Kaito remained seated with his hands resting on the table, his posture steady despite the hidden strain still pressing through his body. Hiroto stood behind him, density control still active, quiet and constant. Without it, Kaito knew his exhaustion would show more clearly. With it, he could at least remain upright in front of the king, the officials, and the leaders who were now deciding how far Radiance would move for one missing adventurer.
Shadis looked at him. “State the facts as they are known.”
Kaito nodded. “Shunjiro vanished during the final stage of the battlefield incident. We have no body, no confirmed direction, no witness who saw where he landed, and no reliable trail. We cannot confirm whether Eclipsed Abyss took him. We cannot confirm whether he escaped on his own. We cannot confirm whether a portal displaced him somewhere beyond the immediate battlefield.”
Mirei’s pen moved across the page. “So there is no destination.”
“No,” Kaito said.
Daisuke glanced down at the notes already written. “No residue? No report of a portal closing around him?”
“None that reached us,” Kaito answered. “The survivors were injured, exhausted, and scattered. By the time the field could be understood, Shunjiro was gone.”
Masaru leaned back in his chair. “Then he is not missing. He is lost.”
Celia’s eyes shifted toward him. “There is a difference.”
“Not to the dead,” Masaru replied.
Yumi’s hands tightened in her lap, but she stayed quiet. Kaito did not look at her. He kept his focus on Masaru, refusing to let the older guild leader drag emotion out of him before the real argument began.
“You assume death too quickly,” Kaito said.
“I assume what keeps people alive,” Masaru answered. “Searching for the dead wastes bodies. Searching for someone taken by a group like Eclipsed Abyss may waste more.”
Elian’s gaze moved between them, quick and thoughtful. “There is another possibility. If Tsubasa invited him and he refused, Eclipsed Abyss may have forced the issue later.”
“That has not been proven,” Kael said.
“No,” Elian agreed. “But it would explain why there is no trail.”
Shadis listened without moving, his expression unreadable. “Kaito.”
Kaito understood what the king wanted clarified. “Tsubasa directly invited Shunjiro to join Eclipsed Abyss. Shunjiro refused. I heard enough from the survivors to know the refusal was clear.”
Masaru’s eyes narrowed. “Refusal on a battlefield means less than people want it to. Circumstances change. Fear changes people. Power changes them faster.”
Kaito’s voice stayed even. “He refused them when refusal was dangerous.”
“And if they took him afterward?”
“Then he is a captive.”
“Or compromised.”
This time, Kaito’s silence sharpened.
Masaru did not retreat from it. “You want everyone in this room to treat Shunjiro Tenzai like an innocent boy because you like his guild. I am saying the name matters both ways. If Eclipsed Abyss wanted him, then he has value. If he has value, they will try to shape him. If they succeed, retrieving him may not mean bringing home the same child who vanished.”
Celia’s face tightened. “That does not mean we abandon him before finding out.”
“I did not say abandon,” Masaru said. “I said do not mistake retrieval for rescue when the target may already be in enemy hands.”
Elian tapped one finger lightly against the table. “Masaru is not wrong about the risk. If Eclipsed Abyss meant for Radiance to know Shunjiro mattered, this could be bait. They reveal the name, take Suzu, invite a Tenzai, then vanish. Radiance responds by sending powerful guilds out of position. That may be exactly what they want.”
Kael nodded once. “Emptying Radiance would be foolish.”
“We are not emptying Radiance,” Shadis said.
The room stilled under the king’s voice.
Shadis folded his hands on the table. “And we are not treating Shunjiro as dead.”
Masaru’s gaze turned to him. “Because of Takeshi?”
“In part,” Shadis said. “If Eclipsed Abyss considered Shunjiro important enough to invite, then killing him carelessly would be wasteful. Killing Takeshi Tenzai’s younger brother would also risk drawing the attention of an EX-rank adventurer whose response no kingdom here would wish to predict. Even criminals understand consequence when the consequence is large enough.”
Masaru’s expression remained cold. “Some criminals believe consequence proves their importance.”
“Then they are fools,” Shadis replied. “And nothing about this group suggests foolishness.”
The map carved into the surface of the table seemed to pull every eye for a moment. The four continents rested beneath their hands like decisions waiting to be made: Light, Cosmic, Nature, and Darkness. Between them, the Shadow Realm stretched like a wound no nation owned but every nation feared. If Shunjiro had been moved by portal, he could be nearly anywhere. If he had been taken by Eclipsed Abyss, the possibilities narrowed only slightly and became more dangerous.
Daisuke adjusted the notes in front of him. “Search priority, Your Majesty?”
“Possible escape routes first,” Shadis said.
Mirei looked up. “Nature and Darkness.”
Elian’s eyes sharpened. “That would be my assessment as well. If Tsubasa wanted distance without returning to familiar ground, the Nature Continent gives him wilderness, dungeon cover, and fewer organized checkpoints. The Darkness Continent gives criminals, lawless routes, and places where an unknown like Reina Kusare could disappear without anyone finding it unusual.”
“Cosmic?” Kael asked.
Shadis’s gaze moved to the northern edge of the map. “Last.”
Daisuke seemed surprised. “Because of Tsubasa and Renjiro’s history there?”
“Because of it,” Shadis said. “Tsubasa fled Altheron. Renjiro’s name is known across Cosmic. If they are careful, they will avoid the place every king and official expects them to use first. We will not ignore Cosmic, but unless another lead appears, it will not be our first move.”
Masaru’s fingers tapped once against the table. “The Shadow Realm?”
The name made the room feel slightly smaller.
Kaito looked toward Shadis. He knew the answer before the king gave it, but the question had to be asked. If Shunjiro had vanished from the battlefield with no trail, the Shadow Realm could not be dismissed entirely. It had too many entrances, too many dead roads, too many places where a person could be swallowed without leaving a sound behind.
Shadis’s answer came firm. “No extended search in the Shadow Realm.”
Celia’s brows drew together. “None?”
“Not without a clear lead,” Shadis said. “The Shadow Realm is not searched casually. Every hour inside increases risk. Every unnecessary route creates another chance to lose the search party as well as the missing boy. Scouts may watch known crossings. We will question travelers. We will gather reports from inns and border routes where possible. But I will not send a top guild to wander the Shadow Realm blind.”
Kael gave a low grunt of agreement. “Good. The Shadow Realm eats confidence.”
Elian leaned back, though his eyes remained active. “So Nature and Darkness.”
“Yes,” Shadis said.
Masaru’s expression darkened before anyone else could speak. “You are about to send two SSS-ranked guilds after one boy.”
Kaito looked at him, but Shadis answered first.
“No,” the king said. “I am about to send two SSS-ranked guilds after the only living thread Eclipsed Abyss may have failed to cut.”
The room quieted.
Shadis continued, voice calm and precise. “This is not only a rescue mission. If Shunjiro is alive, he may carry information about Tsubasa, Renjiro, Suzu, or the method of his own disappearance. If he was taken and escaped, he may know where Eclipsed Abyss moved him. If he was targeted and avoided capture, that tells us something about their limits. If he is dead, then finding proof may still reveal where they went after the battlefield. We are not chasing sentiment. We are following a lead.”
Celia nodded slowly. “A person can be both.”
Shadis looked toward her.
“A lead and a child worth saving,” she said.
For the first time in the discussion, some of the hardness around Kaito’s eyes eased.
Masaru did not look convinced. “Sending Sunveil and Azure out at the same time leaves Radiance weaker.”
“Which is why Argent Wolves stays,” Shadis said.
Kael’s scarred hands folded more tightly. “We will hold the kingdom.”
“You will do more than hold,” Shadis said. “Argent Wolves will remain ready for direct combat deployment if Suzu Nozomi, Renjiro, Reina Kusare, or any confirmed member of Eclipsed Abyss moves against Radiance or its surrounding territories.”
Kael inclined his head. “Understood.”
Masaru’s gaze moved toward Shadis. “And Black Thorn?”
“You will investigate Eclipsed Abyss,” Shadis said. “Reina Kusare, Renjiro’s recent movements, Makoto Ryuzen’s disappearance, criminal networks tied to trafficking or portal movement, and any rumor that uses the words Eclipsed Abyss. Quietly.”
Masaru’s face showed the first sign of satisfaction since the meeting began. “That is where my guild belongs.”
“Yes,” Kaito said. “It is.”
Their eyes met across the table.
There was no friendship in the exchange, but there was agreement. Masaru did not want to retrieve Shunjiro. Kaito did not want Masaru anywhere near the decision of how Shunjiro would be treated if found. For once, the divide between them made the assignments cleaner.
Shadis turned to Elian. “Azure Comets will search the Nature Continent. You will move through major routes first, then wilderness paths, dungeon towns, border villages, and any known places a portal user might choose to avoid attention.”
Elian’s expression sharpened with something close to eagerness, though the gravity of the moment kept it restrained. “We can move quickly. If he crossed through Nature, we will find signs faster than anyone else.”
“You will not chase beyond support range without reporting,” Shadis said.
Elian gave a faint smile. “I was afraid you would say that.”
“I expected you to be.”
The smile disappeared into a respectful nod. “Understood.”
Shadis looked to Celia. “Sunveil Order will search the Darkness Continent.”
Celia did not react with fear, but the decision settled visibly across her shoulders. The Darkness Continent was not a place chosen lightly. Its routes were cruel, its laws uneven, and its cities full of people who had learned to survive by noticing weakness before kindness. Sending a protection-focused guild there meant Shadis wanted more than speed. He wanted people capable of retrieving Shunjiro alive if the search became complicated by prisoners, civilians, wounded travelers, or hidden camps.
“We will prepare carefully,” Celia said. “If Shunjiro was taken through Darkness, someone saw something. People always see more than they admit in places like that.”
Masaru’s mouth moved faintly. “If they are willing to speak.”
Celia looked at him. “They speak when they believe someone will protect them afterward.”
“And when they do not?”
“Then we find another way.”
Elian glanced toward her. “Try not to start a small war before I finish Nature.”
Celia gave him a calm look. “Try not to outrun your own supply lines.”
Kael’s eyes moved between them. “Both of you try returning alive.”
That ended the small exchange more effectively than any official command.
Mirei wrote the assignments in clean, quick strokes. Daisuke leaned slightly closer to see if her phrasing matched what he had planned to write. She angled the page away without looking at him.
Daisuke cleared his throat. “Should the search guilds depart immediately?”
“When they are ready,” Shadis said. “They will have supplies, maps, contacts, healers, and communication routes. I will not rush two SSS-ranked guilds into unknown territory just to satisfy fear.”
Kaito’s hand tightened slightly on the edge of the table.
Yumi noticed.
So did Shadis.
“You will not be joining them,” the king said.
Kaito’s gaze lifted. “If I could search myself, I would.”
“I know.”
“I am not asking because I misunderstand my condition.”
“You are not going because I understand it,” Shadis replied. “You were poisoned. You are exhausted. Radiance needs your judgment alive and your guild intact. You will remain in the kingdom.”
Yumi exhaled, then spoke before Kaito could answer. “Y-you are staying.”
Kaito looked at her.
The stutter was softer than before, but it was there, pulled out by the pressure of the room and the fact that she was speaking in front of a king. Still, she did not lower her gaze.
“You c-can be angry later,” she said. “But you are s-staying.”
Hiroto’s deep voice came from behind Kaito’s chair. “She is right.”
Kaito tilted his head slightly, enough to acknowledge the betrayal without turning around. “You too?”
“I carried you with density control from the healer hall,” Hiroto said. “This is not the moment to pretend.”
Akira spoke next, her voice level. “If you collapse outside Radiance, we lose you and slow the search. That helps no one.”
Mei remained quiet, but her violet eyes rested on Kaito with the same conclusion.
Kaito looked down at the table.
For a moment, the room saw the part of him that was not a guild leader giving reports or an SSS-ranked adventurer deciding strategy. They saw the man who had watched a young guild throw itself against horrors it should never have faced, who had reached the battlefield too late to prevent the worst of it, who had told Illumina they could not search for their own leader because he knew the world would kill them for trying too soon. He wanted to move. That much was obvious. He wanted to stand, leave the room, take his sword, and find Shunjiro before the next report turned hope into something colder.
Kaito nodded. “I will remain.”
Yumi’s shoulders lowered slightly.
Shadis gave him no praise for accepting what was necessary. He simply moved to the next matter. “Illumina is forbidden from leaving Radiance.”
Kaito looked back up. “Good.”
Celia’s expression softened with concern. “They will not accept that easily.”
“No,” Kaito said. “They already did not.”
Masaru’s eyes narrowed. “Then put guards on them.”
Kaito’s gaze turned cold. “They are injured children, not prisoners.”
“They are attached to a missing target connected to Eclipsed Abyss,” Masaru said. “Attachment makes people stupid.”
“It also makes them brave,” Celia said quietly.
“Bravery is not the issue,” Kaito replied before Masaru could answer. “Survival is. I told them they are not leaving. Shadis can make that official.”
“I am,” Shadis said. “Illumina will be informed that top guilds have been assigned to search. They will not be given permission to pursue Shunjiro, investigate Eclipsed Abyss, or leave the kingdom until further notice.”
Daisuke wrote quickly. “I will prepare the order.”
Mirei added, “And phrase it so it cannot be mistaken for a suggestion.”
Daisuke glanced at her. “That was implied.”
“Not strongly enough.”
Elian folded his arms, looking thoughtful rather than amused. “Would their knowledge of Shunjiro be useful? Habits, decisions, how he moves when injured?”
“Yes,” Kaito said. “Later.”
“Later?”
“When they can speak without grief deciding the answers for them, when Tetsuo wakes, when Ryuji can breathe without broken ribs punishing him, and when Itsuki can look at someone and actually hear their question.” Kaito’s voice lowered slightly. “Right now, asking them to predict Shunjiro’s movements would only make them want to follow.”
Celia nodded. “Then later.”
Masaru’s gaze sharpened. “And if Shunjiro is found with Eclipsed Abyss?”
The room stilled again.
Kaito answered immediately. “He is retrieved.”
“You assume willingness cannot change.”
“I assume nothing.”
“You assume enough to object to the obvious possibility.”
Kaito’s voice remained controlled, but the table felt the tension beneath it. “Shunjiro refused Tsubasa once. That matters.”
“Once,” Masaru said. “Before capture, before pressure, before fear, before promises. Eclipsed Abyss does not seem like an organization that asks politely and accepts disappointment.”
Shadis spoke before Kaito could. “Every possibility will be considered.”
Kaito looked at him.
The king’s expression remained unreadable. “If Shunjiro is found with Eclipsed Abyss, the search guilds will retrieve him if possible. He is not to be executed. He is not to be treated as an enemy unless he is actively endangering lives. Even then, lethal force is not authorized unless no other option remains.”
Masaru did not hide his disagreement. “Because of Takeshi.”
“Because killing Takeshi Tenzai’s younger brother without absolute necessity would be reckless enough to endanger more than the search party,” Shadis said. “And because there is no proof Shunjiro has done anything deserving death.”
Celia’s eyes remained on Masaru. “That should be enough.”
“It should be,” Masaru said. “The world rarely behaves according to should.”
Kael finally spoke again, his voice rough but steady. “The order is clear. Retrieve if alive. Confirm if dead. Report if taken. Do not die chasing shadows.”
Elian nodded. “Azure Comets can work with that.”
“So can Sunveil,” Celia said.
Shadis looked toward Daisuke and Mirei. “Prepare sealed mission documents. Azure Comets will take the Nature Continent, and Sunveil Order will take the Darkness Continent. Black Thorn begins its investigation within Radiance and external criminal channels, while Argent Wolves remain on defense and direct combat readiness.”
Daisuke bowed quickly. “At once, Your Majesty.”
Mirei bowed as well. “I will coordinate the sealed routes and contact lists.”
Daisuke’s eyes flicked toward her. “I can handle the contact lists.”
“You can handle the copies.”
“Copies are important.”
“Then you should be honored.”
Shadis looked at them.
Both straightened.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” they said together.
Elian looked faintly amused. It vanished as soon as his eyes returned to the map. The assignments had been made, but no one in the room mistook assignment for solution. Nature and Darkness were massive. Eclipsed Abyss had already proven it could move between battlefields, continents, and names without leaving enough behind for anyone to feel comfortable.
Kaito stared at the carved map a moment longer.
Shunjiro could be anywhere; taken, hiding, injured, running, changed, or dead. Every possibility had been named, but none had been answered.
Shadis rose from his chair, and everyone in the room straightened with him.
“Then it is decided,” the king said. “Azure Comets and Sunveil Order will prepare to depart when ready. Black Thorn will hunt the organization behind this. Argent Wolves will keep Radiance protected. Illumina stays within the kingdom. Kaito Ishiro stays within the kingdom.”
Kaito accepted the final sentence without looking away.
Shadis’s gaze moved over the room, king to guild leader, official to official, decision to consequence. “We move carefully. We move quietly. And until we know where Shunjiro Tenzai is, no one in this room assumes his disappearance is separate from Eclipsed Abyss.”
The orders had been given.
The search for Shunjiro would begin without Illumina, without Kaito, and without certainty that there was still a boy waiting to be found.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
A few hours after the officials’ meeting ended, Radiance grew quiet on the hill east of the kingdom.
The flower field rested beyond the outer road, far enough from the castle that the noise of the city softened into something distant. Early evening light spread across the grass in warm, fading layers, touching the white and yellow flowers that swayed under a light breeze. From the top of the hill, Radiance could still be seen behind them, its walls bright beneath the sinking sun, its gold-capped spires catching the last pieces of daylight.
The service was small. The Titans stood closest to the grave: Daichi Takeda, Rei Tatsuki, Aira Tatsuki, Roki, and Akima. A few others who had known Hikari stood nearby in silence, close enough to be present but far enough not to crowd the grief that belonged most heavily to the guild she had called home. There were no family members standing beside the grave. No dwarven relatives had come from distant settlements. No elder had arrived to speak the old words of her people. Dwarves were one of the rarest races in the world, scattered and difficult to reach, and even if messages had been sent the moment Hikari fell, no one from her bloodline could have arrived in time.
A simple stone had been placed at the head of the freshly turned earth. Hikari’s name had been carved into it with care, each letter clean and deep enough to last. Around the stone, flowers had been laid in a wide circle. Some had been picked from the field itself. Others had been brought from Radiance, bundles of white and gold tied with thin ribbon, placed gently by people who did not know what else their hands could do.
Her warhammer lay beside the grave.
For anyone else, it might have looked too large and heavy for a funeral. For Hikari, it looked right. The weapon had been cleaned after the battle, though some marks could not be removed completely. It rested across a folded cloth near the open earth, waiting to be placed with her. Hikari had carried it like an extension of herself, not only as a tool of battle but as a part of the presence she brought into every room.
Rei stood at the front with her hands clasped tightly before her.
She had changed into proper funeral clothes, dark and simple, though bandages still showed beneath the sleeves and collar when the breeze shifted the fabric. Her face was controlled, but not cold. Control was the only thing holding her upright in front of everyone. Aira stood beside her, pink hair moving softly in the wind, her eyes fixed on the flowers at Hikari’s grave. Akima stood close to Aira, one hand resting gently against her back, not forcing comfort, only offering it. Roki stood on the other side of the grave, shoulders drawn inward, his beastkin ears lowered, his eyes red from holding back too much for too long.
Daichi stood near the stone.
He had not said a word since arriving.
His funeral clothes sat stiffly over the healing cuts across his body, the fabric unable to hide the tension in his posture. His jaw was clenched. His hands hung at his sides, fingers curled slightly as if he wanted to grab onto something but could not decide whether that something should be the earth, the warhammer, or the grief pressing behind his ribs. He did not look at anyone for long. Every time his gaze moved toward the grave, his face tightened and he looked away before whatever was inside him could rise high enough for others to see.
Illumina stood slightly apart.
Yoshinori, Ryuji, Aiko, and Itsuki had come after eating and washing away as much of the road as they could. Their funeral clothes made them look more formal than they felt, as if the fabric belonged to a different version of them, one that knew how to stand properly at a service and carry grief with dignity. Yoshinori stood closest to Ryuji in case his broken ribs became too much, though Ryuji had insisted he could stand on his own for this. Aiko stood with the burn scar on the left side of her face uncovered, the damaged skin visible. She had not hidden it for the service. She had not hidden it from anyone.
Itsuki stood between them, physically untouched in a field full of bandages and scars, her blue eyes fixed forward without truly seeing.
Kaito and Yumi stood a short distance behind the Titans.
Kaito’s posture was steady enough now that anyone who had not seen him in the healer hall might have believed he was nearly recovered. The poison had loosened its grip, and rest had returned some color to his face, but Yumi remained close all the same. She did not fuss over him here. She did not speak. Her pink eyes stayed on the grave with quiet sadness, and every so often they moved toward Kaito as if making sure his strength had not betrayed him. Kaito had come because the Titans mattered to him. Before they had become the damaged guild standing over one of their own, they had been rookies once, young adventurers he had watched grow from uncertain beginnings into people brave enough to stand in front of horror. Hikari had been one of them. Leaving her farewell only to the young would have felt wrong.
No one hurried Rei.
The field waited with her.
At last, she took a breath.
“Hikari was the first person to join Titans Guild with Daichi,” Rei said.
Her voice was not loud, but it carried across the hill. The breeze did not steal it. If anything, it seemed to move around her words gently, giving them space.
“She believed in us before there was much to believe in. Before the name meant anything. Before people looked at us and saw strength.” Rei’s gaze lowered to the flowers. “She was never the loudest because she wanted attention. She was loud because she wanted people to stop pretending they were alone. She laughed when things were bad, not because she did not understand fear, but because she refused to let fear decide the whole room.”
Aira’s shoulders trembled once.
Akima’s hand moved lightly along her back.
Rei continued, each word simple and personal, with none of the polish of a speech prepared for strangers. “Hikari made Titans Guild feel like a place someone could come back to. She was stubborn. She was reckless when someone else was in danger. She gave advice even when no one asked for it, and most of the time she was right, which made it worse.”
A faint, broken breath moved through someone near the back, not quite laughter and not quite crying.
Daichi’s fingers curled harder.
“She loved this guild,” Rei said. “She loved all of us. And because she loved us, she stood when it would have been easier to run.”
Roki lowered his head.
Rei’s voice softened. “We do not know the dwarven words that should be spoken here. I wish we did. I wish someone from her family could stand with us and tell us how her people would send her onward. But Hikari gave her life with us, fought beside us, and chose us as her family when she joined this guild. So we will honor her the best way we can.”
Rei stepped back.
Then Roki took one step forward.
His large body seemed smaller as he approached the grave. His hands shook, so he clasped them together in front of him and stared at the stone instead of the people waiting behind him. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, roughened by everything he had tried not to let out.
“Hikari was my best friend.”
The words broke something small in the field.
Roki swallowed and tried again. “She always acted like she knew what everyone needed. Food, rest, a punch in the shoulder, someone to yell at you until you stopped being stupid. Most of the time, she did know.” His mouth pulled into a trembling almost-smile that vanished quickly. “She used to say I apologized too much. Then she would apologize for saying it too harshly. Then she would get mad at herself for apologizing, and I would tell her she was doing the same thing she yelled at me for.”
A few heads lowered.
Daichi looked away.
Roki’s eyes filled, but the tears did not fall yet. “She made things easier. Not because anything was easy around her, but because she made you feel like you could handle it anyway. If something was scary, she would stand closer. If someone was hurt, she would move first. If Daichi looked like he was about to carry the entire world by himself, she would tell him he was being dramatic and then help him carry it.”
Daichi’s face tightened sharply.
Roki’s voice faltered. He looked at the warhammer beside the grave. “I keep thinking she is going to say something. That she is going to complain about us being too quiet. That she is going to tell us this is a terrible funeral because everyone looks miserable and she wanted flowers, not sad faces.” His breathing broke. “We brought flowers.”
Aira covered her mouth with one hand.
Akima moved closer to her.
Roki wiped at his eyes quickly, but it did nothing to stop the tears now. “I do not know how to say goodbye to her. I do not think I can. So I will just say… thank you, Hikari. For being my friend. For being our heart. For making us better than we were without you.”
His voice gave out before he could say anything else.
Rei stepped forward and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. Roki leaned into it only slightly, but that slight movement made Yoshinori’s chest ache. He had seen grief in battle. He had seen fear. He had seen people scream and collapse and bleed. This was different. This was the quiet devastation left after survival had done all it could.
One of the few silent mourners, an older adventurer who had known the Titans from their early days, stepped forward only long enough to place a small bundle of flowers near the stone. Another followed. Then another. None of them made a speech. Their silence felt respectful, not empty. They had come because Hikari had touched more lives than the battlefield could count.
Aira did not move until Akima whispered something too soft for Yoshinori to hear.
The pink-haired healer stepped closer to the grave, but stopped before reaching it. Her hands trembled at her sides. She stared at the stone, and the guilt in her face became so naked that Yoshinori had to look away for a moment. Aira had been out of energy. Everyone knew that. She had given everything she could. No one standing on that hill blamed her.
That did not mean she did not blame herself.
Akima stepped beside her, gentle and steady. “She knew,” Akima said softly.
Aira’s eyes squeezed shut.
“She knew you tried,” Akima continued. “Hikari knew what kind of person you are. She would never want you to turn love into punishment.”
Aira did not answer. She only pressed both hands against her chest, breathing unevenly through the words she refused to speak.
Akima wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
Aira leaned into her, barely at first, then more fully, her face turning toward Akima’s shoulder as she cried without sound.
Daichi watched them for half a second, then lowered his gaze again. His entire body seemed locked against the possibility of breaking. He did not cry. He did not speak. But when the breeze shifted and carried a few loose flower petals across his boots, his expression cracked just enough for Yoshinori to see the grief underneath. It was gone almost immediately. Daichi forced it down, swallowing whatever sound had tried to rise.
Rei noticed too.
She did not call attention to it.
Instead, she stepped toward the grave and nodded to the two attendants waiting respectfully nearby. They had been brought only to help with what came after the words. When Rei gave the signal, they lifted Hikari’s warhammer with care. It took both of them. The weapon was heavy, stubbornly so, as if even now it resisted being lowered from the world that had known her.
They placed it into the grave beside her.
The sight of the warhammer disappearing into the earth with Hikari made the finality of the service impossible to avoid. Until that moment, the grave had been a place of words, flowers, and memory. Now it became what it was: a farewell, a closing, and a place they would leave behind when the hill emptied and the evening grew colder.
Rei began the final blessing.
“In Radiance, we return our fallen to the earth beneath the sun,” she said, voice fragile but steady. “May the light remember what we cannot hold. May the road beyond pain be gentle. May the warmth they gave remain with those who loved them.”
The gathered mourners bowed their heads.
Yoshinori lowered his.
The blessing continued around him, but for a moment, his attention slipped toward Itsuki.
She had not bowed.
Her eyes were fixed on the grave.
At first, Yoshinori thought she was still seeing nothing. Then he noticed her fingers move. A small movement, barely there, curling against the dark fabric of her funeral clothes. Her breathing changed next. Not much. Just enough that Aiko looked over too.
Itsuki’s gaze had sharpened, not toward the stone, but toward something that was not there.
Yoshinori felt dread stir inside him. “Itsuki?”
She did not answer.
Her eyes widened slowly, and suddenly Yoshinori understood that she was no longer standing fully in the flower field. Something had pulled her back. Not a sound, not a word, not even Hikari’s name alone. It was the sight of the grave, the warhammer, the blessing, the finality of a body lowered into earth. It had opened some sealed place in her mind and dragged her back to the battlefield, to Hikari, to Suzu, and to the moment Hikari had been impaled.
Itsuki’s lips parted.
No sound came out.
Then tears filled her eyes.
Yoshinori stopped breathing.
For three days, Itsuki had been silent and empty-eyed, seemingly untouched by words, injuries, the news that her spiritual energy might never return, Tetsuo’s ruined eye, or Shunjiro’s disappearance. She had moved when guided and stared when spoken to. She had seemed so far away that Yoshinori had begun to fear no one would ever reach her again.
The first tear fell down her cheek.
Aiko moved first, but Yoshinori was right beside her. Ryuji stepped forward despite the pain in his ribs, one arm folding protectively near his chest as he came close. None of them grabbed Itsuki. They gathered around her, close enough to catch her if she fell, close enough for her to know they were there if anything in her could feel them.
Itsuki’s shoulders trembled. The quiet crying became one broken breath, followed by another, and then the sobs came.
They were not loud at first. They sounded trapped, dragged out of a place too deep to reach easily. Itsuki bent forward slightly, both hands gripping the front of her funeral clothes as if holding herself together through fabric alone. Her tears fell faster. Her breathing broke apart. The empty look in her eyes shattered, and what came through was pain so raw that Yoshinori felt relief strike him like something cruel.
She was crying.
That meant she was still there.
The thought filled him with such sudden gratitude that guilt followed immediately behind it. This was Hikari’s funeral. Yoshinori, in the middle of all that sorrow, felt relief because Itsuki’s tears proved that the silence had not taken her completely.
He hated himself for it.
He could not stop feeling it.
Aiko’s face twisted with the same painful relief. She blinked hard, scar uncovered, eyes bright as she watched Itsuki finally react to the world around her. Ryuji’s expression softened, and he stepped just close enough that Itsuki could hear him without his voice carrying to the whole field.
“Let it all out,” Ryuji said quietly.
Itsuki did not answer.
She only cried harder.
Yoshinori placed a careful hand near her shoulder, giving her the chance to pull away. She did not. Aiko moved to her other side. Ryuji remained in front of her, steady despite the way standing too long had begun to strain his ribs. Together, Illumina surrounded the one member who had finally begun to break where they could see it.
Kaito noticed from behind the Titans.
His face changed only slightly, but Yumi saw it. She looked from him to Itsuki, sadness deepening in her eyes. Kaito had argued for the chance to capture Suzu if possible because of this girl, because of the impossible wound of being forced to fight your own sister and survive what your heart could not. Now Itsuki was crying at the grave of someone Suzu had killed, and there was nothing Kaito could do from where he stood except witness it.
Yumi moved her hand closer to Kaito’s, not quite taking it, but close enough that he knew.
Rei paused the blessing only long enough to let the moment settle without turning it into a spectacle. She looked at Itsuki with quiet understanding, then continued softly.
“May those left behind carry love without being crushed by it.”
The words moved through the field like the breeze.
When the blessing ended, the attendants began covering the grave.
No one rushed them. Earth fell slowly, each soft sound marking the distance between Hikari and the world above. Roki cried openly now, shoulders shaking as Rei stood beside him. Aira remained against Akima, one hand pressed to her mouth while Akima held her close. Daichi stood rigid, eyes fixed on the earth as it covered the warhammer and the body beneath it. He still did not speak. He still did not cry where anyone could see. But when the grave was finally filled, he lowered his head, and for a moment, his hand rose to his chest as if something there hurt worse than every cut Mariah had treated.
The hill grew quieter as the sun lowered closer to the horizon.
One by one, the mourners stepped forward to place flowers at the grave. Rei placed hers first, a small white bundle tied with gold thread. Roki placed yellow flowers next, his hand lingering against the stone longer than anyone else’s. Aira placed a blue flower with shaking fingers. Akima placed hers beside it and whispered something that did not reach the others. Daichi stepped forward last among the Titans. He held one flower in his hand for a long time before setting it down.
He stared at Hikari’s name.
Then he stepped back.
Illumina approached after them.
Yoshinori placed his flower carefully near the edge of the stone. Ryuji placed his beside it, moving slowly so his ribs would not betray him. Aiko set hers down with a tight expression, her eyes flicking once toward Itsuki. Itsuki did not place hers at first. She stood over the grave, tears still falling, breath uneven, hands trembling around the stem of a single white flower.
For one second, Yoshinori thought she might freeze again.
Then Itsuki knelt.
She laid the flower at the base of the stone with both hands.
She did not speak.
But the act was hers.
Yoshinori felt that same painful relief again and let it exist this time without trying to crush it. It did not disrespect Hikari. It did not erase anyone else’s grief. It was simply another small piece of survival in a day built from loss.
Kaito and Yumi placed their flowers last.
Kaito bowed his head before the grave, silent and still. He did not give a speech. He did not need to. His presence was the apology he would not turn into words here, the support he owed to a guild he had watched since they were rookies, the respect he carried for a fallen adventurer whose name would not be reduced to a report.
Yumi placed her flower beside his, then stepped back with him.
The hill held everyone for a while longer.
No one wanted to be the first to leave.
Evening settled gently over the field. The breeze moved through the flowers, brushing petals against the stone with Hikari’s name carved into it. Radiance glowed in the distance, beautiful and untouched from this far away, though everyone on the hill knew better now. The kingdom had taken its wounded home. It had opened its healer halls. It had gathered its officials and named a threat that could reach across continents.
But here, on the hill outside the walls, none of that mattered more than the grave.
Hikari had no family who could make it in time.
So Titans Guild stood for them.
Her friends stood for them.
The people she had protected, annoyed, laughed with, and loved stood beneath the fading sun and gave her what goodbye they could.
When the service finally ended, no one announced it.
Rei only stepped back from the grave, touched Roki’s shoulder, and looked once toward Daichi. Daichi nodded without lifting his eyes. Aira wiped her face and leaned into Akima’s side. The few other mourners began to leave quietly, offering no empty comfort as they passed.
Illumina remained a little longer.
Itsuki’s sobs had softened into quiet, uneven breaths, but tears still clung to her face. Aiko stood close to her. Ryuji stayed beside them, tired but steady. Yoshinori looked at Hikari’s stone, then at the flowers, then at the place where Itsuki had knelt.
They had come to bury Hikari.
They had also watched Itsuki begin to surface from whatever darkness had swallowed her.
As the sun lowered and the hill’s shadows stretched across the flower field, Yoshinori bowed his head one last time.
Then the survivors began the slow walk back toward Radiance.