Darkness greeted him like an old companion.
Not the comforting dark of closed eyes or drifting sleep, but a vast, breathing absence—thick, deliberate, alive. It wrapped around him, pressing against his skin with the patience of something that had waited a very long time.
Toki opened his eyes.
He sat upon his throne .
The surface beneath him was smooth, cold, and impossibly polished, reflecting his silhouette like a distorted mirror. The air carried no scent, no warmth, no chill—only the quiet pressure of presence. Above him stretched a sky that did not belong to any world he knew: a vast expanse of dark crimson, clouded and unmoving, as if frozen mid-storm.
For a moment, he did not move.
He did not need to.
This place remembered him.
Slowly, his gaze drifted across the chamber.
The Palace of Mirrors.
Its walls rose endlessly into shadow, carved from obsidian veined with faint lines of dim silver light. Between the towering columns, reflections shimmered.
Before him stood the familiar table of black glass, polished to such perfection that it reflected the crimson sky above like still water. Upon it rested the same artifacts as always.
The staff, carved from ancient oak and bound with silver thread.
The ink bottle, blacker than shadow.
The quill, feathered and waiting.
And the book.
The book lay closed, patient, its dark cover etched with symbols that seemed to writhe when not directly observed. A single red lotus bloomed at its center, a star hovering just above it, and between the petals—an ever-present crescent moon.
Toki exhaled slowly.
"So," he murmured, voice echoing softly through the chamber. "You brought me back again."
The palace did not answer.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, studying his reflection in the obsidian surface. The face that stared back at him looked tired—older than it should have been. The lines around his eyes spoke of sleepless nights and unspoken burdens.
"I suppose I should be grateful," he muttered. "You could have left me in the dark."
Silence.
He reached out and tapped the table once with his knuckles.
"Sephira."
The sound echoed unnaturally far, rippling through the vast hall like a stone dropped into deep water.
Nothing happened.
He exhaled through his nose. "You know, you're losing your dramatic timing."
Still nothing.
He leaned back against the throne, folding his arms. "If this is your idea of teaching patience, I'd say it's working a little too well."
Then—
Two hands covered his eyes.
Warm.
Familiar.
"Still so impatient," came a voice behind him, smooth and amused. "You always rush to conclusions."
He didn't flinch.
"Your entrance is predictable," Toki replied dryly. "You're losing your edge."
A soft laugh brushed his ear. "And yet, you knew it was me."
Her hands slipped away, and he turned to face her.
Sephira stood beside the throne, her form bathed in the dim red glow of the palace. Her long hair fell freely down her back like a curtain of shadow, her expression calm and unreadable. The air around her seemed to bend subtly, as if reality itself was uncertain how to behave in her presence.
She tilted her head, studying him. "You look tired."
"Funny," he replied. "I was about to say the same thing."
She smiled faintly and circled the throne, her steps soundless against the obsidian floor. "You've been busy."
"Busy surviving."
"Isn't that what you do best?"
He scoffed. "Hardly."
She stopped beside him, resting a hand on the back of the throne. "Then why are you still here?"
He looked up at her. "Because I don't have the luxury of running."
"Or perhaps," she said softly, "because some part of you wants to understand."
He didn't answer.
Her gaze drifted to the book on the table. "You've been reading again."
"Trying to," he corrected. "It doesn't exactly make things easy."
"No," she agreed. "It never does."
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. "You sent Lilith."
Her eyes flicked back to his face. "I allowed her to go."
"That's not an answer."
She smiled faintly. "It's the only one you'll get."
He shook his head. "She's dangerous."
"So are you."
"That's not the same."
"Isn't it?" She tilted her head. "She believes. Truly. That alone makes her more honest than most."
"Belief can be poison," he said. "It can turn people into tools."
"Or into saints," she countered. "It depends on who holds the knife."
He fell silent, considering that.
"She's devoted to you," he said at last.
"And that unsettles you."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because devotion that deep doesn't end well."
Her expression softened, almost imperceptibly.
"You speak from experience."
"I do."
"For a god," he said slowly, "you don't seem to care much about your people."
Her gaze flickered toward him—not offended, not surprised. Merely attentive.
"You don't guide them," he continued. "You don't protect them. You barely even acknowledge them. If you truly cared, you'd offer them more than silence. A sign. Something."
She tilted her head, dark hair cascading like shadow over her shoulder.
"I told you already," Sephira replied calmly. "I am indifferent to the choices they make."
Toki frowned. "That's convenient."
She smiled faintly. "It's honest."
He folded his arms. "You grant them divine paths. You scatter fragments of your power across the world. You call them 'opportunities'—yet you refuse to guide those who walk them. That doesn't strike you as… contradictory?"
She rose from her sit .
Her bare feet touched the marble soundlessly , stopping only a pace away from him. The air grew heavier, as if reality itself leaned in to listen.
"I gave them something to believe in," she said. "I gave them the chance to become more than they were. What they choose to do with that chance is not my responsibility."
Her eyes met his—calm and ancient.
"Growth without risk is stagnation. Faith without choice is obedience. And obedience is worthless to me."
Toki exhaled slowly.
"Your logic," he said, "is so flawless it's unsettling."
She allowed herself a small smile. "Truth often is."
Silence settled between them, thick and deliberate.
He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "You make it sound so simple."
"It isn't," she replied at once. "It's inevitable."
The word hung in the air like a verdict.
He studied her again—really looked this time. Not the goddess. Not the myth. The presence behind the power.
"You sound so certain."
"I am."
A beat passed.
"And if the price is too high?" he asked quietly.
Her expression did not change.
"Every path demands payment," she said. "The only question is whether you're willing to pay it when the time comes."
Toki's jaw tightened. "That's easy to say when you're not the one bleeding."
For the first time, something flickered behind her eyes. Not anger. Not sadness.
Recognition.
"For someone who claims indifference," he added, "you seem very invested in how this ends."
She regarded him for a long moment, then spoke softly.
"Perhaps I am."
He huffed a faint laugh. "You're dangerous."
"And you," she replied, "are walking directly toward something that will either make you a god… or shatter you beyond repair."
He closed his eyes for a moment, then chuckled under his breath.
"Comforting."
"I try."
"You can try to cheat fate as much as you like," she said calmly, her voice echoing faintly through the crimson expanse, "but if you're not careful, you'll be forced to pay for everything at once."
Toki let out a slow breath and leaned back, resting his weight against the unseen surface behind him. His arms folded beneath his head as he stared up at the shifting sky.
"Can I ask you something personal?" he said.
She tilted her head slightly. "Why not?"
He hesitated for a moment, choosing his words. "If you were in my place… what would you do about my problems?"
For the first time, Sephira did not answer immediately.
"Hm." Her lips curved faintly as she considered. "If I were you… I would seek knowledge first."
She began to pace slowly, her steps soundless against the unseen floor.
"You're still standing at the third level of the Dark Division," she continued. "A path you haven't even fully completed. You're fighting enemies whose understanding of power far exceeds your own."
Toki's gaze sharpened.
"Your enemy has an advantage," she went on. "A Star Collector may wield divine remnants, but in the end, they are still human. That means their power obeys the rules of nature. Limits. Structures."
She stopped in front of him, her eyes locking onto his.
"The first step is understanding. Learn exactly how their abilities function. Where they draw strength from. Where they falter."
Her voice softened, but the weight behind it grew heavier.
"Only then do you search for weaknesses."
Toki exhaled slowly, listening.
"And while you do that," she added, "you must also learn how to complete the path you've already chosen. Every fragment of growth matters. Every fragment of power, no matter how small, can decide the outcome."
She folded her hands behind her back.
"And do not walk this road alone," she said. "Power shared wisely multiplies. Power shared foolishly destroys. Choose your allies carefully."
For a moment, silence returned.
Then Toki let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.
"I have to admit," he said, "I envy how clear everything seems to you."
Sephira straightened slightly, her posture suddenly proud—almost amused.
"That," she replied, a hint of satisfaction in her tone, "is because I am an all-powerful goddess… and you are merely the Heir of the Red Priest."
Her words carried no cruelty—only certainty.
Toki smirked faintly, staring up at the endless void above them.
"Fair enough," he murmured.
Toki tilted his head slightly, a faint, almost teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"If you're really as omnipotent as you claim," he said, his voice light but edged with challenge, "then why not just tell me who the Star Collector is?"
For a brief moment, the palace seemed to react.
The crimson light trembled. The reflections along the obsidian floor wavered, as if reality itself had stifled a laugh.
Then Sephira laughed.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't cruel.
It was… amused—genuinely, dangerously amused.
"Oh, Toki," she said, lifting a hand to her lips as if to contain her mirth, "do you truly believe you're entitled to that answer already?"
She turned slowly, her form drifting rather than walking, her presence bending the air around her.
Her eyes gleamed. "Don't you think you're being a little greedy?"
Toki shrugged. "Maybe. But considering the circumstances, I'd say curiosity is justified."
She chuckled again, softer this time. "You already possess infinite possibilities. Even if you were to die ten thousand times, you might still stumble upon victory through nothing more than stubborn luck."
Her gaze sharpened.
"The universe itself has bent around your existence. Your birth was not destiny's design—it was a flaw. A miscalculation. An error in the grand equation."
The words echoed, heavy and cold.
Toki's smile faded, though he did not look away. "So I wasn't meant to exist."
"No," Sephira replied calmly. "You were never meant to matter."
Silence pressed down between them.
"And yet," she continued, stepping closer, "here you are. Breathing. Defying probability. Twisting causality simply by refusing to disappear."
She studied him, as if examining a crack spreading through a flawless mirror.
"That is why you fascinate me," she admitted.
Toki exhaled slowly. "Because if I knew—"
"You would act," she finished. "And actions have consequences. Especially for anomalies."
He looked away, jaw tightening. "So you'd rather watch me stumble in the dark."
"I'd rather see what you become when you're forced to walk without a map," she said softly. "Stars are brightest when surrounded by darkness."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Toki gave a short, humorless laugh. "You really enjoy watching me struggle, don't you?"
Sephira's smile returned—subtle, unreadable.
"Perhaps," she said. "Or perhaps I'm simply curious how far a mistake can go before it becomes something… extraordinary."
Her gaze lingered on him, sharp and contemplative.
"After all," she added quietly, "even errors can reshape the universe—if they refuse to disappear."
He spoke, his voice low, carrying more boredom than curiosity. "You keep talking about this Red Priest… but if he were truly so powerful, he wouldn't have needed me to replace him."
Sephira's presence shifted slightly, a subtle ripple along the shadows that clung to her form. She moved closer, her figure seeming to fold into the room without disturbing the floor, yet somehow drawing the light toward her. "You cannot imagine how similar you two are," she said, voice calm but resonant, echoing in the vastness of the throne room. "He faced fate and the world itself, and he nearly won. You do not yet understand the honor you carry as his successor."
Toki's jaw tightened, but he kept his gaze forward, scanning the endless mirrored corridors that stretched impossibly in every direction. "I don't care much about what he did. The dead have no right to interfere with the living." He paused, his eyes lingering on a particular reflection where his own form seemed to tilt forward, almost alive with anticipation. "…But I can say this. I am grateful—truly grateful—for this place. The Palace. These playing cards. They've allowed me to write possibilities I once thought impossible." He tapped the edges of the cards lightly, tracing their intricate patterns with a fingertip. "I can feel how much information is hidden within these pages, waiting for me to understand it."
Sephira's tone softened, and yet it carried the weight of patience and subtle reproach. "You weren't concerned about the Red Priest's fate, were you?"
"I cannot say I am eager to follow in his footsteps," Toki admitted, shifting in the chair to face her more fully. The obsidian reflected not only his image but the subtle tension in his body—the slight clench of his fists, the faint rise of his shoulders as he prepared for what would come next. "…But I will use what he left behind to fill the gaps, to remove whatever stands in my way."
Sephira's gaze lingered on him, her eyes flickering like distant stars, both serene and impossible. "My, my," she said, a trace of amusement threading through the cadence of her words. "Your greed is godlike. If you continue like this, perhaps you will surpass even me."
Toki tilted his head slightly, letting her words wash over him. "And yet," she continued, her voice dipping lower, "do not forget… if you stare into the abyss, it stares back at you. Fate shows no mercy to those who dare stray from their course. Destiny is more like a raging river; if you lose the helm once, you will end up in the same place. Only time will reveal the truth—and you and I have plenty of it."
Toki exhaled slowly, leaning back further, letting the reflection of the red moon dance across his eyelids. He could feel the weight of her words, the invisible tension threading through the palace, pressing against the edges of his mind. "…You make it sound so simple, I almost believe you," he said, voice tinged with wry amusement. "But you're right. I need to consider things more… specifically, more carefully." His gaze wandered over the black, glossy surface of the table, where the playing cards lay stacked in a deliberate chaos, each one representing possibilities, risks, and paths he could take. "…I suppose I should begin my research, if you don't mind."
Sephira's smile softened, almost tender, though her eyes retained the cool brilliance of starlight. "It was a rather pleasant conversation," she said. "Visit the Palace of Mirrors more often. Even if it cannot provide an answer, it may give you another perspective. Until next time… watch your steps carefully."
"Thank you," Toki replied, standing from the chair. "Until next time."
He blinked—and the Palace began to dissolve. The crimson glow dimmed, the mirrors folding into themselves like waves retracting from the shore. Outside, the moon still hung high, silver and cold, untouched by the passage of what seemed like hours but had been only minutes. He could feel the echo of Sephira's presence lingering in the air, faint and elusive.
Toki climbed to the edge of his bed, letting his feet brush against the cool floor. He drew in a deep breath, letting the stillness of the night settle over him. "Let's give it another try," he muttered, a trace of anticipation threading through his voice