Ren's heartbeat wouldn't slow.
No matter how tightly he wrapped his arms around himself, no matter how many times he told his lungs to breathe normally, the rhythm inside his chest pulsed not with fear—but with someone else's will.
Ayaka half-guided, half-dragged him toward the medical tent at the edge of the excavation site. The morning fog had thickened, swallowing the world in white, as if trying to hide what had just awakened beneath the earth.
"Sit," Ayaka said firmly, pushing him onto a low cot.
Ren obeyed without thinking.
He hated that it felt easier to listen to her than to his own thoughts.
Ayaka grabbed her satchel and immediately began checking his pulse, his temperature, the dilation of his pupils—her movements sharp, efficient, masking the tremble in her hands.
"Pulse is… Ren, this isn't normal."She pressed her stethoscope against his chest, then pulled it away, lips tightening."It sounds like two heartbeats layered on top of each other."
Ren swallowed. "Maybe you're just hearing echoes."
"Ren," she said softly, meeting his eyes, "I don't hear echoes. I hear something alive."
His stomach sank.
Behind his thoughts—like a shadow behind a curtain—something stirred in agreement.
—Correct.
Ren flinched.
Ayaka immediately leaned in. "Did it say something again?"
He forced himself to breathe slowly. "It's faint. Like a voice underwater."
"Can you ignore it?"
"I'm trying."
"Try harder."
Her forwardness should've annoyed him. Instead, it grounded him—just like it always had during expeditions when he lost himself in ruins for hours, forgetting to eat or drink.
Ayaka was reality.Everything else was… something else.
The tent flap rustled open, and Hiro slipped in, goggles around his neck, looking as though he'd aged ten years in the last hour.
"How's our walking curse object?" Hiro asked weakly.
Ayaka shot him a glare so sharp it could've sliced steel.
Hiro raised both hands. "What? That's a fair question!"
Ren managed a thin smile. "I don't feel cursed."
"Buddy," Hiro said, "you got blasted in the chest by a haunted glow-stick. If that's not cursed, I don't know what is."
Ayaka smacked Hiro lightly with her glove. "You're not helping."
"Not trying to," Hiro muttered.
Kurogane arrived next, pushing past Hiro with none of the younger man's hesitancy. The professor's face was set in heavy lines, his eyes storm-dark with knowledge he clearly didn't want to share.
He closed the tent flap with a decisive snap.
"Ren," Kurogane said, voice low, "we need to talk. Now."
Ayaka stepped between them instantly. "Not until he stabilizes."
Kurogane gave her a tired, almost pained look. "Child… stabilizing him is no longer possible in the way you mean."
Ren's chest tightened.
Ayaka didn't move. "Explain."
Kurogane folded his arms within his sleeves. "The shard that entered Ren was not merely a relic. It was the Ninth Seal—the final fragment of an ancient being's divided soul."
Hiro groaned. "Why can't anything we find ever be normal?"
"Because you all insist on digging," Kurogane snapped. Then he sighed. "Listen carefully. Seal IX was designed to hold the core essence of the Sealed God. Its power is… overwhelming. No human body should accept it."
Ayaka's grip on Ren's shoulder tightened.
"But Ren did," she said.
Kurogane nodded grimly. "Which means Ren is not… entirely ordinary."
Ren stared at him. "What does that mean?"
"It means," the professor said quietly, "your bloodline carries something ancient. Something that made you compatible with the fragment."
A cold shiver ran through Ren's bones. "You knew."
"I suspected," Kurogane admitted. "I hoped I was wrong."
Hiro pointed at Ren's chest. "So what now? The god is in him? Like, fully? Partially? Do we need a priest or a vacuum or—"
"Hiro," Ayaka warned.
"What? I'm panicking politely!"
Ren pressed a hand to his chest. The heartbeat wasn't painful—it was… possessive. Like something was wrapping around him from the inside.
Kurogane continued, "Seal IX will attempt to merge fully with Ren. There are stages. Signs. The first is what you're experiencing: whispers, visions, emotional distortion."
Ayaka glared. "Distortion?"
"He will feel things that are not his own," Kurogane said. "Desire, rage, fear. These emotions belong to the god fragment."
Ren's breathing faltered.
"I already feel that," he whispered.
Ayaka immediately sat beside him. "Then I'll help you separate what's yours from what's not. We'll manage it."
"You speak," Kurogane said softly, "as though it will listen to reason."
Ayaka glared daggers. "It doesn't matter what it listens to. Ren isn't alone."
For a moment, her determination cut through the fog in Ren's head. Her presence—close, steady, warm—pushed the whispers back.
But then a cool breeze slid through the tent, though nothing had opened.
Hiro shivered. "Anyone else feel that?"
Ren froze.
Soft moonlight pooled at the edge of the tent—even though the sky outside was still gray, the sun barely risen. The glow gathered, twisting into a faint outline of a woman's silhouette before fading as quickly as it came.
Ayaka's hand went to her hip, reaching for the small utility blade she always carried. "Did you all see that?"
Kurogane's expression tightened. "She's already seeking him…"
"Who?" Ayaka demanded.
Kurogane closed his eyes. "Yurei Kisaragi. The Moonlit Enchantress."
Hiro blinked. "That sounds like a stage name."
"It is a title," Kurogane corrected. "She serves the sealed god. She once loved him—obsessively. She continues to even now."
Ayaka's jaw clenched. "So she wants the Ninth Seal."
"She wants Ren," Kurogane said.
Ren felt the heartbeat inside him respond—quickening, pulsing, almost eager.
No.Not eager.
Recognizing.
Ayaka noticed his change in expression instantly. "Ren?"
He pressed a hand to his forehead. "It… reacted. When he said her name."
Ayaka moved closer, her knee brushing his. "Ignore it."
"I'm trying," he said, voice cracking.
Hiro exhaled shakily. "So, hypothetically, how do we un-fragment a soul? Because I'm guessing resting and drinking water won't fix this."
Kurogane's silence said everything.
Ayaka's expression hardened into something fierce and unshakeable. "Then we find a way to stop it before it consumes him."
The professor shook his head. "The Ninth Seal does not consume its vessel quickly. It merges slowly… intimately. It rewrites the soul like ink spreading through water. Once the merging completes, Ren will no longer be Ren."
Ayaka grabbed Ren's hand. "That won't happen."
Ren looked at her, and for a moment—just a moment—everything inside him softened. The heartbeat steadied. The whisper faded.
Ayaka was his anchor. That was no metaphor.
That was truth.
But the moment shattered when another presence brushed against his mind—gentle, sweet, heartbreakingly familiar though he had no memory of it.
—I found you, beloved.
Ren's body tensed.
Ayaka saw it instantly. "What did it say?"
He forced the words out. "Yurei."
Kurogane cursed under his breath.
The whisper deepened, warm like moonlight on water.
—Come to me. You've slept long enough.
"No," Ren whispered. "I don't know you."
But the fragment inside him stirred with longing.
—You will.
Ren pressed his palms to his eyes, breath trembling. The darkness inside him wasn't violent this time—it was yearning. Which scared him far more.
Ayaka cupped his cheeks. "Ren. Look at me. Stay here."
He looked.
Her eyes were steady.
Human.
Real.
The heartbeat inside him faltered, struggling between two pulls.
Ayaka whispered, "I'm not letting you go. Not to a god, not to a seal, and definitely not to some moonlit enchantress."
Ren nodded weakly.
The darkness inside him did not.
Kurogane exhaled. "We must reinforce Ren's mental and spiritual stability before nightfall. Night empowers her."
Hiro groaned. "Perfect. Fantastic. Love that for us."
Ayaka stood, fierce. "Then tell us what to do."
Ren rose as well—though his legs shook.
The Ninth Seal pulsed once.
And somewhere in the valley, faint through the fog, a soft feminine laugh echoed.