The three stood frozen at the edge of the battered street, their breaths caught in their throats, limbs weighed down by a storm of helplessness. Dust still curled around their feet, broken cobblestone and the distant scent of scorched air clinging to the ruin left behind. But none of it compared to the heaviness that pressed into their chests.
Yuka's fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms, her eyes locked on the narrow corridor that Chiaki had disappeared into—alone, battered, stubborn. Her heart throbbed with frustration, not just at Chiaki's pain, but at the cold distance she had forced between them.
"She doesn't get it," Yuka whispered, voice barely holding together. "We're not here to pity her. We're here because we want to be."
Fioren stood beside her in silence, her hand hovering at her side, uncertain whether to reach forward or fall back. Her expression was still and pained, as if her whole body had been hollowed out by the quiet rejection. "She's trying to carry the world on her back, thinking she's the only one who's allowed to suffer for it."
Razor scoffed, biting her lip to hold back the tremble in her throat. "Tch. Idiot girl. Ain't even good at being selfish properly. She wants to be alone so bad, fine—but she could at least stop looking like she's gonna drop dead doing it."
None of them moved yet. Their legs wanted to chase her. Their voices wanted to scream for her to stop.
But Chiaki didn't stop.
She had walked into that cracked horizon with fire in her veins and nothing but wreckage in her shadow. Even after all they'd fought for, all they'd bled for—she was still pushing forward on her own.
And it hurt.
Not because they were being left behind—but because she didn't think she was allowed to take them with her.
"What do we do now?" Fioren asked, her voice quiet, eyes drifting between Yuka and Razor. But no answer came—not the kind that brought comfort, not the kind that felt certain.
Yuka inhaled deeply, her arms folded tightly as if holding herself together. "What can we do? She's already gone ahead. We could chase after her—but that's not going to fix anything. She made her choice. It's hers, whether we agree or not."
Her words felt more like a reminder to herself than a response.
"She left… and so did he," Yuka added after a pause, her gaze narrowing at the trail Chiaki had vanished down. "Now they're both out there, carrying burdens they don't have to. And us? We just let it happen. We stepped back."
Her voice softened, heavy with guilt.
"I only ever wanted what was best for her. But she's still convinced she has to face everything alone. That she has to carry every answer on her own shoulders. And that's what she hasn't figured out yet—she doesn't have to."
Razor, who had been uncharacteristically silent, finally spoke—her voice low, but clear. "And if she doesn't see it… then she's already half-dead walking."
Both Yuka and Fioren turned toward her, surprised by the unflinching tone—yet there was no mockery in it. Just restrained frustration.
"She's bleeding, limping, pushing past every damn limit like her body's made of something other than skin and bone," Razor continued, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "If she can't even see how close she is to collapsing… then what the hell does she think she's going to save?"
She glanced toward the shadows where Chiaki had disappeared.
"Bravery's got a line. And she's sprinting over it without looking back."
"I was there—with them. La Cadena de Narón… the Forbidden Chain." Yuka's voice dropped, touched with something heavy and distant. "She was so lost back then. So broken. There were moments she didn't even know if she wanted to go on living. Her life's been chaos from the beginning, and no matter how much she tries to wear a brave face, that storm never really left her."
As she spoke, an image seared itself into her mind—Chiaki, limping forward into the shrouded dark, shoulders hunched, her entire frame dragging as if gravity had doubled around her. One arm clutched her ribs, the other swung lifelessly by her side. Every step looked like it could be her last, yet she kept going, fueled by something far more dangerous than anger or hope—conviction born of pain.
"She's walking into the fire alone. And I don't even know who's right anymore," Yuka continued, eyes cast downward. "Maybe Temoshí thought hiding that letter would protect her. Maybe he was waiting for the right moment. But to her… it must've felt like betrayal. And maybe it was. I understand why she pushed away."
She looked up at Razor and Fioren, voice now trembling just enough to be noticed.
"But she shouldn't have wandered off like that. Not alone."
"Let's not forget the most important part," Fioren said quietly, her tone unusually grim. "The Empress is after her. By now, she's probably already figured out Chiaki's escaped. And I'd bet anything she's dispatched her personal troops to hunt her down."
She looked down the broken pathway where the dust still hung, catching the edges of the dying light. "They won't be looking for us. We're not the ones she wants. It's Chiaki. She's the target now."
Razor narrowed her eyes, arms folded, jaw tense. "So what, we just sit here and wait for the empire to swallow her whole?"
"No," Yuka replied, the word sharp, final. "But we can't rush in blind either."
Razor glanced at her, then at the path ahead. "She's falling apart, and if we don't reach her soon, it won't be some soldier that ends her. It'll be herself."
The three of them stood there, caught in the tension between loyalty and helplessness—each of them aware that their next step might be the difference between finding Chiaki... or losing her forever.
Chiaki trudged forward through the dim, dust-choked streets of Lyvoria Crest, each step dragging more than the last. Her arms hung uselessly by her sides, fingers scraped and trembling. Blood had dried at her temple, and fresh cuts throbbed with every pulse of her heart. The weight of her body pulled harder now—as if the very air had thickened into stone.
"I… can't stop now," she whispered, breath hitching with the effort. "I have to keep going… I need to find the answer Blythe told me about…"
Her voice cracked, her legs buckled—but she staggered forward, defiant even in ruin.
"I won't… give up… I know I can—"
But the words trailed into silence as her vision began to fail her, colors melting into grays, the world turning to haze. The shapes of buildings lost their form, the ground seemed to tilt, and a sudden wave of nausea crushed her from within. Her knees hit the dirt first, then her palms—barely catching herself before she fully collapsed.
She tried to move.
Tried to crawl.
"I'm… not done…" she choked out, her voice no louder than a broken breath. "I can keep…"
But her body said otherwise.
Her arms gave out. Her chin touched the stone. The world dimmed around her, and then—darkness began to bloom, slow and suffocating.
Yet in that final moment, when her eyes fluttered open one last time, she saw it—
A silhouette.
A figure standing far off in the mist. Unmoving. Watching. Walking toward her with slow, deliberate steps.
And then, everything faded.
To be continued...