The fragment flared.
A sharp flash of blue-white light burst from the containment field, flooding the lab and forcing Kaito to shut his eyes.
The world tore.
For an instant, he was no longer human.
He was vast again—wings spread across a burning sky, blue fire rolling from his throat as the battlefield below fractured beneath him.
And there—
The Insect God stood at his side.
Chitin gleaming. Wings folded low in practiced reverence.
You were meant to lead us, the voice echoed, layered and familiar.We followed because you were worthy.
Kaito remembered the moment clearly now.
The pause.
The order that never came.
The way the Insect God watched as allies were overwhelmed, calculating, waiting for advantage that never arrived.
"No…" Kaito growled.
The vision stuttered.
The sky skipped like corrupted film.
The Insect God's form fractured—edges pixelating, voice distorting into static.
—meant—lead—worthy—
The betrayal glitched.
And the memory collapsed.
The battlefield reformed—not into fire and ash, but into wind and water and stone.
He saw them.
A sea serpent, coils cutting through a storm-churned ocean, eyes bright with unshaken confidence.A sky leviathan, wings scarred but steady, circling above him without hesitation.A mountain-backed drake, unmoving even as the world cracked, standing firm at his side.
They didn't hesitate.
They didn't wait.
They moved when he moved.
They fought with him—not because he commanded it, but because they chose to.
He remembered their voices—not vows, not promises, but laughter and blunt honesty.
You're thinking too hard, the serpent had teased.Trust us.
One by one, they fell.
Not to betrayal.
But to choice.
They stayed when escape was possible.
They burned so he could endure.
The memory stabilized.
The fire faded.
The lab snapped back into place.
Kaito staggered, hands catching on the table as the containment field steadied. The fragment lay silent, unchanged—yet somehow listening.
Aria was already there, gripping his arm. "Kaito—What happened, are you ok!?"
He exhaled slowly.
"…Im fine" he said.
He looked back at the fragment.
The Insect God had taught him what betrayal looked like.
But his real friends—sea, sky, and stone—had shown him what loyalty truly was.
And for the first time since his reincarnation, standing in a cold laboratory instead of a burning battlefield, Kaito allowed himself to remember them without anger.
Only resolve.
The fragment hummed softly.
As if acknowledging what remained.