Akira unbuttoned his shirt without a word.
The room fell quiet as he pulled the fabric aside, revealing the markings carved across his body. Yuma recognized them immediately—the iceberg, the blade formed from it, the cracks of ice spreading across Akira's lean frame like frozen fractures in glass.
Aymar stood a few steps away, inspecting him from a distance.
His eyes moved slowly, carefully, taking in every mark.
Then he sighed.
Without making a show of it, Aymar shifted the tattered cloak from his shoulders and lifted his shirt.
His build wasn't extraordinary. He was a little soft around the edges, closer to how Keisuke had looked after a few months of training, but there was still visible muscle beneath it.
What caught Yuma's attention wasn't his body.
It was the mark.
A black circle sat over Aymar's heart, deep and hollow-looking, like a hole punched straight through his chest. Thick lines spilled out from it, twisting across his torso like snakes. Most of them disappeared around his sides, but one complete shape remained visible, coiling down his right arm.
Yuma stared at it.
There was something wrong about the mark.
Not ugly.
Not weak.
Wrong.
"Satisfied?" Aymar asked, annoyance flat in his voice.
Akira didn't answer.
He only stared at him with that same irritated suspicion before buttoning his shirt again.
After a short pause, Aymar did the same. He pulled his shirt back down, wrapped himself in his cloak, and looked away as if the whole thing had been beneath him.
Akira turned back to the group like he hadn't just interrogated him in front of everyone.
"Now that we've established some trust…" Akira said.
His eyes slid toward Aymar.
Barely anyone missed the glare.
Aymar scoffed under his breath.
Akira ignored him.
"We need to resume how we were operating before," he continued. "First, we need a reliable way to communicate. If anyone finds new information or gets attacked, the rest of us need to know immediately."
He glanced around the room, making sure everyone was listening.
"For now, my house will act as our base. Since all of us will be staying here, it's the safest place to regroup and train."
Yuma folded his arms.
"Won't that make it easier for Killian to find us?"
Akira nodded, as if he had expected the question.
"It might," he admitted. "That's why we need to learn how to suppress our presence together. Separating sounds safer, but Killian has already proven he can locate us when we're alone."
His expression sharpened.
"If he sends people after us again, we need to be close enough to respond. Alone, we're targets. Together, we at least have a chance."
No one had much to say to that.
Akira pointed toward the hallway outside the living room.
"Downstairs, there's space to train your abilities. Use it however you need to. Anything else necessary should already be there."
A few people shifted, as if the meeting was over.
Then Akira raised his hand.
"One more thing."
The room stilled again.
"Regarding the living situation," Akira said, his voice turning colder, "everyone contributes. I will not tolerate freeloading. If you use this house, you help maintain it. Be aware of the people around you and respect their space."
His eyes swept across the group.
"I don't care which rooms you pick or who you share with. But no one enters my room or my mother's room."
The edge in his voice deepened.
"That's all."
No one joked.
Not even Aymar.
Yuma had never really seen Akira as the leader type, but in that moment, he understood why people might listen to him. Akira didn't sound warm. He didn't sound comforting. But he sounded certain.
And certainty mattered right now.
One by one, the group began to disperse, some heading toward the hall, others wandering deeper into the house to explore their new living situation.
Soon, only Yuma and Akira remained in the living room.
Once the coast was clear, Yuma turned to him.
"What's up with you and Aymar?" he asked quietly.
Akira stayed silent for a moment.
Then he looked toward the hallway Aymar had disappeared into.
"I looked into their claim about their elements," Akira said. "There's nothing. No record of Kamori. No record of Daggett. No record of anyone holding those names."
Yuma frowned.
"If they're new, doesn't that make sense?"
"It could," Akira admitted. "If what he said is true, and they really are the first people to acquire dormant Zehnkhânars, then maybe there wouldn't be anything written about them."
"Then why the suspicious looks and polite interrogation?"
Akira's jaw tightened slightly.
"Because I asked Cheino directly."
Yuma's expression shifted.
Akira continued.
"No matter how new they are, Cheino should have at least been aware of their existence. Even if their slate was completely clean, even if they awakened recently, there should have been something."
He looked back at Yuma.
"But he had no clue."
The room felt a little colder.
"And that's not all," Akira added. "I can't feel a drop of their presence either."
Yuma stared at him.
He understood Akira's reasoning. At least, part of him did.
But understanding it didn't make the situation any easier.
They needed Aymar. They needed Daya. Whatever mysteries surrounded them, their abilities were too valuable to push away now.
Yuma sighed.
"Listen, I get it," he said. "I get why you don't trust him. But right now, we need him. You saw how he moves. You saw the marks on his body. You don't have to like him, and you don't have to trust him with your life."
He paused.
"But at least get along with him long enough to survive this."
Akira looked at him for a moment.
Then he nodded.
That was enough for Yuma.
He turned to leave, already thinking about exploring the rest of the house, but Akira caught his shoulder before he could step away.
"One thing."
Yuma looked back.
"At the mall," Akira said, "you saw it, didn't you?"
"Saw what?"
"The way he stared at my shadow when I held my knife."
Yuma blinked.
Then he shook his head.
"No. I didn't notice that."
Akira's eyes narrowed slightly, not at Yuma, but at the thought itself.
Then he sighed and let go of his shoulder.
"Never mind."
Yuma stood there for a second, wondering if he should ask more.
Then his curiosity about the house won.
He started toward the hall, only to pause at the entrance.
"Before I go…" Yuma said awkwardly, "do we have a team name?"
Akira stared at him.
For a second, he looked like the question had physically hurt him.
Then he seemed to realize Yuma had a point. If they were going to work together, contact each other, and operate under one group, they probably needed something to call themselves.
"Akira's team?" Akira said, clearly throwing out the first thing that came to mind.
Yuma's face twisted.
"Self-centered ass name."
Akira looked away, as if he hadn't expected anything better from himself.
Then an idea hit Yuma.
"Oh. What about Remnants?"
Akira looked back at him.
Yuma rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly unsure.
"Because… well, yeah. Most of us are the last pieces left of something. Our families, our old lives, whatever we were before all this."
Akira stared at him for a moment.
Then he shrugged.
Yuma took that as approval.
"Remnants it is."
He walked away with his phone already in hand.
A few seconds later, almost everyone's phones pinged at once.
Yuma smiled to himself as the new group chat appeared under the name Remnants.
Satisfied, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and went to explore Akira's home.
***
Yuma spent most of the night wandering instead of sleeping.
He told himself he was only trying to familiarize himself with the house, but the truth was simpler than that.
Curiosity was keeping him awake.
Akira's home was massive in a way that felt unreal. Every hallway seemed longer than it needed to be. Every room looked like it belonged to a house that expected guests, parties, and important people. Yuma already knew Akira was wealthy, but walking through the place made it hit differently.
This wasn't just rich.
This was another world.
Eventually, Yuma found his way outside.
Behind the house was a large pool connected to a hot tub in the corner. An automated cover stretched over the water, protecting it from the cold as fall slowly gave way to winter. Beyond it, the backyard opened wide beneath the night sky, spacious and quiet, with trimmed grass and enough room to make Yuma feel strangely small.
He walked farther out and stopped.
For the first time that night, no one was talking. No one was arguing. No one was explaining plans, powers, or threats.
It was just him and the dark.
Then a familiar voice spoke beside him.
"Hey…"
Yuma nearly jumped out of his skin.
He stumbled sideways, turning sharply to find Aymar standing only a few feet away.
Aymar looked at him with a mix of confusion and amusement.
"Relax," he said. "I wasn't trying to scare you."
Yuma pressed a hand to his chest, glaring at him.
"Why are you so quiet when you walk?"
Aymar blinked.
"I swear I was being as loud as possible."
That did not comfort him.
Aymar chuckled softly and stepped beside him, looking up at the sky.
For a while, neither of them said anything.
The silence wasn't peaceful exactly, but it wasn't uncomfortable either. It sat between them like something waiting to be touched.
Then Aymar spoke.
"Hey… about Killian."
Yuma's shoulders tensed.
He kept his eyes forward.
"What about him?"
Aymar paused.
Then he turned his head slightly, studying Yuma's side profile.
"He was the one who took your mom, wasn't he?"
Yuma's stomach tightened.
He had never told Aymar that.
Slowly, he turned to face him.
Before he could ask, Aymar answered.
"You reacted back at the mall when I guessed your loss," he said. "And when I talked about Killian, your eyes changed."
Aymar looked back up at the sky.
"I know that look."
Yuma said nothing.
Aymar's voice stayed calm, but there was something buried beneath it. Something old. Something ugly.
"Hatred," Aymar continued. "Justice. Revenge. Depends on what kind of person you ask."
Yuma stared at him.
The way Aymar said it made his skin prickle. He didn't sound like someone guessing. He sounded like someone remembering.
Like he had stood in the exact same place before and already knew where the road led.
Aymar lowered his gaze.
"I can only tell you this," he said quietly. "If the opportunity comes, don't let him slip away."
Yuma's breath caught slightly.
Aymar looked at him then.
Really looked at him.
"If Killian dies, it should be by your hands."
The words settled heavily between them.
"Otherwise," Aymar continued, "you'll live with the guilt of knowing someone else took the justice that belonged to your mother."
Yuma couldn't answer.
Part of him wanted to reject it immediately.
Another part of him didn't.
That was what scared him.
Aymar turned away and started walking back toward the house.
Yuma watched him go, the question burning on his tongue.
What happened to you?
But Aymar had already walked too far.
And for some reason, Yuma couldn't make himself call out.
So he let the chance pass.
Alone again, Yuma looked up at the sky.
The stars were brighter here than they were back home. With no city lights choking them out, they scattered across the darkness in sharp, glimmering clusters. For a moment, they were beautiful enough to pull his mind away from everything else.
Killian.
His mother.
Aymar's words.
His own anger.
Yuma lowered himself onto the cool autumn grass and sat there beneath the stars.
He didn't know how long he stayed like that.
Long enough for the cold to creep through his clothes.
Long enough for his thoughts to quiet.
Long enough for exhaustion to finally catch up to him.
When he stood again, the house behind him looked warm and distant, its lights glowing through the windows like something safe.
Yuma headed back inside.
He found an empty guest room and collapsed onto the bed, fully clothed and completely drained.
Only then did he realize he had kept his enhancement running the entire day without thinking about it.
A strange sense of relief settled over him.
He was improving.
Even when he wasn't trying, his body was adapting.
That thought should have made him proud.
Instead, it only made him tired.
Yuma closed his eyes, relaxed into the bed, and let sleep take him.