Somewhere in the middle of the night. A dull, splintering ache threaded behind Ryoma's eyes, and his body felt like stone cold, rigid, heavy. His breath came shallow as visions danced behind his lids like fire ghosts, flickering, stinging, refusing to fade.
He stood somewhere. A field? A plain? The ground was ash beneath his feet.
The sky, cracked in two. And before him A figure in robes, faceless and tall, with a voice that echoed like prophecy.
"Do it."
A younger version of himself stood there, barely ten. Small fists clenched.
Tears streamed silently down his cheeks, each one carving its own path of defiance.
"But… what if I don't?"
The voice didn't soften.
"Then they die anyway. And so does your wish."
A pause.
"So choose, Ryoma. Will you plant this curse inside you… or bury your hope with it?"
The child stared down at his trembling hands. And then without a word he nodded.
Ryoma shot up with a gasp, as if breaking through the surface of deep, black water. His chest heaved, breath rasping like wind through broken leaves. Sweat clung to his back, the chill night air only making it worse. He dragged a hand across his face, then raked it back through his damp hair, trying to quiet the storm still thundering in his chest. The fire of the past had long since burned low. Beyond it at present, the others were curled around dreams of their own.
Seirou had somehow ended up half-sprawled with one leg over his bag and an arm covering his face. Seiya slept with his head tilted at a sharp angle, mouth slightly open, muttering nonsense. Astra had slumped back with her hair in a messy way, one boot still on and the other lying several feet away.
Only Kaen was properly wrapped in his blanket, sitting upright with his back against a tree. Beside him, Xue was curled up tightly, arms clinging to Kaen's side as he shivered softly in his sleep.
Ryoma let out a slow sigh.
"Tch… honestly," he muttered, brushing Seirou's leg off the bag and pulling the blanket over him properly. One by one, he adjusted them all, tugging cloaks, covering exposed shoulders. When he reached Xue, the boy flinched and burrowed deeper against Kaen.
"…Is the wind that cold tonight?" Ryoma murmured, brushing the back of his hand near the boy's cheek. "He's still trembling." A voice drifted down from above, light and dry.
"Aren't you sleepy, little boy?"
Ryoma glanced up. Shion was sprawled out across a thick branch, one leg dangling lazily, the other bent, arms folded behind his head.
"Shion," Ryoma said flatly, standing and brushing off his hands. "Why don't you sleep on solid ground like everyone else?"
With a soft thump, Shion dropped from the branch, landing in a crouch before straightening with a stretch and a satisfying crack of his shoulder. "Not when trees are comfier. And they don't roll over onto your arm either."
Ryoma sighed. "I still can't decide whether you're a fox or a monkey."
Shion smirked. "I'm a fox who knows how to climb a tree."
Ryoma raised a brow. "Good. Those nine tails might come in handy if one ever has to catch a branch to keep you from snapping in half."
Shion's grin curled, sly and sharp. "Better nine tails than none—at least I land on my feet instead of my pride. Oh wait, you do have one. And yours might help swat away the bugs from biting your—" He paused, catching Ryoma's unamused stare. "—blanket," he corrected smoothly, clearing his throat. "Obviously. I meant blanket."
Before Ryoma could say anything else, Shion knelt beside the sleeping group. With surprising gentleness, he reached between Astra and Seirou, tugged her head off Seirou's shoulder, and nudged the boy sideways with a knee.
"Oi," Seirou mumbled, half-asleep, swaying like a drunk leaf.
"Sleep straighter," Shion muttered, stuffing a bag beneath Astra's head like a makeshift pillow. "Or I swear, next time I'll make you sleep standing."
Seirou grunted something half-coherent and promptly slumped sideways, back thudding against the tree trunk. Shion dusted off his hands like he'd just completed a noble duty, then glanced toward Ryoma, who stood a few paces away, eyes fixed on the gates where torchlight flickered and guards kept steady watch in all directions.
Ryoma muttered under his breath, "Still can't believe they let us through so easily with just a permit…"
Shion leaned against the tree, folding his arms. "What do you think?"
Ryoma exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slowly. "That gilded thorn of the Divine Lotus Bastard… must be behind it."
Divine Lake of Equilibrium – Night of the Bloom
Silver mist clung low over the still waters of the Divine Lake, the air quiet as though even the wind held its breath. Beneath the crescent moon and scattered stars, the lake shimmered with an ethereal glow. At its center, three divine lotus buds floated motionless.
A vast crowd stood along the stone path, silent. Monks in ash-white robes held their lanterns high. Courtiers, guards, nobles, and envoys from far provinces stood in rows, each watching with bated breath. The Emperor stood at the front of the procession, tall and unmoving, his gaze fixed on the lotus. Beside him, ministers and priests murmured softly.
And at the edge of the lake alone, barefoot stood the Crown prince, clad in flowing silk robes of white and silver, a sheer veil covering his face, and a long blindfold slowly slipping through his fingers.
He opened his eyes.
Then inhaled.
And moved.
It began with a single step soft as starlight brushing the surface of still water. The air itself seemed to hush, drawn to him. Each movement after flowed like ink through the night: arms lifting in arcs, wrists folding in grace, fingers drawing unseen sigils into the moonlight.
His sleeves, white and silver, caught the glow of the stars, no longer cloth, but waves of living light trailing behind him like whispers from the heavens. He did not dance with flourish or fire. His was the dance of stillness and silence, of reverence deeper than words. Every breath, every turn, every shift of weight was precise measured like ritual, fluid like prayer.
From afar, the crowd stood silent, utterly entranced.
The lake answered.
A hush fell over the water, as though it bowed to him. Then the faintest shimmer. Gentle ripples swelled outward from where he stood, catching moonlight in their crest. Those last-bloomed lotuses along the edges glowing faintly, From each blossom, silvery threads of divine energy rose like mist, drifting upward, twining through the air as if drawn by his motion filling the space like incense.
Then Akira stopped.
And so did the charm.
The magic seemed to suspend… then collapse, dissolving into soft light as he stepped gently into the water, careful, reverent. The aura danced around his ankles. Each step left a glowing trace behind him.
He knelt before the triplet blossoms.
And whispered a prayer:
"If even stillness waits for balance… then let not silence be mistaken for peace."
His voice echoed like a thread drawn from a well of time.
Everyone leaned forward, eyes fixed on the lotus.
Waiting.
And waiting.
But there was no bloom.
Disappointment washed through the crowd like a quiet tide. Nobles lowered their heads. Whispered sighs drifted between ranks. Even the faint glow around the lake began to dim.
Akira turned away, veil catching the breeze.
"…As always," he muttered under his breath.
A senior monk in darkened ceremonial robes stepped forward, bowing low before the Emperor.
"We are approaching the midnight hour, Your Majesty. The Crown Prince has already performed the rite seventeen times, yet the lotus remains closed. If it fails to bloom tonight… the balance may tip. And with it, disruption may ripple across the realm."
The Emperor's gaze narrowed, "This bloom is sacred to the Supreme god of balance. If it withholds… then trouble is already seeded. What do you suggest?"
The monk hesitated, then spoke with care. "A ritual of appeasement, Your Majesty. Perhaps the god must be reminded… of our reverence."
The ministers exchanged nods. One stepped forward. "Your Majesty… we humbly request the Crown Prince be the one to perform the ritual. The heavens have favored him greatly. Perhaps… the god will answer more swiftly."
But the Emperor raised a hand.
"No."
Murmurs stirred through the watching crowd.
"Every flower blooms without delay… except those two. That cannot be mere coincidence. It has been the same every year, for centuries now. There must be a reason they withhold their bloom, if even the heavily heaven-favored Crown Prince cannot please the god with his divineness."
"But, Your Majesty," another said, "shouldn't we at least try once more this year?"
The Emperor looked toward the unmoving blossoms.
"Everything must remain in balance… Life and death, joy and sorrow, sun and shadow… even love and vengeance. If the god of balance delays, then the reason lies beyond our reach."