The corridor stretched endlessly, lined with obsidian walls that seemed to swallow light itself. Reiji's footsteps echoed faintly, the sound fading before it could reach the next archway. The air here carried the scent of dust and old parchment—a place untouched by time, sealed away from the world above.
At the end of the corridor stood a single door. It was unmarked, without lock or guard, yet it emanated a pressure that made his skin tighten. The Silent Court. That was what they called it—where the true rulers of the underworld gathered, those whose voices decided the course of nations without ever being heard.
Reiji pushed the door open. The sound was almost nonexistent, a sigh of ancient hinges giving way. Inside, shadows sat in a circle around a low table, faces veiled by masks carved from bone and black steel. No one moved. No one spoke. Yet he could feel their attention pierce through him like knives.
A man seated at the far end finally raised his head. His mask was different—half white, half broken. His voice was quiet, almost human.
> "Shinomiya Reiji. The blade that severed the traitor's chain. Do you understand why you were called here?"
Reiji met his unseen gaze. "To serve," he said. "Or to be judged."
A murmur rippled through the masked circle. Then silence again. The man leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping once against the table.
> "Both. You've seen too much for a mere shadow operative. You've walked through the ruins of Kurobara, and yet you live. Tell me, Reiji… what did you find there?"
Reiji's mind flashed back to the labyrinth of corpses, the blood that had dried into black dust, and the sigil carved into the floor—an emblem identical to the one engraved beneath the Court's table. He knew the answer, but he also knew the price of saying it aloud.
"I found silence," he said finally. "And silence doesn't lie."
The man's laugh was sharp and brief, more like an exhale than amusement.
> "A clever answer. Dangerous, but clever."
Another figure leaned forward—a woman's silhouette, her mask shaped like a bird's beak. Her voice was soft, almost melodic.
> "He's not one of us yet. Let him bleed for his loyalty. Then we decide if he belongs."
Reiji didn't react. He'd learned long ago that fear was useless here. Instead, he asked, "What is my task?"
The woman's hand lifted, and a thin parchment slid across the table. On it was a single name—written in crimson ink.
'Kaede.'
Reiji's heartbeat faltered. He hadn't heard that name in years. The woman continued,
> "She is the last witness of the Mirror Project. If she speaks, everything collapses. Find her before they do."
He clenched his jaw. "And if she's innocent?"
> "Then silence her before the truth isn't."
The Court said nothing more. The torches dimmed, shadows lengthened, and by the time Reiji stepped out, the room was empty—like it had never existed.
---
The rain outside felt colder than before. Reiji walked through the deserted district, his cloak absorbing the downpour, his mind caught between duty and memory. Kaede. He remembered her eyes—bright once, before they learned how to hide fear. She had been the only one who believed that light could exist in their world of endless dusk.
He found himself at an old train platform where rust covered every surface. A faint flicker of light pulsed from an abandoned vending machine. He stopped, staring at his reflection in the cracked glass. The face that looked back was pale, hollow, unfamiliar.
He whispered to it, almost bitterly,
> "How many names will it take before silence finally speaks?"
No one answered.
From the shadows behind him, a voice emerged—a man, low and calm.
> "You shouldn't talk to ghosts, Reiji. They listen too closely."
Reiji turned, hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his blade. It was Haru, his comrade, his closest link to what little sanity this life allowed. But tonight, even Haru's expression carried something different.
Reiji exhaled. "You were watching?"
Haru nodded. "They gave you the assignment, didn't they?"
Reiji didn't answer, but Haru already knew. "Kaede," he muttered, eyes narrowing. "They're asking you to cut your past."
Reiji's silence confirmed it. Haru sighed, stepping closer until the rain blurred his outline.
> "Listen. The Court isn't what it used to be. They're rewriting the Codex—turning history into a weapon. If you go after her, you'll be erasing the only truth left."
Reiji stared at him, voice steady.
> "And if I refuse?"
Haru gave a small, hopeless smile.
> "Then I'll be the one sent after you."
The rain intensified, drowning the space between them. For a moment, neither moved. Then Reiji sheathed his blade and started walking toward the station exit. His voice drifted through the downpour, calm but filled with something unspoken.
> "If silence is their law… then I'll be its last witness."
---
That night, Reiji boarded the last train leaving the district. Through the window, the city lights stretched like dying stars. Somewhere ahead, Kaede was still alive—caught between the world of shadows and the remnants of truth.
And behind him, The Silent Court watched, waiting to see whether Reiji would become their perfect weapon… or the blade that turned against its maker.