The air in the evacuation center grew suffocating, heavier than the smoke and dust outside. Families still clung to one another, unaware of the storm brewing only a few paces away.
Chris jabbed a finger toward the boy, voice booming, raw frustration cracking through every syllable. "We can't risk it, Yuzu! You saw what Dr. Mei said. The signal is inside him. That kid is a ticking bomb, and the moment he goes off? Everyone here—those mothers, those fathers, those kids—they'll all be dead. Or worse."
Yuzu shook his head furiously, his voice cracking as he stepped forward. "No! He's just a boy. Just a boy! We can isolate him, keep him safe until Command finds a way. Mobius and Dr. Mei—they'll think of something. We can save him. We have to save him!"
Chris threw his arms wide, incredulous. "Save him? You don't save bombs, Yuzu! You contain them until they blow, and then you deal with the pieces. That's what this is! If we drag him out with the others, we're not heroes—we're bringing a death sentence right into the evac lines."
"Then what?" Yuzu shouted back, his voice trembling. "You just want to abandon him here? Leave him in the ruins to wait for the inevitable? That's not saving anyone—that's cruelty!"
Chris bared his teeth, stepping closer, his afro shadowing his narrowed eyes. "Better one kid left behind than a dozen families butchered. Do the math, Yuzu. Don't let your bleeding heart blind you."
The boy's knuckles whitened as his grip on his blade tightened, but his legs quivered. "It's not about numbers… it's about doing what's right."
Their words clashed, the heated argument filling the air until it drowned even the muffled sobs of the survivors nearby. They were so locked into each other's fury—Yuzu pleading for hope, Chris bristling with brutal pragmatism—that neither noticed Viktor begin to move.
Silent as a shadow, his boots barely made a sound against the cracked floor. The boy's small figure was framed by the light of the shattered windows, smiling faintly at his reunited parents, still clutching a little toy soldier in his hand. Viktor's expression was unreadable, his dagger already slipping free of its sheath.
-
"No!" Kiana's scream tore through the observation chamber, hands pressed against the glass as if she could break through and drag the boy out herself. Her chest heaved, eyes wet with desperation. "Not the kid! You said it was born from negativity, didn't you?! He was happy! He saw his dad again, he laughed, he gave Viktor that toy—how could he possibly be a Herrscher host?!"
Mobius's lips curled into a faint, tired smile, but for once, she did not answer. Her golden eyes flicked sideways, leaving the weight of the question to linger in the air.
Otto's voice broke the silence instead, heavy and cold. "…The surface can lie, Kaslana. A smile can deceive even the keenest eyes. But underneath?" His gaze lingered on the screen, unblinking. "That child may have laughed, yes. He may have felt joy in that fleeting moment. But the Honkai does not feed on what is shown—it feeds on what festers."
Kiana spun toward him, shaking her head violently, as if denial alone could break his words. Otto's tone never faltered.
"The boy suffered, Kiana. In his weakest hours—huddled in the ruins, wondering why the world had abandoned him—he questioned why he had to lose everything. Why the strong could live while he was left powerless. And then… he saw Viktor. A man who stood tall, unyielding, a true hero in his eyes. Do you understand what that meant?"
Kiana froze, lips parting, but no words escaped.
"He realized," Otto finished, voice a dagger to the heart, "that he could never be that. That he was nothing. And that seed of helplessness, that despair buried beneath the surface… that is where the Honkai took root. Not in his joy. Not in his smile. But in the shadows behind it."
Kiana clutched her chest, her breath catching. "That's… that's not fair… he's just a kid…"
Eden's voice entered softly, like a whispered prayer, though her words were no less heavy. "Smiles are often masks as much as they are mirrors to the soul. A child cannot comprehend the weight of such feelings, not fully. But the Honkai has no mercy for innocence, no care for youth. It only answers to suffering."
Her hands folded over her heart, eyes fixed on Viktor's form in the simulation, dagger raised toward the boy. "And now, mercy falls not on the world's shoulders… but on his."
The chamber fell into silence again, save for the hum of the simulation. All eyes turned to the figure of Viktor inside, walking silently toward the child, the weight of choice already pressing down upon him like a mountain.
-
The world seemed to hold its breath.
Viktor's boots slowed, each step striking the ruined floor with a weight far greater than steel. The noise of Chris and Yuzu's arguing dissolved, their words choking in their throats as they realized what was happening.
The boy turned, clutching another little toy soldier tightly in his hand. His cheeks were flushed from the excitement of being reunited with his parents, his eyes bright—but not with the innocence of youth. Beneath those irises, faint motes of light pulsed, like embers in a deep cavern, growing with every heartbeat.
He smiled at Viktor. A smile so pure it cut like a knife.
"...Mister!" the boy beamed, eyes wide and glowing faintly. "You came!"
Yuzu's sword rattled in his trembling hands. His chest heaved. "No… Viktor, don't! He's just—" He took a step forward, desperation pulling at his legs.
"Stand down."
Dr. Mei's voice cut through, cold as ice. No tremor. No hesitation. "Do not interfere."
The words froze Yuzu where he stood. His hand hung in midair as his eyes filled with helplessness, tears brimming. Chris's jaw worked, but no words came. His heart thundered like a war drum, the kind that heralded execution.
Viktor stopped in front of the boy. His dagger slipped from his grip with a muted clatter against the floor. Kneeling down, his eyes locked on the child's glowing gaze. His face was stone, unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes betrayed everything.
They shook. They flickered with the truth he had only begun to understand since entering this place. The hollow feeling. The déjà vu. The ache of familiarity. This moment was written into him. It had always been.
His lips moved, not by choice, but because destiny demanded it.
"…You want to be a hero, right?"
The boy's little chin lifted, eyes widening, shimmering with eager fire. "Yes!" he said quickly, the glow inside them sparking brighter. His tiny shoulders rose with pride, the kind only children carry when they feel they are seen, truly seen. "I want to be like you!"
Around them, gasps filled the air. Survivors began to notice—the unnatural glow in the boy's pupils, the faint hum in the air. Panic whispered in broken breaths.
Viktor's gaze drifted past the boy, to the parents hovering behind him. The mother's face was streaked with tears as she shook her head violently, mouthing please, please no. Her hands pressed against her chest as if she could shield her son with her own body. The father stood frozen, lips trembling, before his jaw clenched. He bit down so hard on his lower lip it broke skin, blood spilling down his chin as his eyes wrenched away, unable to bear it.
Viktor inhaled deeply. The world seemed to narrow, only the boy's glowing eyes before him. His voice came soft, low, a whisper no louder than falling ash.
"Then… I need your help."
The boy nodded quickly, hanging onto every word.
"I can only save everyone here," Viktor whispered, his tone steady, "if you listen to what I say."
Another nod, eager and trusting. "I'll do anything, Mister!"
His hands—so gentle, so deliberate—settled on the boy's small shoulders. He leaned in closer.
"Close your eyes."
The boy obeyed immediately, shutting them tight, as if preparing for some great task. His lips curved upward in a hopeful smile.
Viktor's voice cracked then, just faintly. "…Thank you."
His fingers tightened.
"…And I'm sorry."
The sound was sharp, final, devastatingly quick. A snap, barely louder than the shattering of a twig.
The boy's toy soldier tumbled from his limp hand, striking the ground with a hollow clink.
Silence swallowed the room.
For a moment, no one moved. The mother's scream tore through that silence like glass shattering, raw and animal, as if her soul had been ripped from her throat. She collapsed to her knees, clawing at the air where her son had been. "No! No! My baby, please, wake up, wake up!"
The father staggered forward, his arms outstretched, but faltered halfway. His face crumpled, his legs gave out, and he sank into the dirt with a hollow groan that was not truly a sound, but grief itself made manifest. His fists pounded against the floor, over and over, skin splitting, blood painting the dust.
The other survivors turned away, some clutching their mouths to stifle sobs, others cradling their own children close, as if to guard them from the cruel truth unfolding.
Viktor did not move. He knelt there still, his hands trembling faintly as they hovered where the boy's shoulders once were. His eyes burned—not from tears, but from the weight of something far worse. A memory of his own. A choice he had always known he would make.
The simulation began to dim, the edges of the world crumbling into static. Yet even as the walls dissolved, one sound persisted, etched into Viktor's mind like fire carved into stone—the mother's sobbing, raw and endless.
It would never leave him.
And it never did.