The palace corridors were quiet. The hum of torches on the walls, the distant echo of a harp from the western wing, and the soft steps of two men were the only signs of life at this hour. Toki walked beside Bernard, the Elixir of the Coward tucked safely inside his coat, its weight more than just physical.
His boots tapped the marble floor with unnatural calm. Inside, his mind was a storm.
"I hope the girls aren't waiting in their nightgowns," Bernard muttered, glancing ahead with a mix of nerves and mischief. "Elizabeth can gut a man with a look. She's done it before. Don't ask how."
Toki gave a quiet smile, but said nothing.
They reached the guest chamber at the end of the hallway. Its wide doors, framed by silver vines and painted lilies, stood half open. A warm light spilled out from within.
The moment they stepped inside, she was already waiting.
"About time," said Elizabet, arms folded.
Her crimson dress shimmered like wine under candlelight, her red hair pulled back in a loose braid that still managed to look deliberate. She stood with poise, but her foot tapped—impatiently.
Bernard raised a hand in mock greeting. "Dearest Elizabet—"
She walked straight past him without a glance.
"I'm still mad at you," she said curtly. "You know why."
Bernard sighed and looked at Toki. "She's not letting it go. Again."
But before he could say more, Elizabet turned to Toki, reached out, and gripped his coat collar with both hands. She tugged him down until their faces were level. Her sharp eyes searched his—seeing right through him.
"I heard you're having your first ritual tonight," she said, her voice lower now. "So… good luck, idiot."
Toki blinked. "That's... kind of you."
"I'm not done," she said flatly. "If you turn into some mindless monster, I'll be very upset. You're rather handsome, you know. It'd be a shame."
She released him, then added with a half-smirk, "And if you die, this fool here—" she jerked a thumb at Bernard "—will become a lonely bard again. And gods know, he's insufferable when he's lonely. I've been this close to smashing his lute over his head."
She mimed a swing, and Toki actually chuckled.
Bernard groaned. "Why do I get verbally crucified every time ?"
"Oh hush," Elizabet replied sweetly.
Just then, the doors opened fully behind them.
Utsuki stepped in.
Beside her were the children—Tora in her forest-green robes, Kandaki in ceremonial blacks, and little Hana clinging to her brother's arm. Their faces were caught between excitement, fear, and something deeper.
"Toki," Tora said with a lopsided grin. "Back from your creepy potion adventure, huh?"
"Sir," Kandaki said softly, stepping forward and bowing with one hand resting proudly on the hilt of Toki's sword—the one he had insisted on carrying in his master's absence.
Toki smiled faintly. He walked to Kandaki and gently placed his hand atop the boy's head. Kandaki stood perfectly still, back straight, but his eyes shone with emotion.
Then Toki moved to Hana, crouched low, and wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face in his chest.
"Will you come back?" she asked quietly.
"Yes," he said.
He rose slowly and turned to Tora. With a nod of deep respect, he gave a slow, practiced bow.
Tora's smile flickered.
Behind them, Utsuki stood in silence.
She had said nothing yet—but her presence was thunder beneath the skin. She wore a midnight-blue robe with silver embroidery along the cuffs, and her long silver hair shimmered faintly in the light. Her expression was unreadable—serene, composed—but her hands were clenched by her sides.
Toki stepped forward.
There was joy in his eyes. And sorrow. A thousand lifetimes' worth, all tangled into one gaze.
And then—without a word—he embraced her.
It wasn't hesitant or unsure. His arms wrapped fully around her, pulling her close, her face resting against his chest.
She didn't pull away.
For a moment, they stood as if no one else existed. As if time had paused just for them.
This wasn't the first time they'd embraced.
But it was the first time Toki had initiated it.
Her breath was calm, even—but her fingers slowly found the folds of his coat and held onto them. Not tightly. Just enough to say: I'm here. I understand.
Toki closed his eyes. Her scent filled his lungs—soft, like crushed snow lilies after rain. Her body was delicate in his arms, and yet… it grounded him. Like roots anchoring a dying tree.
His thoughts blurred.
"Utsuki…" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "There's a chance… that the ritual might not work. And if that happens, they'll have to stop me. Permanently."
She didn't move. She simply listened.
"I know," she replied. Calmly. Even gently.
But her arms tightened slightly around him. A tremor. Barely noticeable.
He continued, his voice cracking.
"If something goes wrong, if I lose myself… I want you to know… I'm sorry. For all the nights I was gone. For all the time we could've spent together. For not taking you to the garden more. Or the place with the lake where the stars touch the water."
"I'm sorry I made you worry so much."
She still said nothing.
Toki felt the weight of everything pressing against his chest. All his failures. All his missed chances.
A realization bloomed, slow and undeniable:
In his arms right now was his entire world.
The reason he had endured all those centuries.
The one who had brought him back from the edge.
The person he had searched for… for two hundred and fifty years.
And for the first time since he had been cursed… he felt it.
Not dread.
Not guilt.
But the desire to live.
To survive.
To stay.
"I don't want to die," he whispered.
Utsuki, still in his arms, nodded gently. "Then don't."
He was thinking. If the ritual fails, I might not even be me anymore. My ability to return after death requires… clarity. If I lose my mind, my soul won't know where to return.
Her grip tightened again. Just slightly. She was trying so hard not to show weakness—but in this moment, she let go of that mask.
She leaned into him.
And whispered, "But I won't lose you."
Toki's tears came then—silent, unrelenting. Heavy drops that fell onto her cheek and trailed down her face like his sorrow had become hers.
He held her tighter, as if trying to fuse their souls into one. Trying to carve her memory into the very marrow of his bones.
Behind them, the room had gone silent.
Bernard had stopped his pacing, a single tear clinging to the edge of his cheek.
Elizabet lowered her gaze to the floor, jaw clenched.
Kandaki blinked rapidly, swallowing back a sob.
Tora and Hana were already crying—quiet, small sounds of heartbreak.
Toki took a trembling breath and pulled back just enough to look into Utsuki's eyes.
"Utsuki… if I don't come back… promise me you'll keep going. You'll chase your dream. You'll become the queen you were meant to be."
He placed a hand over her heart.
"You're the strongest person I know. You don't need me to become what you already are."
Utsuki opened her mouth—but no words came.
Instead, she simply nodded.
He brushed her silver hair from her face.
"Thank you," he whispered. "For giving me a reason to keep walking. For seeing something in me no one else ever did."
She exhaled slowly, but her tears continued to fall.
"Everyone," she said at last, without turning her head, "please… leave us alone for a moment."
There was no protest.
Bernard placed a hand on Kandaki's shoulder and gently ushered the children toward the door. Elizabet followed silently. The heavy wooden doors closed behind them with a deep thud.
Now there were only two.
Toki and Utsuki.
Alone beneath the light of a single hanging lantern.
He reached into his coat, felt the weight of the flask.
Tonight, it would all begin.
Or it would all end.
But for now—he simply stood with her.
The room was quiet, still echoing with the soft closing of the door. Toki remained frozen in place until Utsuki's hands suddenly gripped the front of his coat and pulled him down, slowly but firmly. He barely had time to react before she guided his head gently to rest against her chest.
His cheeks flushed red. "Utsuki... what are you doing?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, her fingers slid through his hair with a tenderness that made his knees weaken. Her scent—something between fresh snowfall and rare blossoms—calmed the noise in his head. He listened to the soft thrum of her heartbeat.
"Are you afraid?" she asked softly. "You don't have to pretend with me. There's no one else here."
His voice cracked. "Yes. I'm terrified."
A pause. Then a sigh.
"There are so many things I haven't done," Toki murmured. "So many people I haven't kept my promises to. But... if I die trying to become stronger—strong enough to protect the people I love—I think I can accept that."
"You're not going to die," she said firmly.
Toki blinked.
"You carry the hopes and dreams of more people than you realize. Death isn't an option. You're the strongest person I know, Toki. Stronger than fear. Stronger than darkness. A little ritual doesn't stand a chance against you."
Her voice trembled slightly now, but her hands were steady. She stroked his hair, fingers brushing gently behind his ear.
"Every time you came back bloodied from a fight, you still smiled. You gave hope even when you barely had any left for yourself. My knight... is stronger than anything in this world. Together, we'll build a better one. One where no one has to suffer."
She leaned closer, whispering into his ear:
"You'll survive, and you'll train Kandaki. You'll take Tora to the theatre more often. You'll make new memories with the sisters at the manor. Toki... you won't fail."
His breath hitched. Her words soaked into his soul like morning dew into dry earth. His eyes, once blurred by tears, now burned with purpose.
He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, and she saw it—the change.
He was ready.
Then—
A knock.
The door creaked open.
"I hate to interrupt you," Felix said, standing in the doorway with his usual dry tone, "but the moon waits for no one."
Toki turned, then looked back to Utsuki one final time. A real smile—full of warmth and light—spread across his face.
She returned it.
He stepped away and followed the old alchemist.
Behind the palace, past rusted gates and crumbling walls, lay a forgotten courtyard ringed with dilapidated buildings. The sky above was clear, the moon high and fat—exactly where it needed to be.
Toki stood in the center of a ritual circle etched into cracked stone.
Mr. Smith approached with a set of enchanted chains, binding Toki's hands and feet with methodical precision.
"Good luck, young gentleman," Smith said respectfully. "May the goddess accept your offering."
Lady Lorelay stood opposite Toki, ten paces away.
"Don't be afraid," she said. Her voice was calm but resolute. "I'll make sure nothing goes wrong."
Felix stood beside Smith, clutching the Book of Monsters like a priest might a holy tome. His eyes didn't leave Toki's.
Nine knights of the Order stood in a circle around them, weapons sheathed but ready.
And in the distance, Utsuki, Elizabet, and the children watched with bated breath.
Bernard stepped into the circle. His smile was thin, forced.
"Time for your bedtime drink," he joked, but his voice trembled.
He reached into Toki's coat and retrieved the flask. The seal shimmered faintly as the cork was removed.
"Wait," Toki said. "Before I drink... I know this is a lot to ask. But if anything happens to me—if I lose control—I want you to look after them. Utsuki. Kandaki. Hana. All of them."
Bernard swallowed hard. "It would be an honor."
Toki nodded.
"Thank you. You're my first true friend, Bernard Edmund."
Then, without flinching, he drank.
The potion was cold. It slid down like oil—bitter, thick, and wrong. But familiar.
Immediately, his body tensed.
The world tilted.
He could feel it—the elixir twisting through his bloodstream, curling around his mana core like smoke around bone. It was like falling through the fog of the Palace of Mirrors, except now it was inside him.
Felix's voice rang out.
"Focus on the moon, Toki! Don't lose yourself. Not yet."
He placed the Book of Monsters near the altar, just in case.
Toki raised his head to the sky.
Then—
Something snapped.
Thin crimson threads descended from the sky—hair-fine, blood-red strands that shimmered with power. They latched onto the nine knights around the circle.
One by one, they began to twitch.
"Something's wrong!" one of them shouted. "I can't move!"
They lunged toward the altar.
Felix roared, "Stop! Don't touch the book! You're only in Phase Two—if you make contact with that artifact, it will consume you!"
But it was too late.
One by one, their hands touched it.
The crimson threads snapped all at once.
And then—
Screams.
The knights convulsed as their bodies began to change—flesh bubbling, melting, merging. Their bones bent inward. Skin turned inside out. Hair and sinew and screams became one.
The Book of Monsters opened by itself.
And from its pages, something alive emerged.
A creature—if it could be called that—tore free from the amalgam of their bodies. Towering, shrieking, with eyes that weren't eyes and mouths that shouldn't speak. Tentacles of black flesh whipped across the courtyard, smashing through the ruined buildings.
The ground quaked.
Toki struggled against his chains, heart thundering. He was trapped. Vulnerable.
Then—
A shadow moved.
A figure leapt from one of the crumbling rooftops and landed beside him with impossible grace.
He wore a black cloak, and a white mask covered his face. In his hand, he held a puppet—small, human-shaped, bound in red string that extended from each of his fingers.
The man tilted his head.
"What a beautiful evening," he said cheerfully. "Don't you agree, my little puppet prince? Perfect night for a show."