years of wind before the land opened again.

Rayne slowed the horse.

Even from a distance, the tree looked wrong, just as it always had.

Everything surrounding it belonged to the Light Continent. Familiar bark, familiar leaves, familiar colors shaped by the warm climate and generous sunlight. Then, standing alone near the base of a gentle hill, was a tree that looked as though someone had removed it from another world and forced it to survive here.

Its trunk was pale beneath the darker outer bark, twisting upward in smooth uneven curves rather than growing straight. Long narrow leaves hung from thin branches in layered clusters, their upper surfaces a muted blue-green while their undersides caught the sunlight with a faint silver sheen. Even after years in the Light Continent, the tree had never managed to look as though it belonged there. It didn’t.

Because it did not.

Rayne brought the horse to a stop beneath the hill and dismounted.

He tied the reins loosely around a nearby branch before removing the travel bag from the saddle. The horse lowered its head toward the grass while Rayne climbed the remaining distance alone.

He stopped beneath the strange tree.

For several moments, he said nothing.

There was no polished stone beneath it, no elaborate grave marker or name carved into marble for travelers to notice. Only a small weathered stone rested near the base of the trunk, half-covered by grass.

Rayne crouched and pulled the growth away from it.

His hand rested against the stone afterward.

“Hello, Mother.”

The words came quietly.

The wind moved through the leaves above him, turning several of them enough for their silver undersides to flash in the sunlight.

Rayne sat beside the trunk and leaned his back against it.

He had planted the tree himself. Getting it here had been difficult, but keeping it alive had been worse. The soil and seasons were wrong, and even the sunlight had seemed strange at first, as though the tree understood that it had been carried somewhere it did not belong.

Rayne had almost lost it during the first year.

He had refused to let that happen.

Some things deserved the effort of keeping alive.

His eyes lowered toward the grass.

He could still remember how heavy his mother had felt in his arms, though it had nothing to do with her size. She had never been a large woman. It was the stillness that made her feel heavy, the way her breathing weakened against his chest no matter what he did, the way her fingers held his arm until they no longer had the strength, and the way her eyes remained on him as though she were trying to memorize his face before there was no more time.

Rayne had carried many injured people since then.

He had watched people die.

He had killed people himself.

None of it had ever erased the memory of holding his mother while there was nothing he could do to stop her from leaving.

He looked up through the strange leaves.

“I started today.”

There was no answer, of course.

There never was.

Still, Rayne continued.

“They are worse than Kaito described.”

A faint smile touched his face.

“Not weaker. Worse.”

The smile remained for only a moment.

“One has lost an eye and has already decided he can treat that like an inconvenience. Another is still moving around broken ribs as though pain becomes less real if nobody hears him complain about it. The girl with the spatial ability is talented enough that she has been allowed to skip learning things she should have learned years ago.”

His gaze drifted toward Radiance in the distance.

“And the lightning user is trying to become six people by himself.”

That one concerned him more than the others.

Yoshinori was disciplined, intelligent, and powerful for his age, the kind of young fighter adults praised because he rarely needed to be told something twice.

That could become dangerous.

The boy was trying to fill every empty space left behind by the people who were not currently standing beside him. Rayne had recognized it almost immediately because people who carried responsibility badly often looked impressive right up until the weight crushed them.

“They listen, though,” Rayne said. “Even when they do not like what they hear.”

His fingers tapped once against his knee.

“That matters.”

The wind moved again.

Rayne tilted his head back against the trunk and closed his eyes.

Then his thoughts returned to the reason he had agreed to come here in the first place: Illumina. Even thinking the name made something old stir inside him.

Humans in the Light Continent knew the name if they had read enough history. Some scholars knew that an elite elven group had carried it roughly a thousand years ago. Others knew they had served Sultan during the campaign against the Dawnless Crown. The better histories mentioned infiltration, sabotage, the collapse of supply routes, the work done before Kakai Soleil ever stood before Morrigan.

That was the version written in human books.

Rayne knew more, enough to understand that the name had never been casual and that the five elves remembered as Illumina had become something far larger than a military unit in the stories carried by their own people. He knew enough that when Kaito told him a young guild in Radiance had chosen that exact name, Rayne had stopped listening to everything else for several seconds.

He opened his eyes.

“Illuminа,” he murmured.

The ancient name sounded different beneath this tree.

Closer.

Rayne had spent much of his life trying to understand pieces of himself that being born an elf had not automatically explained. Blood did not provide knowledge. It did not tell him where every tradition came from or why certain names carried weight that humans could not hear. Being a full-blood elf was rare enough now that people occasionally treated the fact itself as an answer.

It was not.

If anything, it gave Rayne more questions.

His mother had been one of the few connections he had possessed to something older.

When she died, too many answers died with her.

That was partly why he kept coming here, not because the grave could speak, but because beneath this tree he remembered why those questions mattered.

Rayne reached up and rubbed his thumb across a rough section of bark.

“When Kaito first told me the guild’s name, I thought he was trying to irritate me.”

He could almost imagine his mother laughing at that.

“Kaito enjoys doing that.”

Rayne looked toward the horizon again.

“But he was not joking.”

A boy named Shunjiro Tenzai had created a guild.

Then, somehow, he had called it Illumina.

That was the part Rayne could not leave alone.

He had asked enough questions to know that Shunjiro was only fifteen, originally from Suncrest Village, and barely more than a new adventurer despite how quickly he had risen. He had survived things he should not have survived, gathered people around him, and then disappeared during the disaster in the Coastal Kingdom.

Nothing in that description explained the name.

Rayne did not know whether Shunjiro understood what he had chosen.

Perhaps someone had told him.

Perhaps he had found the name buried in some forgotten record.

Perhaps it was coincidence, although Rayne had lived long enough to distrust coincidences that carried a thousand years of history behind them.

Or perhaps there was something else.

That possibility was what had brought him all the way to Radiance.

Training the others mattered. They were young, injured, and preparing themselves for a world that clearly had no intention of waiting until they were ready. Rayne had no problem helping them.

But the name had made the decision personal.

He wanted to know why this generation had produced another Illumina.

And he wanted to meet the person standing at its center.

Rayne thought about the four teenagers from that morning.

None of them had spoken about Shunjiro constantly, but they did not need to.

Shunjiro was everywhere in the gaps between them. Yoshinori unconsciously covered his position, Aiko’s attention shifted whenever his absence was indirectly mentioned, and Tetsuo joked around the empty space he had left behind. Ryuji, meanwhile, watched the others as though someone had to make sure the group did not lose another person.

Whatever kind of leader Shunjiro Tenzai was, he had left an imprint deep enough that four people were still adjusting their movements around the shape of his absence.

That interested Rayne.

Power alone did not create that.

“I wonder what you would think of them,” he said.

His eyes moved toward the grave.

“The new Illumina.”

The old name and the young faces did not fit together yet.

Perhaps they were not supposed to.

The first Illumina had not begun as legends either.

Rayne knew enough history to understand how often later generations forgot that part. People remembered names after they had survived wars, after songs had been written, after victories had been polished by centuries of retelling. They forgot that legends had once been people standing somewhere uncertain, making decisions without knowing whether history would remember them at all.

Maybe that was what he was looking at now.

Or maybe Shunjiro had simply found a name he thought sounded good and accidentally stepped into something much older than himself.

Rayne almost preferred that explanation.

It would certainly be funnier.

His mouth curved faintly.

“I still want to ask him.”

He imagined the conversation and knew he would not begin with grand questions or ancient history. There was only one thing he wanted to ask first.

Why Illumina?

He wanted to know whether Shunjiro’s face would show recognition, confusion, fear, or nothing at all.

And after that, he wanted to know what kind of boy could gather the four people he had trained that morning and make them care enough to keep moving while believing he might never return.

Kaito had spoken about Shunjiro too carefully, and Rayne had noticed.

There were things Kaito had not told him.

That was unsurprising. Kaito collected secrets the way other men collected scars.

Rayne intended to discover those answers himself.

He rested there beneath the tree a while longer before finally pushing himself upright.

His palm settled against the trunk.

“I came here because I wanted answers about us,” he said softly. “I did not expect one of those questions to be waiting for me inside Radiance.”

His gaze moved back toward the distant kingdom.

The golden towers were smaller from here, but they still caught the sun.

“An Illumina led by a human boy who does not even know I am looking for him.”

Rayne shook his head.

“Strange world.”

He stepped toward the grave marker once more and crouched beside it. His fingers brushed away the last pieces of grass he had missed earlier before resting against the cool stone.

“I will come back.”

Then he stood.

Rayne walked down the hill, untied the horse, and mounted. Before leaving, he looked at the tree one final time.

Silver flashed beneath its leaves, foreign roots buried in foreign soil and alive anyway.

Rayne stared at it for a moment longer before turning the horse toward Radiance.

He had come to train Illumina.

That was what Kaito had asked of him.

But somewhere between the ancient name, the four battered teenagers trying to rebuild themselves, and the leader none of them had stopped waiting for, Rayne had realized he wanted something else from his time here.

He wanted to meet Shunjiro Tenzai and hear, from the boy himself, how a name buried beneath a thousand years of elven history had found its way back into the world. More than that, Rayne wanted to see what kind of person now stood at the head of this age’s Illumina.

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The smell of food reached Itsuki before she opened the dorm door.

For a moment, she stood in the hallway with one hand resting against the handle, listening to the voices on the other side. Tetsuo was complaining about something. Aiko told him he was exaggerating. Ryuji responded with a comment Itsuki could not quite make out, and Yoshinori’s quieter voice followed a second later.

The ordinary sounds made her hesitate more than silence would have. 

Itsuki tightened her grip around her staff and opened the door.

Four heads turned toward her.

The common room looked different from when she had left that morning. Wrapped food covered part of the table, along with cups of water and the remnants of whatever Rayne had put them through. Yoshinori’s hair was slightly damp with sweat. Aiko had changed out of some of her training clothes but still looked exhausted, the scar along the left side of her face uncovered as always. Ryuji sat carefully rather than comfortably, one hand occasionally drifting toward his healing ribs whenever he moved too quickly. Tetsuo was nearest the food, his face flushed from exertion, the scar running through his missing left eye impossible to overlook now that the bandages were gone.

They looked tired, but they looked alive.

Aiko noticed her expression first. “You’re back.”

Itsuki nodded. “Yeah.”

Tetsuo lifted one of the wrapped bundles. “We bought extra.”

His right eye moved toward the food, then back to her. The adjustment was small, but Itsuki noticed the deliberate turn of his head. Rayne had already begun changing how he moved.

“We weren’t sure if you ate,” Tetsuo added.

“I did.”

Ryuji leaned back carefully. “That has never stopped Tetsuo from eating twice.”

“That sounds like jealousy.”

“It sounds like observation.”

Tetsuo pointed toward him. “You’re just mad because Rayne made you carry water around like a waiter.”

Itsuki blinked.

Aiko gave Tetsuo a look. “And you spent half the morning losing fights against wooden markers.”

“One of them moved.”

“It did not.”

“It had an aggressive presence.”

Then Yoshinori looked at Itsuki more closely.

His expression changed.

“What happened?”

The room settled immediately.

Itsuki should have expected that. Yoshinori had always noticed when someone walked into a room carrying something they had not arrived with.

She closed the door behind her.

“I need to tell you something.”

Tetsuo lowered the food.

Aiko straightened.

Ryuji’s humor disappeared.

Itsuki crossed the room and sat in the empty chair near the table. Her staff rested against her leg. For several seconds, nobody spoke. The conversation with Kaito and Yumi had been difficult, but this felt worse.

These were the people who had stood beside her when she could barely stand beside herself, and now she had to tell them she was leaving.

Yoshinori sat across from her. “Is this about Mariah?”

Itsuki looked at him.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You’ve been with her most of the morning.”

“Yes.”

Aiko’s posture changed immediately.

Itsuki took a slow breath. “Mariah wants me to leave Radiance with her tomorrow.”

“No.”

Aiko answered so quickly that Itsuki had barely finished speaking.

Tetsuo stared at her. “Leave?”

Ryuji leaned forward and immediately stopped when his ribs protested. “Where?”

Yoshinori said nothing yet.

That worried Itsuki more.

“She knows about an old site outside Radiance,” Itsuki said. “There is something unusual about the spiritual residue there. She thinks it might help her understand what happened to my energy.”

Aiko was already shaking her head. “No.”

“Aiko.”

“No, Itsuki. Absolutely not.”

Itsuki had expected resistance, but she had not expected hearing it to hurt this much.

Aiko stood. “You barely have spiritual energy. Mariah literally told us she could not feel anything inside you when we got back. You cannot heal yourself properly right now, and you want to leave the kingdom?”

“I’m not going alone.”

“That does not make this better.”

“SS-ranked knights are coming with us.”

Aiko stared at her. “I don’t care if she brings every knight in Radiance.”

Tetsuo pushed away from the table. “I’ll go.”

Everyone looked at him.

Tetsuo was already rising.

Aiko immediately pointed at him. “Sit down.”

“I can go with them.”

“You spent this morning learning how not to walk into things.”

“That is an unfair summary.”

“It is an accurate summary.”

Tetsuo looked at Itsuki instead. “If you’re leaving, I’m coming.”

“No.”

This time, Itsuki said it.

Tetsuo stopped.

She looked directly at him. “You are not coming.”

His right eye narrowed. “Why not?”

“You know why.”

“I can still fight.”

“That isn’t what I said.”

“I can protect you.”

Itsuki’s fingers tightened around her skirt. “Tetsuo, you just started training today.”

“So?”

“So you lost your eye.”

The room went very quiet.

Itsuki immediately hated how blunt it sounded.

Pain flickered across Tetsuo’s face before stubbornness covered it.

“I noticed,” he said.

Itsuki swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t apologize for saying it.”

He sat again, though reluctantly.

Itsuki looked at the scar crossing his face. “You’re learning how to move again. You need to stay here and do that.”

Tetsuo’s jaw tightened. “And what are you doing?”

The question struck exactly where he meant it to.

Itsuki held his gaze.

“The same thing.”

Tetsuo had no immediate answer.

Ryuji exhaled slowly. “All right. Then there has to be a middle ground.”

Aiko turned toward him. “There is no middle ground.”

“There usually is.”

“Not this time.”

Ryuji ignored her and focused on Itsuki. “How long?”

Itsuki nodded. “At most. Two days there, one day at the site, two days back.”

“Could you wait?”

Itsuki hesitated.

Ryuji continued before she answered. “A week. Two weeks. Enough time for your energy to recover a little on its own. Enough time for Tetsuo to stabilize. Enough time for my ribs to stop trying to murder me. Then maybe one of us goes with you.”

“Mariah thinks waiting may not change anything.”

“Thinks.”

“Yes.”

“That is not certainty.”

“No.”

Ryuji’s expression tightened. “Then why rush?”

“Because I don’t know what waiting costs either.”

Ryuji fell silent.

Yoshinori finally spoke.

“Explain exactly what Mariah believes.”

Itsuki looked toward him.

There was no anger in his face.

“She thinks the energy I used before and the black energy I used against Suzu may not be the same thing.”

Aiko’s expression changed at Suzu’s name.

Itsuki forced herself to continue. “The healing energy is still somewhere inside me. I have felt small traces of it. Gold. But it doesn’t respond the way it used to.”

Yoshinori folded his hands together. “And the black energy?”

Itsuki looked down.

“Mariah thinks it works differently. She said it doesn’t just damage something. It breaks it apart from the inside. She thinks what happened in the Shadow Elf Dungeon and what happened with Suzu changed something in me, and this site might help her separate the two enough to understand what belongs to me and what doesn’t.”

Yoshinori’s eyes sharpened. “She wants to expose you to unusual spiritual residue when she doesn’t understand the energy already inside you.”

“Yes.”

“That is dangerous.”

“Yes.”

“You cannot reliably defend yourself.”

“No.”

“You cannot heal yourself.”

“Not right now.”

“And you are still going.”

Itsuki met his eyes.

“Yes.”

Aiko pushed away from the table and started pacing. “This is insane.”

“Aiko.”

“No. We finally get you talking again, you finally start eating properly, you finally start acting like you’re actually here, and now Mariah decides the solution is taking you somewhere strange outside the kingdom?”

“Mariah didn’t decide for me.”

Aiko stopped.

“I did.”

The words were quiet, but they changed the room.

Itsuki rested both hands around the shaft of her staff.

“I told her I would go.”

Aiko stared at her. “Before talking to us?”

“I talked to Kaito and Yumi.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“I know.”

Aiko’s eyes widened slightly.

Itsuki had rarely spoken to her like that, not harshly, but firmly enough that Aiko noticed.

Aiko shook her head. “We are your guild.”

“I know.”

“We are supposed to make decisions like this together.”

“About the guild, yes.”

“This affects the guild.”

“This affects my body.”

Aiko went still.

Itsuki’s heart was beating too quickly now, but she refused to look away.

“This is happening inside me,” she said. “I’m the one who wakes up and reaches for something that used to be there and finds nothing. I’m the one who doesn’t know if the next time black energy comes out of me, I’ll still be myself afterward.”

Aiko’s anger faltered.

“I know you’re scared.” Itsuki’s gaze moved first to Tetsuo. “I’m scared too.” Then she looked toward Ryuji. “I know this could go wrong.” Finally, her eyes settled on Yoshinori. “And I know all of you want a safer answer.”

She swallowed. “So do I.”

The room remained silent.

Itsuki looked down at her hands. To her surprise, they were not shaking.

“For the last few days, I’ve been watching everyone start moving again. Yoshinori got his energy back. Aiko is training. Ryuji is recovering. Tetsuo woke up and lost an eye, and today he still went outside and started learning how to live with it.”

Tetsuo’s expression shifted.

Itsuki looked at him.

“You didn’t wait until having one eye felt normal.”

He glanced away.

“You started learning what normal means now.”

Something about Rayne’s lesson clearly struck him, because Tetsuo did not answer.

Itsuki’s gaze moved between all four of them.

“I have to do the same.”

Aiko slowly lowered herself back into her seat.

Itsuki drew in another breath.

“I don’t want to spend every morning checking whether my healing came back and every night wondering if tomorrow will be different. I don’t want everyone looking at me like one bad day means I’m going to disappear again.”

Aiko looked hurt.

“Itsuki…”

“I know you don’t mean to.”

That stopped her.

“I know why you watch me. I know why Ryuji listens when he thinks I’m crying. I know why Yoshinori keeps asking whether I’ve eaten without actually asking. I know why Tetsuo tries to make me laugh whenever the room gets too quiet.”

Ryuji’s eyes shifted away.

Yoshinori said nothing.

Itsuki’s voice softened.

“I love you for all of it.”

Her throat tightened.

“But I can’t live inside everyone else’s fear.”

Itsuki gripped her staff tighter.

“I need my healing back.”

She paused.

“No. That isn’t enough.”

Yoshinori looked at her more carefully.

“I need to understand what I am now. Because what happened with Suzu…” Her voice caught, but she continued. “I can’t pretend that power wasn’t mine just because I’m afraid of it. Maybe the butterfly gave me something. Maybe it changed something. Maybe that black energy was already inside me. I don’t know.”

Aiko’s face had softened completely now.

“And that is exactly the problem,” Itsuki said. “I don’t know.”

She pressed one hand lightly against her chest.

“What if something happens again and I lose myself because I was too afraid to learn? What if one of you needs me and all I can do is stand there because I chose waiting over an answer?”

Her mind flashed back to Shunjiro lying in blood beneath her hands, with nothing coming from her and nothing answering no matter how desperately she tried. Itsuki forced herself to breathe through the memory.

“I already know what that feels like.”

Yoshinori’s expression changed.

He understood exactly what she meant.

“When Shunjiro comes back, I don’t want him to find me sitting here because everyone was too afraid to let me move.”

Aiko’s eyes filled.

Itsuki looked back at her.

“And he is coming back.”

Aiko nodded immediately.

“Yes.”

“I believe that.”

Itsuki’s voice strengthened.

“So I’m not going to wait for him by doing nothing. I’m going to make sure that when he gets here, I can stand beside him again.”

Tetsuo leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“What if this doesn’t fix you?”

Itsuki considered the question.

Then shook her head.

“Maybe it won’t.”

Tetsuo’s brow furrowed.

“But I think I’m done talking about myself like I’m broken.”

The words surprised even her.

Her fingers loosened around the staff.

“I keep saying I want to go back to normal. I told Kaito that too. But maybe I don’t know what normal is anymore.”

Her gaze moved across Tetsuo’s missing eye, Aiko’s scar, Ryuji’s guarded posture around his ribs, and the exhaustion still clinging to Yoshinori.

“None of us came back normal.”

Tetsuo gave a faint humorless breath.

“No,” he said. “Guess not.”

“So maybe I’m not trying to become who I was.”

Itsuki looked down at the silver staff she had carried since the beginning.

“I just want to understand who I am now.”

That finally broke through the last of Aiko’s anger.

She leaned back and covered her face with both hands.

“I hate this.”

Itsuki’s mouth moved faintly. “I know.”

“I really hate this.”

“I know.”

Aiko dropped her hands. “And I still think Mariah is insane.”

“That seems to be popular today.”

Ryuji almost smiled.

Yoshinori did not.

He was still thinking.

“What does Kaito say?”

Itsuki looked at him. “He doesn’t like it.”

“That sounds right.”

“But Shadis approved it, so Kaito said he couldn’t overrule him. He accepted that I want to go.”

“Yumi?”

Itsuki hesitated.

“She said she’ll never forgive Mariah if something happens to me.”

Tetsuo blinked. “Yumi said that?”

“Yes.”

Ryuji gave a low whistle. “Mariah should probably be afraid.”

“She isn’t,” Aiko muttered.

“That is what makes it worse.”

Despite herself, Itsuki smiled faintly.

Yoshinori watched her for another long moment.

Then he asked, “If we all tell you not to go, what happens?”

Itsuki knew this was the real question. It had nothing to do with Mariah, Shadis, the escort, or the strange energy inside her. Yoshinori was asking whether she had come here for permission.

She looked at Yoshinori.

“I go anyway.”

Aiko closed her eyes.

Tetsuo leaned back.

Ryuji exhaled through his nose.

Yoshinori’s expression did not change.

Itsuki continued before any of them could respond.

“I’m not saying that because I don’t care what you think. I care too much. That’s why I came here and told you instead of leaving tomorrow and letting someone else explain it.”

Her eyes moved across them.

“But this decision is mine.”

There it was, the thing she had struggled to say since entering the room.

“I want you to understand.”

Her voice softened.

“But I don’t need you to agree.”

Silence filled the dorm.

Aiko stared at her.

Then, slowly, something almost proud appeared beneath the fear.

It was not happiness or approval, but recognition.

“You’ve gotten stubborn,” Aiko said.

Itsuki looked down. “I spend too much time with Shunjiro.”

That earned the smallest laugh from Tetsuo.

Even Yoshinori’s mouth shifted faintly.

Aiko pointed at Itsuki. “That was not a compliment.”

“I know.”

Ryuji leaned back carefully against the couch.

“All right.”

Aiko looked at him sharply. “All right?”

“I didn’t say I like it.”

“You sound like you’re agreeing.”

“I’m accepting that she’s going.”

Aiko opened her mouth.

Ryuji looked at her.

“She just told us she would go even if we all said no.”

Aiko glared at Itsuki.

Itsuki held the stare.

Aiko’s glare weakened.

“That was extremely rude of you,” she muttered.

“I know.”

“And unfair.”

“Probably.”

“And I’m still angry.”

“I know.”

Aiko sighed so heavily that her shoulders dropped.

“Fine.”

Itsuki blinked.

Aiko immediately raised a finger. “No. Do not look relieved. I said fine in the sense that I understand I apparently cannot physically trap you in the dorm without ruining our friendship.”

Tetsuo raised his hand slightly. “We could probably build a stone wall.”

Aiko turned toward him. “Not helping.”

“I’m brainstorming.”

Itsuki actually laughed, quietly but more easily than before.

Tetsuo smiled at the sound.

Ryuji looked toward Itsuki. “You check in whenever possible.”

“I will.”

“If something feels wrong, you stop.”

“Yumi already made me promise that.”

“Good. Then promise us too.”

Itsuki nodded. “I promise.”

Tetsuo crossed his arms. “And if Mariah does something stupid, hit her with the staff.”

Itsuki stared at him.

“What?”

“She can heal.”

“That is not how this works.”

“Feels reasonable.”

Aiko shook her head. “Ignore him.”

Tetsuo looked wounded. “Everyone has become cruel since I lost an eye.”

Aiko threw a napkin at him.

It struck his shoulder.

Tetsuo looked down at it, then toward her with offended disbelief. “You attacked my blind side.”

Aiko froze.

For one awful second, Itsuki thought the joke had gone too far.

Then Tetsuo smiled.

A real one.

“That was messed up.”

Aiko stared at him.

Then grabbed another napkin.

Tetsuo immediately raised both hands. “No, wait. I have learned the lesson.”

Ryuji laughed, then regretted it when his ribs pulled.

“Worth it,” he muttered.

The tension in the room loosened by a fraction.

Only Yoshinori remained quiet.

Itsuki looked at him.

“You still don’t agree.”

“No.”

The honesty did not hurt as much as she expected.

Yoshinori leaned forward, hands clasped.

“I think this is dangerous. I think we know too little about what happened to your soul. I think Mariah’s curiosity makes her willing to approach risks most people would avoid. I think leaving Radiance while your energy is this unstable creates vulnerabilities no escort can completely remove.”

Itsuki nodded.

“But.”

She waited.

Yoshinori looked at her with tired blue eyes.

“Rayne told me this morning that I’m trying to become responsible for everyone who isn’t here.”

Itsuki’s expression softened.

“He said that if I keep doing it, the rest of you will eventually start fighting around my guilt instead of my judgment.”

Yoshinori looked toward the floor for a moment.

“I don’t want to turn protecting you into another version of that.”

Itsuki’s throat tightened.

“So no,” Yoshinori said. “I do not agree with the risk.”

He raised his eyes.

“But I believe you understand that there is one.”

Itsuki nodded.

“And I believe you’re choosing it anyway because you think standing still is worse.”

“Yes.”

Yoshinori exhaled slowly.

“Then I won’t try to stop you.”

That was the sliver she had wanted, not approval, but trust.

Itsuki felt her eyes begin to sting.

She blinked quickly.

“Thank you.”

Aiko immediately pointed at Yoshinori. “Do not make this sound like we collectively approved it.”

“We did not.”

“Good.”

Tetsuo looked toward Itsuki. “You leave tomorrow morning?”

“Yes.”

“How early?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Then we’re getting up before you.”

Itsuki blinked. “Why?”

Tetsuo stared at her as if the question were ridiculous. “To see you off.”

Aiko nodded. “Obviously.”

Ryuji smiled faintly. “You didn’t think you were escaping that easily, did you?”

Itsuki looked at all four of them.

Something warm pressed painfully against her chest.

She had spent days feeling as though there was nothing inside her where spiritual energy used to be.

For a moment, that absence did not feel quite as large.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Aiko stood and crossed the room.

Itsuki recognized what was coming and had enough time to set her staff aside before Aiko wrapped both arms around her.

The hug was tight.

Possibly too tight.

Itsuki did not complain.

Aiko pressed her face against Itsuki’s shoulder. “Five days.”

Itsuki hugged her back.

“Five days.”

“If you’re late, I’m coming after you.”

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to leave Radiance.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

Ryuji sighed. “And there goes the responsible acceptance.”

“I accepted nothing.”

Tetsuo rose carefully. “Group hug?”

“No,” Yoshinori said.

Tetsuo ignored him.

He wrapped both arms around Aiko and Itsuki from the side before either could stop him.

Aiko made an irritated sound. “Tetsuo.”

“What? She’s leaving.”

“You are crushing me.”

“I’m being supportive.”

Ryuji stood slowly.

Yoshinori looked at him. “Do not.”

Ryuji smiled. “We’ve already lost control.”

He joined them carefully enough to protect his ribs.

Yoshinori remained seated.

Four faces turned toward him.

“No.”

Aiko narrowed her eyes.

“Yoshinori.”

“This is unnecessary.”

Tetsuo held one arm out toward him. “Come experience friendship.”

“I am familiar with friendship.”

“Evidence suggests otherwise.”

Itsuki started laughing again.

Yoshinori closed his eyes for one second.

Then stood.

“This never happened.”

He stepped into the ridiculous cluster carefully, and the moment he did, Tetsuo pulled him closer with his free arm.

Yoshinori immediately regretted everything.

Itsuki did not.

For several seconds, she stood surrounded by them, with Aiko holding too tightly, Tetsuo making the entire thing structurally inconvenient, Ryuji trying not to injure himself, and Yoshinori pretending he had been forced into it.

One space was still missing.

Shunjiro should have been there, and Itsuki felt his absence immediately. This time, though, it did not swallow everything else. She believed he would come back, and when he did, she wanted to meet him standing, not waiting to become the girl she had been before or frightened of what now lived inside her, but standing as whoever she became next.

Tomorrow, she would leave Radiance.

None of them liked it.

But when they finally separated, no one told her she could not go again.