Toki stood firm—an unmoving wall of will and blood—in front of the two children, his breath heavy but controlled, his gaze fixed on the crowd of knights surrounding him. Though wounded and weary, he did not waver. His coat hung in tatters, the blood from his torn palm still dripping, yet he held his cane with the same quiet authority as a general holding a banner.
He didn't turn his head when he spoke. His voice was steady. Calm.
"Kandaki," he said, "I'm sorry I ignored you that day. I projected my own fears onto you. That wasn't fair."
The boy's eyes widened.
"You're far braver than I ever gave you credit for. You have more honor in your small frame than all these so-called knights combined."
Kandaki's mouth parted slightly, his heart swelling with something raw and warm.
Toki stepped forward, still watching the angry crowd. "Once this is over," he continued, "I'd be honored to be your master."
Kandaki said nothing. But the look in his eyes was enough. Admiration. Respect. The kind of awe reserved only for legends.
That moment of quiet was shattered.
The knights roared, incensed by Toki's words, their pride wounded by the comparison. Dozens surged forward at once, a chaotic wave of blades and bodies, their shouts shaking the walls.
Toki moved.
He flowed through the chaos like smoke through cracks. Each movement precise, brutal, efficient. His cane snapped out like a whip—blunt, but devastating. He swung with the force of a blacksmith, the precision of a surgeon. Every technique, every angle, every motion had purpose.
He remembered the Iron Fist of Gerald Smith—a strike that shattered ribs and silence alike.
He remembered Ozvold Edmund's perfect, surgical counters—small openings turned into massive opportunities.
And he remembered the endless battles across 400 years—styles from the mountains of Braxtar, the deserts of Vahruhn, the ghostly wind dances of the Eastern Isles.
His fighting wasn't elegant. It was scarred. Scarred but refined.
He caught a blade with one hand—his wounded one—and twisted the knight's wrist until it snapped. With the other, he slammed his cane into the man's solar plexus, sending him sprawling.
Another rushed him. Toki ducked low, swung the cane beneath the man's knees. The knight flipped, crashing into a table.
Blood trickled down Toki's temple. Cuts littered his arms. His ribs ached. But he smiled.
For the first time in a long time—he was enjoying himself.
Justice had never tasted so sweet.
Thirty minutes passed, marked by the cracked brass clock above the bar. Still, the horde kept coming.
Toki's breath was getting shallow. His knees wobbled slightly.
"Can't keep this up," he muttered, spitting blood onto the wooden floor.
He didn't want to draw his sword. He knew the weight of that choice. If even one knight died by his blade, the fragile foundation of his broken Division would collapse.
He needed something else.
A memory sparked—one from the duel with Gerald. The black mist. The way it moved.
And then—darker memories. The Abyss.
Toki reached inward.
And the world began to darken.
It started at his feet—shadows lengthening unnaturally, coiling like smoke. Within seconds, the entire tavern was swallowed in a thick, unnatural fog—blacker than pitch, colder than ice. Screams echoed as knights slashed at shadows, at each other. The chaos turned inward.
Toki could see clearly. The mist didn't touch him.
He moved silently, surgically. Crippling limbs. Knocking men unconscious. Whispering into ears from the dark.
"This is the punishment for betrayal."
"You swore an oath. Remember it."
"The Fourth Division lives. But not like this."
His voice came from all directions. Knights screamed, stumbling into each other. A dozen injured themselves in confusion. Some dropped their weapons and crawled.
Minutes passed.
Then silence.
The fog lifted.
The tavern lay in ruins. Nearly two hundred knights lay strewn across the floor—groaning, battered, clutching broken limbs or bloody faces. Some were unconscious. Others whispered prayers.
All of them were defeated.
Toki walked among them, limping but unbowed. Blood coated his hands and coat. His cane dragged a shallow groove behind him.
The knights looked up as he passed.
And one by one, they bowed their heads.
"Mercy… Commander…"
"Forgive us…"
Toki's voice cut cold through the silence.
"Five gold coins. From each of you."
Murmurs. Confusion. But none disobeyed.
Within minutes, a pile of coin lay on a shattered table.
Toki picked out a smaller pouch—lighter.
He turned to Kandaki and pressed it into the boy's hands. "Your money."
Kandaki clutched it, speechless.
Then Toki gathered the rest, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, and approached the bar.
Or what was left of it.
The bartender stood behind a cracked counter, jaw slack.
Tables were destroyed. Lamps shattered. Blood and ale soaked the floor. And amidst it all, Toki removed his hat and bowed his head.
"Forgive the damage," he said. "My men were… untrained."
He placed the rest of the coins on the bar. "For repairs."
The bartender blinked, slowly nodded.
Toki turned—and froze.
Two men had been sitting at the far end of the tavern, untouched by the chaos. Both now approached. One poured a glass of amber liquid, placing it in front of Toki.
Toki frowned. "I didn't order anything."
The man smiled. Refined. Elegant. Deadly.
"Young gentleman," he said, voice like aged wine, "your methods of leadership may be unorthodox… but they carry a certain elegance."
Toki's eyes widened slightly.
"Mister Smith," he said.
The man inclined his head. "In the flesh."
He slid the glass closer. "Drink. You've earned it."
Before Toki could reply, the second man leaned forward.
"It's impolite," he said with a teasing grin, "to refuse a drink from your superior."
Toki turned, already recognizing the voice.
"Bernard."
The flamboyant knight flashed his signature smile.
Toki raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be at Lady Elizabeth's tea party?"
Bernard waved a hand dismissively. "I slipped away. Met up with Gerald on the road. Figured I'd find you here. And I must say—" he gestured to the wreckage, "—you did not disappoint. Spectacular show. That mist trick was especially theatrical."
Toki shook his head. "I think I've had enough theatrics for one night."
He tried to rise from his stool, but his knees buckled. Pain shot through his side. He winced.
Bernard caught him.
"No," he said firmly. "First, you rest. You're bleeding like a butcher's apron. If you show up like this to Lady Utsuki, she'll have my head."
"Your head?" Toki muttered. "She's my lady."
Bernard grinned. "And as her knight, your relationship's already halfway to marriage. If you go home smelling like whiskey and covered in blood, she'll put you through a window."
Gerald chuckled quietly.
Toki sighed. "And you? You think Elizabeth will go easier on you?"
Bernard groaned. "She's going to murder me. I'll be lucky if I still have kneecaps by morning. We've basically skipped courtship and gone straight to being married for twenty years."
They laughed.
He ruffled Kandaki's hair, then Hana's. With a wink, he waved over the bartender again.
"Two juices, please—for the heroes of the night."
The bartender nodded, still in shock, and poured two small glasses, sliding them toward the children.
Kandaki looked up at Toki with glowing eyes. "Master… do you really mean it? You'll teach me?"
Toki looked down at him, the corner of his lip tugging upward. "I never say things I don't mean."
Kandaki beamed.
Gerald raised his glass. "To rebuilding the Fourth."
Bernard followed. "To the new Commander
Silence fell over the Broken Horn like a heavy shroud.
The chaos had burned itself out. The laughter, the screams, the clang of steel—all gone. Only the distant creaking of wood and the soft, uneven breathing of wounded men remained. Toki moved slowly across the ruined tavern floor. His coat was shredded and bloodied, and he carried himself like a man stitched together by will alone.
He approached the bench by the hearth, where the fire still offered a dim orange glow.
Kandaki and Hana had fallen asleep—exhausted by fear, violence, and everything in between. With a quiet breath, Toki removed his coat and draped it gently over the two of them. The warmth of the fire, combined with his scent and the safety of his presence, seemed to calm their breathing.
He brushed a lock of hair from Hana's face, then turned back toward Gerald Smith.
The older knight stood near the broken bar, arms crossed, watching him. His expression was unreadable, but his sharp eyes missed nothing. When Toki approached, Gerald raised a brow.
"You have something to say," he said quietly.
Toki hesitated. Then he nodded.
"I'm nervous."
"About the ritual?"
Toki's gaze dropped to the floor. "Tomorrow night… my first. What if something goes wrong? What if I can't control it? What if I hurt someone? Someone I care about?"
Gerald placed a firm hand on Toki's shoulder.
"It's normal to feel that fear," he said. "And it's wise. The ritual of attunement is dangerous, yes—but you won't be alone. Senior Order members will be there to monitor you. And… one of our best starcollectors from the Death Sector will personally stabilize your state."
Toki raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
Before Gerald could answer, Bernard leaned lazily against a table, smirking. "He means Lady Lorelay," he said with a theatrical bow. "And if you ask me, she's not there just to keep him safe. She's there because Gerald wants an excuse to spend more time with her."
Gerald flushed a faint red.
"That's not true," he said curtly. "Our relationship is entirely professional."
Bernard grinned wider. "There's no shame in it, old friend. It's never too late to fall in love. And I know Lady Lorelay feels the same. You should ask her for coffee sometime."
Gerald scowled and swung a half-hearted punch toward Bernard, who dodged with ease, laughing.
Toki, despite the pain in his ribs, chuckled softly. His thoughts wandered briefly to Utsuki—and the way she would no doubt scold him for his wounds, his recklessness, and the scent of smoke clinging to his clothes. But behind the scolding, he knew she'd be worried.
The fire crackled quietly behind them.
Outside, the night had grown deep. Midnight approached. The moon was high, veiled behind a stretch of pale clouds.
The three men stepped out of the tavern, the children close behind. Kandaki gently carried Hana in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder.
Bernard whistled sharply.
A black carriage rounded the corner moments later, pulled by two obsidian-colored birds with silver eyes. The door swung open with a quiet creak.
They climbed in together. Gerald. Bernard. Toki. Kandaki and Hana.
The seats were velvet-lined. A soft candle glowed in the corner. The carriage pulled away.
For a time, no one spoke.
Then suddenly—
Toki groaned and gripped his temples.
A sharp, searing pain lanced through his skull. It was like his mind had been pierced by claws made of fire and ice.
"Toki?" Bernard reached out.
"Toki, what's wrong?" Gerald asked.
But Toki couldn't respond.
He saw them.
Dozens—hundreds—of mouths. Painted, rotting lips stretched into twisted grins, rows of jagged teeth grinning madly. They danced in spirals, suspended on puppet strings, cackling like wind through broken glass.
Then, black.
Toki gasped.
"Stop the carriage!" he cried.
The driver obeyed without hesitation. The carriage jolted to a halt.
Toki stumbled out, clutching his head, staggering into a narrow alley.
Gerald and Bernard followed close behind.
"What is it?" Gerald called.
"I… I don't know," Toki muttered. "Something pulled me here."
At the end of the alley, under the flickering glow of a broken lantern—they found her.
A woman. Mid-thirties, perhaps. Her body twisted, her eyes wide in a frozen mask of terror. No visible bruises on her neck, no blade wounds—but her face had the unmistakable look of someone who had suffocated.
She lay in a pool of blood.
Toki crouched and gently turned her over.
The moment he did—
Worms spilled from her mouth. From her torn cheek. The scent of rot hit like a hammer.
Toki vomited instantly, turning away.
Bernard rushed to Kandaki, shielding his eyes. "Don't look, boy. Stay back."
Gerald knelt beside the corpse, his face grim. "Asphyxiation without trauma… and a pool of blood? This wasn't a natural death."
He gently turned the woman's palm. A mark—small and deliberate—was etched into her skin.
A lotus. Stylized.
Gerald's eyes narrowed.
"An assassin's mark. Most likely from a cult. We've seen this before in Sector Nine. An underground sect linked to forbidden rituals."
He looked at Toki.
"How did you know she was here?"
"I don't know," Toki whispered. "I just… felt it. Heard the laughter. The mouths. The strings."
Gerald's brow furrowed. "That's… rare."
He stood.
"Toki, what you just described—it's what we call a clairvoyant surge. It usually manifests around level five in the Moonlight Goddess's Dark Department. You shouldn't be having those this early."
Bernard looked between them, eyes wide.
"You're saying he has dark affinity?"
"Not just that," Gerald replied. "He might have the potential to surpass level six."
Toki said nothing. He was still shaking.
Gerald moved to the body again. From inside his coat, he pulled a smooth, silvery cloth—almost translucent.
He draped it over the woman.
Then, slowly, he folded the cloth inward.
Once. Twice. Four times.
And then—impossibly—it fit into his palm.
He tucked it into a pocket.
Bernard's eyes widened. "An artifact?"
Gerald nodded. "From a fallen starcollector. One of the few items that allows us to bend and contain space. The body will be taken to the Autopsy Hall."
He turned to Toki.
"Your instincts tonight saved lives. And your clarity in the vision… that's something to be proud of."
Toki, pale and tired, nodded slowly.
Gerald continued. "Tomorrow night, when you undergo the ritual—choose the Darkness Division. The signs are clear. You have an affinity for it. And with training, you might just become the first in generations to unlock its sixth gate."
Bernard let out a low whistle. "A commander and a prodigy. What will Lady Utsuki say?"
Toki chuckled weakly.
"I think," he said, voice hoarse, "she'll say I need a bath, a healer… and maybe a slap to the back of the head."
They all laughed.
The night deepened.
Gerald raised a hand as the carriage approached the inn.
"This is where I leave you," he said, offering a parting nod to Toki. "I'll see you tomorrow evening for the ritual. Get some rest. You'll need it."
Bernard smirked from beside Toki. "Try not to flirt with the Star Collector too obviously, old man."
Gerald gave him a dry look. "I don't flirt."
Bernard laughed, stepping down from the carriage. "The world begs to differ."
Gerald rolled his eyes and walked off into the night, disappearing beneath the glow of the lantern-lit streets. Toki watched him go for a moment, then helped Kandaki and Hana down from the carriage. The children were half-asleep, their eyes heavy from exhaustion.
He led them quietly through the side entrance of the inn, nodding at the sleepy receptionist. Upstairs, the wooden floors creaked faintly beneath their steps.
As soon as he opened the door to their room, Utsuki's voice met him like a gust of wind.
"Toki! Where have you been?" she said, crossing the room with a furrowed brow. Her long robe trailed behind her, and her hair was loosely tied. She looked somewhere between worried and furious. "You said you'd be back hours ago."
Toki closed the door softly behind him. "I'm sorry. Things got… complicated."
He walked over and gently placed Hana onto one side of the smaller bed, then motioned for Kandaki to climb in beside her. The boy obeyed without question, curling close to his sister. Toki pulled the blanket up around them and shrugged off his coat, draping it over the children like an extra layer.
"They're in my care now," he said, his voice quieter. "At least until we find something better."
Utsuki looked from the children to Toki, her expression softening. "I see."
Only two beds occupied the room—one small one where the children now slept, and the larger one at the back of the chamber. Tora lay sprawled across it, already half-asleep, clutching her favorite stuffed fox. Utsuki sat on the edge, brushing out her hair, dressed in her nightwear.
Her eyes darted toward Toki again, then around the room.
"There's… no place left for you to sleep," she said slowly. Her cheeks flushed a faint pink. "I suppose you could… share this bed. With conditions."
Toki raised an eyebrow. "Conditions?"
Utsuki cleared her throat, trying and failing to look stern. "Tora will sleep between us. And you will face the wall."
Toki blinked.
Utsuki rushed on, cheeks darkening. "It's purely practical! You're bleeding, exhausted, and the floor's too hard. And it's cold. That's all."
Toki gave a tired smile. "Of course. I understand."
"Good," she muttered, looking away.
With practiced movements, Toki unlaced his boots and carefully peeled off the bloodied layers of his undershirt. The cuts and bruises along his torso were visible now, the raw aftermath of the tavern fight. Utsuki's eyes lingered for a moment before she stood abruptly and fetched a clean cloth and small vial from her satchel.
"Sit. I'll clean your wounds," she said curtly.
Toki obeyed without complaint, sitting on the edge of the bed as Utsuki knelt beside him. She dipped the cloth into the antiseptic and pressed it gently against a gash near his ribs.
He winced.
"Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry.
"You know," Toki murmured, "You're surprisingly good at this."
"Bandaging knights who don't listen? I've had plenty of practice."
The silence that followed was soft. Comfortable.
Tora mumbled something in her sleep and shifted slightly, her hand finding Utsuki's. Utsuki smiled faintly and brushed the girl's hair back.
When she finished, Toki swung his legs up and laid down on the far edge of the bed. Tora nestled in the middle, arms hugging her fox plush. Utsuki slid in on the other side, careful not to let their legs touch.
Toki turned his face to the wall.
"You're sure you're okay?" Utsuki asked quietly, her voice no longer sharp.
He closed his eyes. "No. But I will be."
A pause.
"I'm glad you're back."
He smiled faintly, his voice little more than a whisper.
"Me too."
As the room fell into stillness, the sounds of the city faded into a soft hum. The children slept. Tora's breathing was steady. Utsuki's hand, without realizing, rested gently against Toki's arm over the blanket.
And for the first time in days, peace settled in like a lullaby.