The ash-born shadow had been driven back.
Not destroyed—only weakened, scattered into drifting fragments that dissolved into the ruined sky.
Kento's knees nearly gave out. His lungs burned as though every breath might be his last, yet his grip on resolve did not loosen. Furi collapsed beside him with a grunt, his chains rattling as if sighing in relief. The child dimmed their sphere of light, letting it fade until only faint sparks lingered on their palms.
For the first time in what felt like eternity, there was silence.
But it was not peace.
"Don't get too comfortable," Furi muttered, wiping blood from his mouth. His voice was hoarse, but his eyes sharp. "That thing didn't die. Shadows never really do."
The child nodded solemnly. "It will return. Shadows are born from vows abandoned. As long as despair exists, so will they."
Kento clenched his fists. "Then we'll face it again. Every time."
The child's gaze softened, almost pitying. "You speak with such fire. But you do not yet understand what these shadows truly are."
Kento frowned. "Then tell me."
The child hesitated, as if weighing whether mortals deserved to know. Finally, they whispered:
"Every shadow is not just an enemy. It is a memory. A vow once spoken, now betrayed. What you fought was not merely Varok's remnant—it was the broken promise of a world."
The words cut deep. Kento felt his chest tighten, his mind flashing to his own vow beneath the sky so long ago. If I falter… could my promise too become such a shadow?
Furi scoffed, though his eyes betrayed unease. "So what, every time some fool breaks their word, another monster is born? No wonder this world's a graveyard."
The child lowered their head. "Not every broken vow becomes a shadow. Only those sealed… bound so tightly they cannot fade. Those promises etched in the very fabric of the stars. When they are abandoned, the cosmos itself remembers. And it cries."
Silence hung heavy. Even Furi, ever mocking, did not speak.
Kento's mind reeled. He thought of the countless constellations shattered above, each one perhaps a grave marker for a vow never kept. So many promises… lost to despair.
The child continued, their voice trembling like starlight. "That is why you are different. You carry a promise that has not broken, though time sought to erase it. That is why you fight. That is why… you are feared."
Kento's breath caught. He wanted to deny it, to reject the weight, but he could not. He remembered the warmth of a hand, the sound of laughter, the sky so bright it hurt to look at. He remembered swearing never to let go.
And he remembered how close he had come to failing.
Furi's chains rattled softly as he stood again. "Well, whether we're 'different' or not, it doesn't change the fact that shadows are coming. Probably stronger than that ash-thing."
The child's eyes darkened. "Yes. And worse still—there are vows not just broken, but twisted. Promises that were never meant to be kept, yet spoken with venom. Those… are the most dangerous."
A chill ran down Kento's spine. The image of the ash-shadow replayed in his mind, its whispers gnawing at his heart. If such beings could be born from betrayal, what horrors awaited them from vows corrupted from the very beginning?
For a moment, none of them spoke. The silence pressed down heavier than battle.
Then, faintly, across the fractured sky, came a sound like distant bells. The constellations pulsed once, as if warning them.
The child looked upward, their expression unreadable. "The sky remembers everything. The more you walk this path, the more you will see. And the more the sky will demand of you."
Kento raised his head, sweat and blood stinging his eyes, but his voice steady.
"Then let it demand. I made a promise once, and I won't turn away. Not now. Not ever."
The child studied him for a long time, then finally smiled. Not the smile of innocence, but of sorrowful recognition.
"You may be the last one who truly believes that."
The silence returned, but this time it carried weight—not of despair, but of anticipation. For somewhere beyond the broken stars, new chains stirred.
And the war of promises was only beginning.
(To be continued…)