The courtyard had gone completely silent.
Even the wind seemed to hesitate, as if afraid to intrude.
Toki did not look at them when he began to speak.
His gaze remained fixed on the darkening sky above the palace walls, where the last traces of daylight bled into cold blue twilight. Snow drifted down in slow, patient spirals, settling on his hair, his shoulders, the red cloak wrapped tightly around Tora.
"When I try to remember where I was born," Toki said quietly, "there is nothing."
His voice was calm.
"No village. No city. No hearth. It could have been any of the Five Kingdoms… or none of them."
Utsuki's fingers tightened around the edge of her cloak.
Smith's posture shifted— attentive.
"I don't remember the first person who held me," Toki continued. "I don't remember warmth. Or a name spoken with care."
He exhaled slowly.
"I was passed around like property."
The word landed heavy.
"Sold. Traded. Handed over. Again and again."
"Each time, the same pattern."
His eyes lowered slightly, unfocused now—not seeing the courtyard, but something far older.
"I was weak. I could barely stand. My arms couldn't carry anything of value."
"So whenever someone realized I was useless…"
"They deceived another into taking me."
Kandaki's breath caught.
Lilith's crimson eyes narrowed, amusement gone entirely.
"I don't know how many exchanges there were," Toki said. "Eventually… no one wanted me anymore."
He paused.
"And so I was left on the street."
The city he remembered was small.
Not important enough to be named in records.
Stone buildings pressed close together, as if huddling for warmth. Narrow streets that smelled of damp wood, refuse, and smoke. The kind of place where people learned early not to look too closely at suffering.
"I was four," Toki said. "At least, I think I was."
He glanced briefly at Kandaki and Tora.
"At that age, I didn't understand hatred. I didn't understand borders, or war, or superstition."
"I only knew that people looked at me… and felt disgust."
In the present, Tora swallowed hard.
"They said my blue hair was an ill omen," Toki continued. "A sign of foreign blood. A curse."
His fingers clenched slowly into the snow.
"They called me a stranger. Even the beggars avoided me."
"Sometimes they took the little I had. Sometimes they beat me."
"And every time…"
His voice lowered.
"They told me I deserved it."
Smith closed his eyes briefly.
"They said I shouldn't exist," Toki said. "That I was the enemy of the world."
A faint, humorless smile touched his lips.
"I believed them."
The memory pressed in.
Cold. Hunger. Limbs that barely responded. A body that refused to obey.
"I grew weaker," he said. "Day by day."
"I stopped believing I would ever walk properly again."
He paused, then added softly:
"I stopped believing I would live."
Utsuki felt something twist violently in her chest.
"But everything changed," Toki said, "the day I met her."
The sound of armored footsteps echoed through the city.
Not chaotic.
Disciplined.
A patrol.
Steel gleamed like gemstones beneath the sun, polished and proud. People gathered along the streets, eyes shining with admiration. Whispers followed the knights like prayer.
Hope had weight.
"I had never seen knights up close before," Toki said. "To me, they didn't look real."
Among them—
"One person drew my eyes immediately."
A woman.
Golden hair like ripened wheat, bound back simply. Eyes blue as open sky. No armor—only a deep red cloak draped over her shoulders, moving gently with each step.
"A female knight," Toki said quietly. "It was the first time I had ever seen one."
Lilith arched a brow, intrigued despite herself.
"She was beautiful," Toki continued. "And strange. Like she didn't belong to the world around her."
He let out a slow breath.
"I stared."
A pause.
"I stared so much… I didn't realize I was offending her."
The memory sharpened.
Cold eyes turning.
Boots stopping inches from his face.
A shadow falling over him.
"What are you staring at, worm?" her voice had cut like glass.
"Stand up when I speak to you."
Toki's hands trembled slightly .
"I tried," he said. "With everything I had."
His shoulders shook once.
"I failed."
He lifted his chin toward her, neck straining, offering it without hesitation.
"'Please,' I said."
"…'Kill me.'"
A ripple passed through those listening.
Tora's fingers clenched in the cloak.
"In that moment," Toki said, "I meant it."
The woman had looked around.
At the people.
No one objected.
No one cared.
"I told her everything," Toki continued.
"That I couldn't move. That I was a stranger. That I brought misfortune."
"That killing me would be doing the city a kindness."
His voice remained steady—but something beneath it cracked.
"'Please,' I begged her. 'Spare me from suffering.'"
He swallowed.
"She looked into my eyes."
Silence fell heavier.
"There was no regret in my expression," Toki said. "Only relief."
Suddenly—
"She slapped me."
The sound echoed even in memory.
"How weak can you be?" she had shouted.
"You think you deserve to die that easily?"
"Hiding behind such a pathetic excuse?"
Toki's lips trembled faintly.
"'Come back with a better reason,' she said, 'and maybe then I'll grant you the honor of dying.'"
She had asked his name.
"I told her I didn't know."
In the courtyard, King Mathias slowly lowered his head.
"She grabbed my arm," Toki said. "And dragged me with her."
Not gently.
Not cruelly.
Decisively.
"I was assigned to this city to protect it from foreign attacks," she told him.
"You will tell me everything you know about this place."
"And you will serve me."
The house was small.
Comfortable.
Nothing like a knight's quarters.
But to him, it was paradise.
"She sat me on a couch," Toki said. "Unpacked her things from a single bag."
She had spoken casually:
"It's not the best place. But I've lived worse."
She had returned with bandages.
"How old are you?"
He hadn't known numbers.
So he had held up four fingers.
"She took two metal rods," Toki said, "and strapped them tightly to my legs."
Kandaki inhaled sharply.
"'You will learn to walk,' she told me."
"You're useless to me if you keep crawling."
Pain.
Fear.
Hope.
All tangled together.
"I asked her name," Toki said.
"She looked irritated."
"Call me Sir Ikaru."
The name echoed faintly in the courtyard.
"She cooked dinner," Toki continued. "Put a bowl of soup in front of me."
He smiled faintly at the memory.
"I ate everything. Every drop."
"I bowed and thanked her."
A routine formed.
While she patrolled by day, he cleaned. Prepared meals she taught him to make.
At night—
"She forced me to walk beside her," Toki said. "So I could practice."
Sometimes she told stories.
Of places she had seen.
Battles she had survived.
He watched her train.
Copied the movements his body allowed.
"We weren't equals," Toki said. "But for the first time…"
He closed his eyes.
"Someone acknowledged my existence."
Utsuki felt tears sting her eyes.
"And we grew close."
One day, at the market—
"I saw a stall selling hot buns," Toki said quietly. "My mouth opened without me realizing."
He smiled weakly.
"She pressed her fingers hard against my forehead."
"You should've said something if you wanted one, idiot."
"Two buns," she told the vendor.
The man smiled—until he saw Toki.
He threw one bun on the ground.
"On the house!"
Toki's voice shook.
"I picked it up. I thanked him."
Before he could bite—
"She slapped my hand."
"You have no self-respect!"
She hurled the bun back at the vendor with full force.
Dragged Toki home.
Shook him by the shoulders.
"Why don't you say anything?!"
"You're just a child!"
"Children your age should cry! Get angry!"
"But you just smile!"
Toki's voice broke.
"I told her the truth."
"That it was always like this."
"That I didn't deserve to be treated normally."
"That my blue hair brought bad luck."
In the present—
Lilith looked away.
"She screamed," Toki said softly.
"Not at me."
"At the world.
"Don't let them say that."
"Don't let me say that."
Tears had filled her eyes as she pulled him against her chest.
"You're not guilty for what foreigners did."
"You're just a child."
"You're a good child."
Her voice had shattered.
"You're the best child in the world."
Toki's breath hitched.
"I cried," he said. "For the first time."
In the courtyard—
Tora was openly crying now.
"She held me tighter as everything I had buried poured out," Toki continued.
"That was the first time I felt love."
She stroked his hair.
"I want to give you a gift," she said.
"A name."
"I will call you Toki."
"After a great hero who fought monsters and gods alike."
He smiled faintly.
"And if you want…"
"You can call me Mother."
He clenched his fist.
"I held her tighter."
"That was the day Toki was born."
For a long time after Toki spoke his name, no one dared to breathe.
Snow continued to fall, soft and relentless, settling on shoulders bowed not from cold—but from weight.
"I thought miracles were stories," Toki said at last. "Things adults invented to keep children quiet."
His gaze lowered from the sky, drifting back into memory.
"But then… they kept happening."
The kitchen had smelled of soup.
Simple. Familiar.
Mother Ikaru stood with her back to him, humming quietly as she stirred the pot. The fire crackled. Steam rose.
Toki had been sitting on the floor.
Watching.
Waiting.
And then—
"I stood up."
The words trembled.
"At first, I didn't realize what I had done," Toki said. "I only felt… lighter."
His legs shook violently. Every instinct screamed to fall. To crawl. To give up.
But something held.
"I took a step."
The memory surged—sharp and overwhelming.
"One step," Toki whispered.
"Then another."
Metal supports lay abandoned behind him.
The pot nearly slipped from her hands.
"Toki…?" she had whispered.
Her arms extended instinctively, eyes wide with disbelief.
He fell into them.
Laughing.
Crying.
For him, walking was not movement.
It was freedom.
"It was a miracle," Toki said quietly. "And that's why I never stopped."
In the courtyard, Tora's breath hitched.
She understood.
Time passed quickly after that.
"I learned to run," Toki continued. "And she taught me to hold a sword."
Small hands gripping wood.
Falling.
Getting back up.
"Footwork. Balance. Discipline," he said. "Not as a knight."
"But as a human."
They were happy.
So happy that the past stopped mattering.
For the first time, suffering felt… distant.
"And then," Toki said, "the city burned."
The attack came at dawn.
No warning.
No horns.
Just screams.
Foreign banners tore through the streets like knives. Steel met flesh. Homes collapsed. Fire devoured everything it touched.
"All the knights were slaughtered," Toki said. "One by one."
Mother Ikaru turned to him, fastening her red cloak.
"Stay hidden," she told him.
He grabbed her wrist.
"No."
She smiled softly.
"I will protect them," she said. "That's my duty."
She left him behind.
The memory broke into fragments—
Blood splashing against stone.
Her blade moving endlessly.
Enemies falling.
She was stabbed.
Again.
And again.
But she did not fall.
"She only stopped," Toki said, voice hollow, "when the last invader did."
In the present, even Lilith's expression darkened.
"She collapsed," Toki continued. "Not because she couldn't fight."
"But because she allowed herself to."
He was there when she fell.
Caught her.
Held her.
Her blood soaked into his hands—warm, slipping away.
She touched his face.
"Toki," she whispered. "There is something I must confess."
Her breathing rattled.
"I once had a son," she said. "He was killed… in an attack like this."
Toki's hands shook.
"At first, I hesitated," she said weakly. "But you filled the emptiness in my heart."
Tears blurred his vision.
"I want to give you one last gift," she said.
"A purpose."
Her fingers tightened weakly around his cloak.
"Toki," she said, "become the strongest knight."
"Protect those who cannot protect themselves."
Her voice faltered—but did not break.
"Every life has value."
"They all deserve to be protected."
She pressed the red cloak into his hands.
"Wear this," she whispered. "Stand in the light."
"Find something more valuable than life itself."
Her eyes softened.
"Love."
"Mercy."
"Kindness."
She smiled.
"Thank you… for calling me your mother."
Her breath stilled.
"She died in my arms," Toki said.
No one moved.
"I buried her there," he continued. "I took the cloak."
"And I walked."
Toki lifted his head.
The present rushed back in.
Snow.
Faces.
Tears.
"I became Toki Ikaru," he said quietly. "And I carried her dream into the world."
He looked at Kandaki.
"You wanted to stand at my right," he said gently. "But strength is not how much pain you endure."
"One strike," he repeated, "can be worth a hundred thousand."
Kandaki broke down completely.
Toki turned to Tora.
"You run because it makes you feel love," he said softly. "Then know this—"
"Even if you never run again… you are loved."
Tora sobbed openly now, clinging to the cloak around her shoulders.
Utsuki covered her mouth, tears streaming freely.
Smith bowed his head.
King Mathias removed his crown.
Lilith stared at Toki—no teasing , only something dangerously close to reverence.
"That," Toki said, voice barely above a whisper, "is the moment I was truly born."
Toki bent down slowly.
Snow creaked beneath his knees as he reached for Tora's shoes, half-buried beside her in the white. He brushed the snow away with careful hands, as if they were something fragile, something sacred.
He lifted them.
Not high.
Just enough to bring them to the level of her eyes.
"Tora," he said gently.
She looked at the shoes. Then at him.
"Do you want to run?"
Her breath hitched.
Her lips trembled.
"I can't," she whispered. "My tendons are damaged. They're fractured."
Toki didn't answer that.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly and repeated the question—this time slower, firmer.
"I didn't ask if you can."
Silence fell like a held breath.
"Tora," he said again, eyes steady, unwavering.
"Do you want to run?"
Tears spilled freely down her cheeks now.
"Yes," she said, voice breaking. "With all my heart."
Toki nodded once.
"Then believe in miracles," he said quietly.
"And they will happen."
He placed the shoes gently against her chest.
As a promise.
Behind them, Kandaki's hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles turned white.
Utsuki felt her knees weaken.
Smith exhaled slowly, as if releasing a breath he had held for decades.
Even Lilith—who had seen faith twisted into cruelty more times than she could count—felt something unfamiliar stir in her chest.
Toki straightened and looked at them all.
"At last," he said, "I hope you understand who I am."
He placed a hand over his heart.
"I am not a miracle."
"I am not chosen."
"I am not strong because I was born that way."
His voice carried through the courtyard, calm and unyielding.
"I am a man who carries a dream."
He turned slightly, the red cloak shifting with him.
"My mother's dream."
"My master's doubts."
"My king's burden."
"And the hopes of everyone who has walked beside me."
He looked at the children.
"I carry their dreams so they don't have to carry them alone."
Snow gathered in his hair, melting slowly against the warmth of his skin.
"Learn from your master's mistakes," Toki said softly.
"Become better than me."
Kandaki lifted his head, eyes red, burning with resolve.
Tora clutched the shoes like a lifeline.
"When hope dies," Toki continued, "there is still room for miracles."
The wind moved gently through the courtyard, as if in agreement.
Toki allowed himself a small, tired smile.
"You don't have to be brave," Utsuki whispered. "Not right now."
Tora looked up at Toki, eyes red, unfocused.
"You said…" she murmured, "…that even if I never run again, I'm still loved."
Her fingers tightened around the shoes.
"But what if I can't believe that yet?"
Toki crouched in front of her, lowering himself fully to her level.
"Then," he said softly, "borrow my belief."
He met her gaze.
"I couldn't walk."
"I shouldn't have lived."
"And yet—"
He tapped the shoes lightly.
"Miracles don't ask permission from doubt."
Tora let out a shaky laugh through tears.
"…That's unfair," she whispered.
Toki smiled faintly.
Bernard cleared his throat loudly.
"Damn it," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "I knew there was something wrong with you."
Toki glanced at him.
Bernard forced a crooked grin.
"Who hears a story like that and then just… keeps walking forward?" he said. "You make the rest of us look lazy."
He sobered.
"But I'm glad," Bernard added. "Glad you exist. Glad you stayed."
Toki inclined his head.
"Thank you, Bernard."
Smith had remained silent until now.
When he spoke, his voice was low, heavy with years.
"So this," he said, "is why you never stop."
Toki looked at his master.
Smith nodded slowly.
"You weren't chasing strength," he said. "You were running from stillness."
He exhaled.
"I should have seen it sooner."
Toki shook his head.
"You gave me direction," he said. "Even when I didn't know how to explain myself."
Smith's jaw tightened.
"I am proud of the man you became," he said again—this time louder, for everyone to hear.
Ozvold stepped forward .
He didn't raise his voice.
He didn't bow.
"Toki," he said.
Toki turned.
"I spent years believing pain was proof," Ozvold continued. "That if it hurt enough, it meant something."
A pause.
"You showed me that surviving is not weakness."
He rested a hand on the hilt of his sword—only for a second.
"When my father stood before me," he added quietly, "I chose to live."
King Mathias stepped forward last.
He did not wear his crown.
"I once believed," the king said quietly, "that leadership meant never showing weakness."
He looked at Toki.
"You have proven the opposite."
Mathias lowered his head.
"The kingdom is safer," he said, "because you chose to live."
Toki bowed deeply in return.
"…I think," he said, "it's time we go home."
No one argued.
Bernard stepped forward first.
Then Elizabeth.
Smith rose, brushing snow from his coat.
King Mathias followed last, his crown still absent from his head.
Utsuki moved to Toki's side without thinking, her shoulder brushing his—steady, grounding.
Lilith lingered a moment longer, watching the retreating figures.
"A man carrying everyone's dreams…" she murmured to herself.
Her crimson eyes narrowed slightly.
"…How fragile."
Then she turned and followed.