The forest had long since swallowed the sky by the time Hayato found himself walking a path lit by an unnatural glow. At first, he thought it was the moonlight breaking through the dense canopy—but this light pulsed, breathed, shimmered like a living thing. It hovered ahead like a will-o'-the-wisp, weaving gently between the trees, guiding him deeper into the forest's hidden heart.
His footsteps slowed, instincts warring with curiosity. This was not the forest he had grown up exploring. This part felt ancient, sacred… watching.
Still, the light beckoned.
Drawn forward, Hayato moved with cautious reverence, each step echoing in the hush that had fallen over the world. The air thickened with something indescribable—neither fear nor danger, but a tremor of fate pressing close. He passed under twisted boughs and between roots like ribs protruding from the earth, until finally, he stepped into a clearing bathed in silver-blue radiance.
And there, waiting in the center of the clearing, stood a figure Hayato had not seen in years.
Toshiaki.
Time had changed him.
He was taller now, broader in the shoulders, his once-wild black hair tied back, exposing sharp cheekbones and eyes that burned with something colder than anger. His presence was still magnetic—commanding, fierce—but there was a tension in the way he stood, a coiled wire of barely restrained emotion.
Hayato froze. "Toshiaki...?"
The name left his lips like a whisper between breaths, disbelieving.
Toshiaki's lips curled into something that was not a smile. "So you do remember."
A dozen memories surged forward—laughter shared beneath the summer sun, childish promises made under starlit skies, the day Toshiaki vanished without a word. No farewell. No trace. Just a fracture in Hayato's world that never quite healed.
"Toshiaki, I thought you were—"
"Gone?" he interrupted, voice taut. "You thought I disappeared into nothing, didn't you? Just another ghost you could forget."
Hayato stepped forward. "That's not what happened. You left without saying anything."
"You wouldn't understand why I had to," Toshiaki snapped, his voice rising like a stormcloud. "You, surrounded by honor, family, legacy. You never noticed what was happening to those around you. To me."
Hayato clenched his fists. "You could have told me."
"I tried," Toshiaki said, stepping into the light. "But you were too consumed with your own fate. Even then. Everything was always about you, Hayato. The prodigy. The heir. The one chosen to carry the light."
"That's not fair."
"No," Toshiaki hissed, "what's not fair is being left in the shadows to rot while you bathed in praise you didn't even want. You abandoned me long before I ever disappeared."
The words landed like blows. Hayato staggered beneath the weight of them, struggling to breathe through the knot forming in his chest. He had carried so much guilt for Toshiaki's disappearance—but now it seemed the wound had cut deeper than he ever realized.
"What do you want from me?" Hayato asked, voice tight.
"I want to see what the Sora heir has become," Toshiaki said coldly. "I want to see if you're worthy of everything that was handed to you while others were left with nothing."
And with that, the clearing ignited.
Energy surged from Toshiaki's body, crackling through the air like lightning born of rage. Hayato barely raised his defenses in time as the first blast of force came hurtling toward him. He leapt to the side, landing in a crouch, heart pounding.
So this was what it had come to.
A battle not just of power—but of history. Of betrayal. Of grief.
Hayato summoned his own energy, light flaring around his hands. The force of their clash sent shockwaves through the trees, branches splintering as they exchanged blow after blow. Toshiaki fought with raw, brutal elegance—each movement sharp and precise, every strike filled with years of buried emotion.
"You left me behind," Toshiaki growled, striking again.
"I didn't know you were suffering!" Hayato countered, parrying.
"You never looked!"
Their powers collided again in a blinding flash, illuminating the forest like a second dawn. The ground shook beneath them. Hayato felt himself being pushed, not just physically, but emotionally—to the very edge of what he could bear.
Toshiaki wasn't just fighting him. He was fighting everything that had led them to this moment.
And Hayato realized, amidst the fury, that Toshiaki was right about one thing: he hadn't seen. He had been too wrapped up in his own struggles, too blind to notice when his friend began to disappear—not just from his life, but from himself.
The truth hurt. But it also opened something.
He stopped attacking.
The light around him dimmed—not from exhaustion, but surrender. He stood tall, arms lowered, meeting Toshiaki's next strike with no resistance.
The blow landed hard—Hayato staggered back, blood on his lip. But he stayed upright.
Toshiaki froze, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Then hit me again," Hayato said quietly, breathing hard. "If that's what you need to do. If your pain won't let you stop. I won't fight back. Not anymore."
Silence fell.
The anger in Toshiaki's eyes flickered, warred with something rawer—confusion, sorrow. His hands trembled, fists still glowing with power.
"I never meant to abandon you," Hayato whispered. "I just didn't see you were fading until you were gone."
Toshiaki's hands dropped. His breath hitched.
The forest held its breath with them.
Then slowly, the light around Toshiaki faded, leaving only moonlight and memory between them. He turned his face to the side, jaw clenched, eyes shining with unshed tears.
"It's too late," he muttered.
"No," Hayato said, stepping closer, his voice firm despite the pain. "It's not. Not if you don't want it to be."
The distance between them had never been so small… or so vast.
And yet, in that clearing, among the illuminated shadows of their past, something shifted.
They were not friends again. Not yet.
But they were no longer enemies.
And sometimes, that was the first step toward healing.