The battlefield lay silent.
Fragments of Varok's molten armor drifted across the void like broken comets, their faint glow casting shadows on the faces of those who had survived. For the first time since the clash began, Kento allowed himself to breathe. His chest rose and fell in ragged rhythm, every breath scraping his lungs like fire. His knees buckled, and for a moment he thought he might collapse.
But then he felt it—the faint touch of Furi's hand gripping his arm. Not to steady him, but to remind him.
"We're still here," Furi whispered, voice cracked but unyielding.
The child, radiant yet fragile, hovered close. Their eyes shimmered with faint light, like a reflection of constellations that no longer existed. "You must not linger," they said softly. "Victory is only the first step. What waits beyond this sky… is greater."
Kento clenched his fists. His blade of light had shattered during the final strike, reduced to nothing but faint particles. He felt strangely naked without it, as if his own resolve had been splintered along with the weapon. But within that emptiness, something stirred—something new.
Was that truly my strength… or the bond we shared? he wondered.
The answer came not from himself, but from the faint tug of Furi's chains, now wrapped gently around his wrist—not binding, but supporting.
Furi exhaled, finally allowing himself to slump down. "Tch. That was close… too close. If that last strike had failed…" He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
The silence stretched on, broken only by the faint crackling of cooling fragments drifting past. Yet beneath the calm, Kento felt unease coil in his stomach. This quiet was not peace—it was only the pause between storms.
The child's gaze lifted skyward. The shattered constellations above pulsed faintly, as though bleeding light. Their voice trembled, and for the first time, carried a trace of fear.
"One Oathbreaker is gone. But others feel his fall. The chain that bound them together has snapped… and when chains break, the fragments scatter. They will come."
Kento forced himself to stand tall despite his wounds. His muscles screamed, his bones ached, but the fire in his chest refused to dim. "Then let them come," he said. "I've faced worse odds before."
Furi smirked, though his lips bled. "You sound like an idiot hero from a cheap story."
Kento chuckled weakly. "Maybe. But sometimes, idiots are the only ones who can move forward."
The child lowered their gaze, studying them both with quiet wonder. "You are strange… most who carry vows break under despair. Yet yours hold firm, even in ruin."
Kento remembered the promise. The day he made it. The warmth of hands clasped together beneath the endless blue sky. It had been so long ago, yet in this moment, the memory felt alive, sharper than ever.
I swore I'd never let go. And I won't.
Suddenly, the void shuddered.
A faint sound, like chains dragging across stone, echoed through the stars. It was distant yet suffocating, carrying with it a dread heavier than Varok's molten wrath. Furi's eyes snapped open, his chains tightening around his arms instinctively.
"That's… not over."
Kento looked into the void where Varok had fallen. The fragments of molten rock, once still, began to stir. They shifted, coalescing not into the giant's form, but into something smaller, darker.
The child's face went pale. "Not Varok… but his shadow."
From the drifting remains, a figure emerged—a humanoid shape formed from ashes and cracked obsidian, its body riddled with glowing lines like broken glass. Its head tilted unnaturally, and though it bore no eyes, Kento felt its gaze pierce straight through him.
A voice slithered into their minds, low and venomous:
"Promises break. Ashes remain. And from ashes, chains of despair are born anew."
Furi spat blood, stepping forward. "Great. Just when I thought we'd earned a rest."
Kento gritted his teeth. His body begged him to stop, to collapse, to give in. But he raised his fists anyway, stance firm. "Rest can wait. We finish what we started."
The shadow twitched, its body cracking, and from the fractures spilled countless tendrils of smoke that coiled like serpents. Each tendril carried whispers, fragments of forgotten vows—cries of lovers abandoned, oaths betrayed, hopes left to rot. The sound clawed at their ears, threatening to unravel their very resolve.
The child pressed their small hands together, forming a sphere of light to ward off the whispers. "It feeds on broken vows… every doubt you carry will make it stronger!"
Kento's jaw tightened. He could almost hear his own doubts clawing up from the depths of his heart. Can you really protect them? What if you fail again?
But he forced the voices back, focusing on Furi's smirk, on the child's trembling but unyielding light. They were still here. They still believed. That was enough.
"Then I'll give it nothing to feed on," Kento growled, stepping forward. His shadow stretched long against the fractured stars, but his voice carried steady resolve.
"My promise won't break. Not now. Not ever."
The ash-born shadow hissed, its body unraveling into a storm of black fragments. The battlefield that had just known silence erupted once more.
And so, beneath the ruined constellations, the war of promises continued.
(To be continued…)