The tracks weren't deep, but they were deliberate—spaced too evenly to belong to a beast, too erratic to belong to a patrol. They led us into a hollow between two ridgelines, the trees thinning around an old rise of stone.
Rei was the first to slow. "There," she said, pointing ahead. "The ground flattens."
We stepped into what could've been an ancient foundation—just a ring of half-buried stones and a field of moss like stretched velvet. Something about the clearing made the hairs along my arms lift. It felt... wrong. Or too still.
Asmodeus squinted at the far end. "You think they came through here?"
Rei shrugged. "The trail brought us here. But there's no exit."
"Dead end," he muttered, kicking a stone loose with his boot. It rolled forward, then hit something—clicked, faintly.
We all froze.
I glanced at Rei. She was already moving, slow and careful, scanning the edge of the clearing.
I didn't say anything. I didn't feel anything, not in the usual sense. But somewhere inside me, the pressure shifted.
[Ambient mana density increasing. Symbolic pattern integrity: fractured. Potential trigger within a ten-meter radius.]
Metatron's voice rang in my mind like a whisper behind glass—muffled, but insistent.
But I didn't respond.
Because I didn't know what I was supposed to do.
Asmodeus wandered further along the ridge, boots crunching on dry leaves. "No monsters. No entrance. No clues."
"This whole place feels off," Rei muttered. "Not hostile, just… old. Like something meant to be hidden."
I stood in the center of the ring, arms crossed. I didn't speak.
But under my breath, I felt it again.
The pull.
The way the magic here watched.
Not waiting for power.
Waiting for meaning.
Waiting for someone who knew what they didn't know yet.
Just as the silence settled too deep, something growled loud enough to make a bird flinch from the trees.
We all turned.
Asmodeus stood there—mid-step, one hand on his stomach, looking vaguely betrayed.
"…Okay, that wasn't a monster," he muttered. "That was me."
Rei blinked. "Did you eat before we left?"
"Yeah. But not enough. That spell took a lot out of me earlier." He gestured vaguely toward the treeline. "Also, lightning is very calorie intensive. Probably."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "You really want to set up camp here?"
"Unless you'd rather watch me faint and start talking to rocks."
Rei stepped forward, scanning the perimeter again. "We'll ward the area. I'll do the first sweep. Chiori, help me layer the sigils."
"I'll handle outer perimeter tags," Asmodeus offered, stretching. "And maybe dig up a snack. I saw something vaguely edible on the walk here."
"You saw moss," I muttered.
"Hey, moss has texture."
Fifteen minutes later, we had a small, low-profile camp tucked beneath the overhang of a narrow ridge wall. The trees formed a broken canopy, but there was enough space for a heat charm and a faint ward glow to pulse from the boundary lines Rei had etched into the stones.
We set out sleeping mats with minimal fuss. Provisions came next—dried meat, mana-preserved rice crackers, and something Asmodeus claimed was "totally an energy fruit" but looked more like a lump of overripe sap.
No one spoke much after the wards were set.
Rei sat nearest the edge of the ward line, posture relaxed—but her eyes never stopped moving. She was watching the dark. Not afraid. Just… familiar with it.
Asmodeus had stretched out across his bedroll like a man defeated by mere inconvenience, one arm flung dramatically over his eyes. His breathing was steady, but his mana? Still fluctuating. He was tired, even if he didn't say it.
I sat with my legs crossed, arms resting over my knees, Yukihana's weight brushing faintly at the edge of my senses like a heartbeat I hadn't yet learned to ignore.
This was the quiet that came after motion. The moment where your thoughts caught up to you and asked: What now?
The wind pressed low through the trees, stirring the edges of our camp.
I looked up.
The sky was clear now—just a smear of stars, brittle and sharp above the canopy.
[Notice: Emotional quietude detected. Reflection window optimal.]
"Metatron, still with me?"
[Always.]
"…We've come far."
[You have. Your group still lags behind.]
"Be nice."
[I am being factual.]
I exhaled slowly.
We were sitting on the edge of something old—something buried in stone and silence. I didn't know if the ruin would open tomorrow. I didn't know what would wait inside.
But I knew I was closer now than I'd ever been.
Not just to the mission.
But to myself.
There were moments—like now—where I could almost feel the shape of who I was becoming.
No longer just the heir.
No longer just someone with strange eyes and a stranger bloodline.
A witch-in-training.
A swordswoman with an impossible grimoire.
Someone who chose the blade not because she was told to, but because she wanted it.
Because she wanted to understand the weight of it.
Because she wanted to carry it right.
The fire cracked beside me.
And Yukihana pulsed once—faint and soft in my soul, like a lullaby forged in ruin.
"I'm still afraid," I whispered.
[Good. Fear leads to respect. Recklessness leads to death.]
"…Do you ever say anything comforting?"
[Yes. You are still alive.]
I let out a quiet laugh, low and dry.
Rei's voice came gently from the edge of the ward line. "Something funny?"
"Just the voice in my head being encouraging."
Rei turned her head slightly, but didn't press.
And across the camp, Asmodeus snored once—loud, dramatic, clearly on purpose.
"…Definitely asleep," I said.
Rei smiled faintly.
Silence returned.
The fire had settled to embers.
A soft rustle came from Rei's direction—fabric shifting as she adjusted her seat. She wasn't looking at me, but I could tell she was still awake.
"Can't sleep?" I asked.
"…Not really."
A beat.
"Me neither," I murmured.
The silence stretched—long enough that I didn't expect her to say anything else.
But then—
"I used to think that traveling with someone meant learning how they move," Rei said softly. "What steps they take. How they react to new paths. But I was wrong."
I turned my head toward her, curious.
She was staring at the fire now. Her voice was low—deliberate, like she wasn't sure if she wanted to say the words at all.
"It's not just about movement," she continued. "It's about knowing when someone stops. What makes them pause. What makes them hesitate. Or… what makes them push forward even when they shouldn't."
There was something heavy in that. Something lived in.
"You sound like someone who's done a lot of watching," I said quietly.
Her lips twitched—not quite a smile.
"I used to think that was all I was good for."
That almost made me respond. Almost.
But I waited.
And maybe because I didn't speak, she kept going.
"When I was younger, I wasn't allowed to train with the others. Not the real way. I had to watch. To listen. And learn through silence." She picked at a loose thread near the hem of her cloak. "And then when I could train… they didn't recognize me. They didn't even remember my face."
My chest tightened.
"You were hiding then, too?"
"Not by choice," she said. "At first."
She looked up, met my eyes.
"Eventually, it was by choice."
There was pain there—but not pity.
Just history.
She leaned her head back, gazing up at the sky.
"You ever have a moment where you realize you've been two different people for so long… that you're not sure which one you were meant to be?"
I didn't answer.
I didn't need to.
She already knew.
Rei exhaled softly. "That's what makes you dangerous, y'know."
"…What?"
"You never tried to be someone else," she said. "Even when you didn't know who you were—you still chose. You fought for it."
My throat felt tight. I didn't know what to say.
But I reached over, brushing her hand once.
She didn't flinch this time.
"Rei."
She looked over.
"You don't have to be two people anymore."
"…I know."
Rei's gaze lingered on the fire, distant but not lost.
Then, almost too softly:
"There was someone who trained me. She wasn't assigned to me. It wasn't formal. She just… took me in when no one else did."
I tilted my head. "A mentor?"
A faint breath escaped her lips — not quite a laugh.
"No. Not like that."
She hesitated, then added, "An older sister."
That made me pause. Something in the way she said it wasn't performative. It wasn't rehearsed. It was… intimate.
"She taught me how to move without being seen. How to listen for the right silence instead of the loudest voice. Said survival wasn't just a skill — it was a choice. One you make over and over again until it becomes instinct."
I leaned forward slightly. "She sounds strict."
Rei smiled — real, but a little worn. "She was. Is. Stern, cold when she needs to be. But always watching. Always protecting. Even when I didn't understand it."
A pause.
"She didn't have to raise me. But she did."
My brows lifted. "So where is she now?"
Rei's fingers curled into her sleeve. "Still watching. From further away now."
She glanced at me. "You'd probably like her. Or argue with her constantly. Possibly both."
"Does she know you're here? With me?"
"…Yes." Another pause. "She always knows where I am."
There was something else there. A note of pain, buried just under the pride. Regret maybe. Or guilt.
But she didn't say it.
She just let the fire crackle between us, shadows shifting.
"You don't talk about her much," I said carefully.
Rei's shoulders lifted in a faint shrug. "She's not someone you talk about lightly."
A small smile ghosted across her face. "She's the kind of person who leaves impressions like scars."
And something about that stuck with me.
The same quiet steadiness. The way Rei moved when she thought no one was watching.
The way she always knew what room my mother was in before anyone else did.
Rei's smile faded into something gentler. Not quite sadness. Not quite peace.
"She's the kind of person who leaves impressions like scars."
I didn't answer at first.
Not aloud, anyway.
[Observation: Emotional cadence suggests reference to maternal archetype. Potential correlation: Subject Lelyah Tomaszewski.]
Metatron's voice echoed softly in my mind, unintrusive but precise.
Internally, I frowned.
"…You think she's talking about my mother?"
[Probability: 31%. Physical descriptions missing. Behavioral cues: overlap. Further data required for confirmation.]
I didn't reply.
Because I wasn't sure.
And I hated not being sure.
Rei wasn't lying. That much I could tell. But there were still missing pieces. Names she never said. Details she avoided without stumbling.
She hadn't said "my sister."
Just "an older sister."
But that didn't mean she was lying.
It just meant I didn't know enough yet.
Rei's voice had softened, her posture relaxed—but only just. The quiet between us wasn't awkward. It was weighted. Personal.
She stared into the fire a moment longer before she spoke again.
"She used to laugh," Rei murmured. "When we were little. It wasn't often, but when it happened… it was real. Pure. The kind that makes you think maybe everything isn't as broken as it looks."
She reached out to adjust a log with a stick, watching the sparks shift upward.
"But the house we grew up in… kindness didn't survive there. It was something you buried before it got you killed."
I didn't interrupt.
"She changed. Bit by bit. The softness disappeared, like it had to. And in its place came someone else. Someone louder. Crueler. Bigger than fear."
Rei's fingers curled around her knees.
"She started calling herself Apollyon. Said if people were going to label her a threat, she might as well give them a reason."
I felt the name crawl along my spine. My blood didn't chill—but it shifted, like the magic inside me took notice.
[Notice: Historical classification—Apollyon. Confirmed match: Saint of Ruin. Danger tier: SS Rank Black-Class Entity. Notorious for rebellion leadership, ungoverned bloodline enforcement, and catastrophic-level mana suppression.]
Rei's voice was quieter now, but steadier.
"She wore a mask—vulgarity, violence, mockery… it wasn't her. It was armor. She built it so well that even I stopped recognizing her toward the end."
I leaned forward slightly, my voice low. "Was that really the end?"
Rei didn't answer right away. She just stared past the flames again.
"I think… that mask never came off. Not even when she left."
A beat passed. Then:
"She wasn't a monster. Not really. But she made herself one to survive our family."
And there it was—laid bare between us like a scar neither of us had the language to heal.
I didn't say anything for a while. Neither did Rei.
The fire crackled between us, its light dancing off the curve of her cheek. She looked tired—not physically, but like someone who'd spent too long holding something in and didn't know if she felt better for letting it out.
Finally, I asked, voice quiet:
"What did you do… after she left?"
Rei's gaze didn't leave the fire. "She didn't just leave."
A pause.
"She burned the estate. Killed most of them. The ones who hurt us. The ones who laughed when she screamed. The ones who said her power was a curse because they couldn't control it."
She didn't speak with pride. Or regret.
Just memory.
"She came to me after. Covered in ash. Burned through. But calm. She said… it was over. That I didn't need to stay anymore."
Her eyes softened—barely.
"She smiled. For the first time in years, she smiled. And she tucked something into my hands. A pack, a name to use, and a train schedule."
Rei swallowed.
"She didn't say goodbye. Just told me to live like I had a future."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy. Just… real.
And I realized something.
I wasn't the only one carrying ghosts in a sealed chamber beneath my skin.
I reached over and nudged her leg lightly with mine. "Sounds like she did one thing right."
Rei blinked, then smiled faintly. "Yeah. She did."
I let the fire crackle fade into white noise.
The silence stretched between us until Rei nudged my shoulder. "Get some sleep," she said gently. "We've got a long day ahead."
I groaned but allowed myself to settle back on the bedroll. "Fine," I muttered. "But don't forget to wake up Asmodeus for his shift."
"I won't," Rei replied.
"You say that every time."
"And I always do it," she countered.
"Barely," I shot back, closing one eye.
Rei rolled her eyes as she stood, brushing off her cloak. "I'll handle it."
I yawned, curling slightly beneath the edge of my cloak. "Just don't let him con you into thinking he already stood watch."
"No promises," Rei called over her shoulder.
[Rest state acknowledged. Mental load stable. Initiating passive dream sync.]
"I wasn't asking,"
The fire's glow dimmed at the edge of my vision as I let my eyes shut, the warmth of it flickering against my skin like a fading heartbeat.
And the darkness that followed didn't feel like sleep.
It felt like a memory.
I dreamed of spring.
The kind that clung to the edges of sunlight. The kind that smelled like wet grass and tea leaves.
We were in the courtyard. Cherry blossoms drifting above like pink snow, too soft to be real.
I was ten, holding a wooden practice staff, arms sore from drills. I sat on the ground, cross-legged and scowling, determined to master the next swing.
"You're still gripping it too high," Rei said.
He was kneeling beside me—sixteen, already taller than most of the guards, already quieter than most of the adults. Dressed in the dark attendant uniform of House Tomaszewski, sleeves rolled to the elbow. Efficient. Careful.
But kind.
"I'm not," I muttered.
"You are. You'll overextend your shoulder if you keep doing that."
He reached over, adjusting my grip without comment. His touch was light. Familiar. I didn't even flinch.
From the stone steps leading up to the house, my mother watched us with a glass of chilled tea in her hand. Lelyah was dressed in soft gray robes, hair half-pinned, expression unreadable except for the slight smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"She's going to bruise her arm again," she said lazily.
"She needs to learn," Rei replied without looking up.
"You're going soft on her."
Rei glanced back, mild but firm. "You say that every time."
"And every time, I'm right."
I frowned at them both. "I'm right here."
Lelyah chuckled and sipped her tea.
Even at ten, I'd noticed how strange it was—how Rei spoke to her like that. Not like an attendant to a noble. Not even like a soldier to a commander. But… equal.
Not in station.
In knowing.
Like they shared something older than my understanding. Like there were conversations between them that never needed to be spoken aloud.
"How long have you known my mom?" I asked suddenly.
Rei paused.
"A while," he said. "Before you were born."
"Like, a long while?"
He didn't answer right away.
Then: "Yeah."
Mom didn't say anything, but she didn't look surprised by the question either. Just turned her face slightly to the sun and closed her eyes, as if that was answer enough.
I glanced between them again—Rei, who never left my side, and Mom, who'd always been one step ahead of every storm.
And I remember wondering—just for a moment—how close were they really?
Not in a bad way.
Just… wondering.
Because even then, even before I knew what secrets looked like, I could tell they were sharing one.
The dream began to blur at the edges—colors softening, petals floating upward instead of falling.
But before it faded completely, I heard Rei's voice again, like it had been said just beside me:
"I just wanted to protect you both."
The memory trembled.
Then—
A voice layered beneath it. Calm. Inevitable.
[Memory classification: High-impact emotional sequence. Correlation identified—Subject Reilan Gintama exhibits protective behaviors consistent with familial imprinting.]
Metatron.
Even in sleep, he whispered through the seams of my thoughts.
[Fragmented sequences suggest potential origin alignment. Subject is not unrelated.]
My breath hitched, though my body didn't move.
"Are you saying she's—?"
[Insufficient data for full confirmation. But patterns are clear.]
I saw cherry blossoms again.
And the way Rei looked at my mother—not like a servant.
Like a sister would.
[Notice: Emotional state rising. Preparing cognitive reset.]
The memory dissolved completely, swept into that moment before waking.
But the question didn't.
The question stayed with me.
Who are you really, Rei?