The woods parted to her—not by choice, but by identification.
It didn't know her before.
She didn't just exist as another doomed vessel traveling the skeletons of the ancient world. She was a thread in the apparatus that built it.
And she had spoken her words.
The Judgment Vows. Of the nine judgment.
Each step she took deeper into the forest repeated them, though no breath left her lips. They had been breathed into the marrow of her bones, written into her blood now—not as teachings passed down, but as vows written upward, from soul to sky.
The Nine Judgment vows
I vow to judge not by tradition, but by truth.
No law is sacred if it protects injustice.
I promise never to obey when obedience is a weapon.
The chain that holds the spirit captive is not virtue.
I promise to bring balance, not revenge.
Mercy will not blind me. Wrath will not guide me.
I promise not to serve the silence, but to shatter it.
I will speak where others whisper, and act where others hesitate.
I promise to battle not for glory, but for stillness.
The world must breathe once more—whether I do or not.
I vow to walk into the darkness without the closing of eyes.
What festers in seclusion cannot be washed away by denials.
when the day comes that I shall stand to be judged—
I vow to kneel to no god, no crown, no blood tie… but to the truth alone.
I vow to carry the weight of my choices, even when they go unseen.
I will not prosecute those who made me. I am mine, now.
And i swear to judge the powerful without fear, and the broken without compassion.
Each shall stand before the mirror, however they may call themselves.
The air around her shifted.
And then—
The trees parted to a clearing.
No sun had ever touched it. Only a dim, motionless light such as bone imprisoned in thin flesh. The ground was littered with talismans—old, decaying—scattered as leaves in a gale. The shrine stones here had lain for centuries, covered in vines. But amidst the ruin stood something that had no place in this forest.
A mirror.
Seven feet tall. Suspended in gold that had lost its luster long ago, cracked down the center, blackened at the edges with rot. But its face shone, not with light—but remembrance.
As Hikari walked up, the face started to stir.
First: her father. Takashi. Standing alone in the garden, sword drawn, face impassive, flame of judgment blazing in his eyes.
Then: Hakari, younger, arms wrapped around the forbidden scrolls, incantations whispered under his breath.
Then: herself. Crying softly behind the training hall, the beads heavy on her neck, too afraid to inform them that she did not wish to be chosen.
Then, Rinne.
Not smiling. Not wise. Simply sitting in the garden with his eyes closed, looking as though he'd already been forgotten by the world.
The vision dissolved.
The mirror cracked further.
Behind it… something moved.
The wind became bitter.
And she knew.
This was the veil. Where the curse grew teeth.
Where ghosts were shaped from sadness too great to say. Where obedience died, and bitterness were forged. Where the Hollow Queen stood waiting, dreaming with eyes wide open.
But the curse did not rush this time.
It knelt.
From the trees, they emerged—dozens of them. Spirits, not bound to chains, but drawn to her. Not to fight. To watch. A court of the damned, as silent as stone, gathered as if cognizant of the seriousness of what came.
And in their center, the path forward split in two.
One path—the broken road of prayers and talismans. The old way. The way of custom. Comforting. Forgiving.
The other—black earth. A straight dive into the bones of the mountain, where light dared not tread. The path of reckoning.
She didn't hesitate.
She stepped towards the darkness. The spirits hung their heads as she passed. Not respect. But acknowledgment.
She wasn't their queen.
She wasn't their savior.
She was their judge.
The last oath echoed in her mind, clearer now.
When the day arrives that I must be judged—
I vow to judge not from tradition, but from truth.
No law is sacred if it protects injustice
And so, Hikari fell.
Into the darkness.
Into the curse.
Into herself.
The forest no longer whispered—it breathed.
With every step Hikari took, the world around her started to throb, as if the earth and roots had veins, and the curse was the blood pumping through them. The air became denser now, with a metallic smell of rot. Her Judgment Beads no longer just pulsed—they hummed, vibrating with each step as if they knew where she was headed.
Kurohana.
Not the village his people whispered of in hushed stories. Not the sacred shrine spoken of in prayer. Something more, something below those illusions. Below its sanctified façade, something was hidden. Something that distorted tradition into slavery, and turned siblings into foes.
And he was there.
Hakari.
She could feel it. His presence tugged on the unraveling thread of her soul like gravity—some severed strand between blood, destiny, and unfinished judgment. She knew why he returned there. Not to remember. Not to mourn. But to claim what he believed was his birthright. Immortality. Freedom from time. Freedom from suffering.
But freedom was something he sought outside. Only ruin.
Hikari pushed deeper, the forest closing in around her. Roots sprang from the ground like fingers. Trees hunched over, their trunks slick with black moss that pulsed with imprecations. The deeper she traveled, the more the forest remembered her—and not fondly.
Specters emerged—torn bodies pulled from the earth itself. Torn, indeterminate, more emotion than flesh. Some wept in silence, tears of darkness flowing down vacant faces. Others wailed without mouths, clutching at unseen wounds.
But not one would approach her.
Her chains gleamed around her wrist, partially unfurled like a serpent that waited for command. It knew the path was not done. That her vow was not just spoken—it had become her purpose.
"I'm not here to save you," she murmured as the spirits gathered around the path. "I'm here to finish what the elders were too afraid to end."
The spirits retreated—not out of fear, but out of wonder. Or perhaps, out of grief.
She walked on.
Rinne had been right.
She recalled his words, sounding like bells:
"You can choose your way now, Hikari. Be the good one… or the one who lowers the sword of judgment."
She had tried to be the good one. The obedient. The protector.
It had left behind a shattered family. A brother with rebellion on his back. An ashy village. A curse let loose.
There was no longer any goodness in quiet.
She'd stopped in mid-step.
Before her, the trees opened up into a clearing in the shape of a scar—trunks cut in two down the middle, roots twisted away from black stone. The earth trembled under her boots as she pushed forward, holding her breath.
And then she saw it.
The gates of Kurohana. Or what was left of them.
The shrine was half-buried in the ground, as if the mountain itself tried to devour it after failing to keep what was buried within. The torii arch was broken in two, and the seal that had held its power—entirely shattered. Below it, the earth opened up like a wound, collapsing into darkness.
Hikari walked towards it.
Symbols carved into the stone pulsed feebly—like the one on her brother's shoulder. She dropped to her knees beside them, tracing one of her fingers over one.
"Cursed. not blessed," she whispered. "We were never favored by gods. We were chosen like swords from a rack."
Thunder rolled somewhere above. But the sky did not change. The noise was erupting from within the earth.
A voice rose behind her—deep, heavy with familiarity. Not mocking. Not cruel. Just… weary.
"You came."
Hikari stood, rotating slowly.
And there he was.
Hakari.
On the other side of the clearing, covered in shadow and ash. His coat in tatters, dripping curse-soaked blood. The Immortal Mask was tied to his belt, closed but watching—its eye thudding softly. His expression was calm. Too calm.
"You don't belong here," he said softly.
"This is our home," said Hikari.
"No. This was our prison."
Their eyes clashed. Storm below them moaned louder.
"You came here to prevent you," Hakari said.
"Yes."
"You will not succeed."
"I might," Hikari said. "But I'm not going to abandon this way."
Hakari looked at her—not with anger, but worse. Pity.
"They used you. Still using you. You wear their beads like they are valuable. You blame the curse, spreading because of me? No, sister. The curse was here all the while. They merely taught you to ignore it. But you know what else they hide? The true wisdom. Magic."
"I know," she replied.
That stopped him.
"I know they lied. I know they shaped me like they shaped you. But I'm not going to destroy the world for it."
"I'm not going to destroy anything," Hakari replied. "I'm going to survive it."
He inched closer.
"I will break the curse. Not by cleansing it. But by becoming something unblemished."
"You mean inhuman."
"If that's the price of never being constrained again," he said, "I'll pay it."
She looked at him, the child who had raced alongside her in the garden. The child who cried when Takashi screamed. The child who tried to instruct her in forbidden magic because he thought it was beautiful.
Then she said, quietly, "And if I must be your judge?"
A long silence.
Then Hakari smiled—not icily. But as if he expected it.
"Then judge me, Hikari."
The forest was a howling.
The wind shrieked through the trees like razors.
And Hikari came forward, Judgment Chain coiling onto her hand, beads blazing with light.
Her voice was cold. Calculating. Conclusionary.
"These are the judgment I bear," she said. "Not their law. My truth... Im here just to stop you Hakari."
Hakari drew his sword. The mask beat. At their feet, the earth began to split open—probing the pulse-veins of the curse below.
Brother and sister stood between gods and death.
The forest groaned like an ancient god waking beneath their feet.
Tendrils of darkness curled and bulged behind Hakari, a shield of corrupted sinew, pulsing with his will. The chains Hikari summoned burned with cold, biting light, their divine edge cutting through the foul air, each blow meant to pierce—not just the flesh, but the soul.
But Hakari was faster now. Stronger. More composed.
She sent another portal-born chain lancing at him from behind, but he didn't even flinch. A wave of his fingers, and a shroud of shadows unfolded to intercept it in mid-slash, bending the blow until it dissipated.
As suddenly appear port behind Hakari. But his tendril easily block it.
He laughed—low, tired, but biting. "That's three now."
Hikari breathed and raised her hand again, sliding her foot through the earth as she shifted position. Her shoulders relaxed. Her weight adjusted.
Her chain curled back around, softly, like a waiting snake.
And she said it. Then. Softly. As if passing on:
"Your stance is sloppy."
Hakari was tense.
The words hurt more than the chain.
He blinked, something snapping too easily in the space behind his eyes.
Your stance is sloppy.
He'd heard those words before.
A long, long time ago.
---
Flashback
He was fourteen again. Knees plunged into gravel, palms scraped bloody, chest heaving in the sun-baked training yard. His practice blade a couple of feet away, kicked from his hands with careless ease.
Takashi towered over him, not furious—never furious. Just disappointed.
"Your stance is sloppy," his father told him then, voice like cracked stone. "Too wide. You use speed when your foundation is empty."
Hakari wiped the blood from his chin. "I was quick enough."
"You were quick," Takashi replied. "But anyone can be quick. I'm teaching you to be unbreakable."
Hakari rose unsteadily to his feet. "Then teach me something useful. Not these outdated foot placements and breathing exercises."
Takashi's eyes narrowed, cold and inscrutable. "When you fight someone who doesn't care if they bleed, you'll understand why form matters."
Hakari attacked once more.
And he was on the ground again within seconds. Every time.
Every damn time.
---
"Your stance is sloppy."
Now it was Hikari's voice echoing those words. She hadn't shouted them. She hadn't even meant them as a taunt. But they cut deep.
Hakari's jaw clenched. His tendrils curled around his shoulders, defensive, unsure.
"You sound just like him," he muttered. "You even move like him now."
Hikari didn't respond. She turned her foot slightly, shifted her hips. Her chain tightened in rhythm with her breath.
Rinne's word.
Takashi's stance.
And her voice…?
She had said nothing, because she felt it now too. She wasn't speaking with her voice. Not exactly. She had stolen his voice, the way he speak—Rinne's. That gentle, silky riddle-wrapped voice that belied before it ever endangered. It was something she used to like, something she used to need. But now it was pouring out of her mouth like second nature.
And the movement of her body—it was Father's. Every turn of her wrist, every curve of her step, the spreading of her knees in combat stance. All of it etched into her by the sheer number of hours spent on the training ground. Each lesson driven into her bones.
Even her silence felt inherited.
Hakari took one step closer. His eyes were focused now, not with rage, but with something harder.
Clarity.
"You're not judging me by yourself, Hikari," he said. "You're imitating them."
Her fingers curled.
"I'm not—"
"Yes, you are," he interrupted. "You're using Rinne's riddles and Father's position. You're striking with judgment, but it's not yours. It's theirs."
She pulled the chain tight, but more slowly this time. He saw the doubt.
Hakari went on. "You said I was lost—drunk on immortality. A fool chasing an illusion and blinded. But look at you."
He gestured to her.
"Even now, you stand like Takashi. You speak like Rinne. You say you're choosing your path—but all I see is a girl wearing borrowed faces."
"Shut up," she whispered, barely above a whisper.
"I think you think so," he said to her, his tone softer now. "I think you really think you're doing something different."
"I said—shut up—"
"But you're just the echo of two men you couldn't save... Rinne? He sacrifice himself because he scared you losing your immortality against hollow queen. And father?"
The words stung more than any chain could.
Hikari's body stiffened.
Her eyes began to sting. Her mouth opened to shout back, but nothing came. No righteous speech. No riddles. Just her breath, sharp and shallow.
Because the truth was—
He wasn't entirely wrong.
Rinne taught her to look beyond the law. To question. To break the silence.
Takashi taught her to fight, to stand still when the world burned.
And both of them—shaped her more than she ever admitted.
She had been proud of it. Proud to carry their legacies. But now…
Now, she realized she never had stopped carrying them.
"I…" she tried. Her voice cracked. "I did this. I had to. They left nothing but ash—someone had to—"
"To what?" Hakari drew nearer, and for once there was no cruelty in his eyes—only exhaustion. "To be their mirror?"
She shook her head.
"To live as their shadow? Their relic?"
"I'm not just—" she started, her voice stronger now, "—I'm not just a shadow."
"Then show yourself to me," he said, gesturing to the chain still hanging suspended between them. "Not Rinne. Not Takashi. You... Where is your path Hikari. Your own."
The words dropped like stone.
And Hikari… hesitated.
The chain dissolved, the beat in the beads slowing.
"I don't know how," she whispered.
Silence again. And Hakari didn't press. He just stood there, allowing her to unravel.
Because this is what she had to witness. Not triumph. But where her temporary power stopped—and her own started.
The wind gusted through the clearing again, colder now.
Hikari's hand dropped.
"I've been living someone else's path," she admitted, the words small, jagged. "Even now… I don't know what's mine."
Hakari exhaled. "Then don't fight me like them. Don't judge me like them. Just…" he looked down. "Be you, Hikari."
She looked at her chain, watching the light dance in harmony with her breath. And for the first time in hours, she let it fall. The silver links wound gently against the ground, not discarded—just still.
"I don't know who I am without them," she whispered.
"Then find out," Hakari instructed. "Before this curse finishes making you another echo."
They stood there, in silence.
The battle was paused. Not finished. But something had shifted.
No longer the judge and the damned.
Just two siblings.
Two broken mirrors, sharing the same cracks.
And for the first time, the silence between them did not ache.
She hestitated. To even judge her own brother. That clearly in cursed path.
The accursed forest was now a crucible.
Distorted trees leaned like judges presiding at a trial, black-veined bark and skeletal roots quietly pulsating with the poison that had been locked deep in the earth under Kurohana years before. Here wind never blew—only tension. It hummed in the air, dense as hate, memory, and magical too ancient to utter its name.
And at the heart of all this devastation were two siblings—opposite in light and darkness, but carved from the same shattered stone.
Hikari stood, chain glinting around her hand like a coiled snake ready to strike, divine light playing faintly across her robes. Beads on her throat pulsed not just with power, but with pain. Her respirations were slow, measured, but her eyes brimmed up with tears she hadn't let fall.
Hakari stood in shadows, the earth beneath his boots groaning, a spinning tornado of tendrils twisting at his shoulders. The Immortal Mask pulsed upon his hip—a single eye opened just enough, seeing her, feeding off of him. His fingers trembled, but not with fear. With rage. With the weight of a life unlived.
"You took what belonged to me!" Hakari roared breaking the silence, his voice shattered iron. "The power beads—the right to be heard—they belonged to me!"
"I didn't take them!" Hikari shouted back, her voice slicing, but unraveling at the seams. The words echoed out over the wood that was dead.
There was a silence. Even the damned spirits that flew overhead above the canopy paused, listening.
"I never requested any of it," she continued, much more softly now, the words pouring from her lips like ash. "Please, Hakari… stop this. You can still back away... From any of this."
He laughed. "Back away? To what? To being invisible? To being compliant while they shaped me into a weapon and taught me to smile while they shelved me?"
"No," she replied. "To being free."
"I am free!" he spat.
He lunged forward, dark tendrils whipping like whips of sheer evil. Hikari barely had time to raise her hand before holy light burst from her palm. Her chain caught the first blow half-way through the air and shook away with a blinding shriek—but the impact sent her stumbling back.
"I'm not here to fight you," she snarled. "I'm trying to bring you back."
"You cannot save me, Hikari," Hakari responded. "You cannot even perceive me."
He thrust his hand forward, and the darkness exploded out in every direction, condensing into a wave of black strands, each one incised with sinuous runes.
Hikari jumped, kicking out mid-leap, landing on a shard of shattered shrine stone. Her chain whipped out once again, surrounding her body in a halo of light as she folded the chain into a shield.
"I remember you," She called out. "The boy who lit lanterns for Mom when she was sick. The boy who always show me and Haruka your awesome fire magic. Even though father and other elders hate it. The boy who cried when he saw his precious birds fall from their nests. You cared so much, Hakari."
He stood frozen, for the briefest breath.
"And I remember," she spoke now softly, "when you said you hated the elders because they never treated you as a human being. Just a tool."
His jaw clenched.
"You said you wanted to be chosen, so they'd finally hear you. So they'd finally call you something other than 'potential.'"
He looked up. There was a flash of something in his eyes, something she recognized only because she knew him so well.
The flicker of recognition. Pain. The ghost of the boy she grew up with.
"I remember," she whispered. "I remember saying I'd give it all to you if I could."
"Then why didn't you?" he snarled, his voice rough.
"Because they never let me," she answered. "Because they were too terrified of what you'd be if you had authority."
"And now I do," Hakari asserted, raising his arm again. Shadows curled in serpents. "And look who they send to kill me. The sister who swore to give it all away."
"I came here by myself. Hakari... to remind you of what you once were," she said. "And to finish what you have become."
He laughed, a cracked, bitter laugh. "So now you want to save me with words?"
"No," she said. "But I'll try before I have to resort to something else."
The trees shook in fury of his magic. His tendrils whacked at him again, thicker now—heavier with darkness, each one increasing in speed. Hikari parried, ducked, dodged, her movements fluid. The chain waltzed around her like a living aura, flashing streams of light on each impact.
They battled like reflections of what was once divine turned into tragedy.
Brother against sister.
Faith against fury.
Hope against hurt.
"You think you're fighting for justice?" Hakari spat, shadows rising again. "You're just protecting the world that broke us."
"No," Hikari snapped. "I'm protecting what could still be saved."
But her voice cracked. Because even now… even as she fought with everything she had…
She still didn't want to kill him.
He was still her brother.
He charged forward again, tendrils wrapping around her legs as she sidestepped. She gasped as he yanked her down—into a punch of pure shadow at her chest.
She sidestepped, barely, but the force sent her chain slipping out of her hand. Her knees thudded against the ground.
"I am not listening to sweet lies," Hakari asserted, moving closer. "Father, Rinne… you, too. You are merely one more voice telling me who I have to be... But i already have choose it!"
He raised both hands.
"Let me show you who I am now!"
The shadow trailed behind him, seething with pent energy.
And then he struck.
A single tendril, as sharp and as quick as a darkness-pointed spear, flashed out and plunged into the air.
It struck Hikari squarely in the chest.
It was like thunder.
She flew backward—lifted from the earth as the blast propelled her like a bruised doll—before she smashed into the serrated edge of a rock pillar. The crash cracked the surface, and the ring of impact shook through the clearing.
A silence followed.
Smoke and ash danced about her, and the chain wrapped around her side, blunted.
Hakari stood locked, panting. Waiting.
And then—
A sound.
A breath.
A grunt—painful, pained, but alive.
From the dust, Hikari's figure stirred. She pushed herself to her knees slowly, hand clutching her chest.
The blow should've shattered ribs. Punctured organs. Killed her outright.
But it didn't.
Because the divine protection of the beads—ancient, unseen—held. Because... She was immortal
A glow shimmered beneath the scorch mark on her chest, soft as morning light. Bruised, battered—but not broken.
Hakari's eyes widened.
And then she spoke.
Not as a warrior.
Not as a judge.
Just as Hikari... His little sister.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered. Her voice was almost inaudible.
He stepped backward one pace, his eyes hazy with confusion.
"I'm sorry... I-i couldn't save you from this curse… H-Hakari."
Her voice was a crack, a shiver. Her head dropped.
And for a moment… it wasn't the warrior who stood there before him. It wasn't the Kanshisha, the vessel of divine fury from generation to generation.
It was... his little sister.
And Hakari felt something in his chest stir—
Not triumph.
Not hate.
Something else.
Something almost to the edge of grief.
And the mask beside him—
witnessed.
The world around Hakari grew dark. Not in light, but in presence.
The colors of the forest drained into cold tones, the shapes of trees bleeding into smoke. The shadows at his feet, no longer projections of his will, now trembled—eager, hungry. And then he heard it. Not in his ears, but deeper.
A whisper.
"You seek it still… don't you?"
The voice wound into his mind like silk on a blade.
Elegant. Ageless. Awful.
"Immortality."
Hakari's head lifted slightly, eyes narrowing. The battlefield was silent, a suspended breath. Hikari was still crumpled against the rock, quiet, shining faintly with holy light. But the voice drowned out even the sound of her breathing.
"You came so far. Burned your way into the bones of this world. For one truth… That you would not die like the others."
It was not a question.
The voice was like it knew every crack in him. Like it had been there from the moment of his first wound.
"You were born in a cage. Forged as a weapon. Lied to by gods in mortal clothing. You obeyed, and they ignored you. You disobeyed, and they cursed you. And still, they chose her. The quiet one. The one who would never fight back.".
Hakari's fists clenched. The Immortal Mask at his belt pulsed once—slow and low—like a breath being drawn beneath the skin of the world.
"But I see you, Hakari."
The voice wasn't just feminine—it was imperial. Every syllable expressed the grace of something long divine, since forgotten. It didn't beg. It vowed.
"You are an unfettered soul. A heart too large for the body they gave you. You have brushed the hem of godhood and found it wanting. You are not meant to rot like them."
She lingered on the word—rot—as though it disgusted her.
"You were meant to become more. And you can."
The darkness around his feet began to shift again, slowly, like stirring snakes.
"She bears the divine gift. You see it—don't you? You felt it when your tendril touched her. That resistance. That light. That pulse of something limitless."
Hakari's breath caught.
Yes.
He had felt it. That sear beneath her flesh that would not yield. He struck her with force enough to crush bone, and she survived it. Not by chance.
By power.
"That immortality was never for her."
The voice hurt now—into his spine, into the hollow beneath his ribs.
"You bled for it. You lost yourself for it. And yet she possesses it. Guards it. Wears it as armor instead of ascension."
The darkness began to draw back, curling up slowly like fingers reaching towards the heavens.
"But it can be taken, Hakari."
"The divine is not a gift—it is a resource. It can be consumed. Bent. Broken. Claimed.".
Her voice was thick now—like honey with poison stirred in.
"Take it from her."
"Claim it. Not like a thief—but like an heir."
"This world owes you more than memories and apologies."
"Take her immortality—and rise."
"Just look at your mask..." She teased. As the mask eyes. Both eyes glowing. "Its demand you... To use it. It is really your belongings. You are the perfect vessel. For the real immortality. And every fake immortality. The mask. Take it."
And then her final whisper—soft as breath, sharp as bone:
"You are not her brother anymore. You are her replacement."
The shadows roared.
And Hakari's hand began to reach forward, the Immortal Mask in his grasp, its eye now wide
"No, Hakari… don't."
Her voice cut through the storm of darkness like a sorrow-blessed sword.
Soft—not yelled out, not hysterical. Not a command.
A plea. The whisper of death and love in the lungs of a sister who could do nothing but stand by.
But for Hakari, too late.
Or perhaps, too late even then. When it was most needed.
The Hollow Queen's breath still lingered in the marrow of his bones, a crown of silk and venom wrapping his mind.
The Immortal Mask pulsed—no longer still. Its eye, once wide and feral, now fully open, glowed with a white not light.
It devoured light.
And when he bound it to his face—
The world screamed.
The air itself tore apart, folding in around him as if the heavens themselves were consuming.
Hikari watched in terror as the tendrils that wrapped around Hakari did not simply grow—they broke. The ground beneath him split open, veins of shadow-tipped energy bursting up from the shrine's long-dormant heart. The seal that once repelled ancient terrors, that once silenced the Hollow Queen's true form, now turned around.
And it fed him.
He smirk. In enthusiasm
The divine aura off her person—the gift, the curse, the thing which always had belonged to her—shuddered. She could feel it being pulled. Her breath caught. Beads on her neck constricted like a strangler's knot, fighting against it.
Her knees gave way. Her light leaked into the whirlpool that was building around Hakari.
He drifted now, the blackness below him churning into a whirlpool of devastation. Trees shattered at the base. Boulders were ripped from the earth. The forest's corrupt spirits screamed and burnt themselves up, not in fire, but in emptiness—destroyed by the energy of convergence.
Energy poured into him.
Holy. Accursed. Earthly. Celestial.
All went into him.
The world tilted. The sky spilled like oil over water. Time staggered, as if time itself could not find its footing. A second lasted years. A heartbeat an eternity.
And yet Hikari crawled to him, her fingers digging into the shaking ground.
"No…," she panted, her eyes clouding. "No, no, no…"
The chain on her wrist snapped open, bits of light splintering like glass.
And Hakari—
He was no longer upright.
He was becoming.
The shape of his body stretched and shattered and rebuilt itself—shadow encased in gold, eyes burning from beneath the mask now a part of his face. His arms thrashed as though forsaking their human shape.
Not ascension.
Transformation.
He opened his lips—and the Hollow Queen's voice came forth from him, a voice that echoed from beneath the mountain, from broken graves and broken prayers.
The earth could not hold her voice.
The heavens were rent apart.
And the light
The holy light Hikari had carried her whole life—
The thing that kept her safe so long, judged her, and made her believe she was special—
Was ripped from her body in one, silent moment.
She gasped.
Fell.
And the last thing she knew—
Is. Fading.
As the world—
blacked out.