[15th Ward → Seno Estate | Early Dawn]
The city was gray when they walked back. Frost clung to the gutters, breath steamed in the air, and the ward was silent except for their steps.
Hayato's clothes clung stiff to his skin, soaked in half-dried blood — his own and Jackdaw's. His body trembled with every movement, his ribs flaring where the tendrils had struck him. But the wounds weren't the worst of it.
It was the taste.
He couldn't get it out.
Not like humans. Human flesh filled him, warmed him, calmed the ache of hunger. This had been nothing like that. Jackdaw's blood had been thick, sour, rancid — like swallowing rot, like chewing death. Even now it crawled through him, sitting heavy in his gut, burning in his throat.
He gagged once and leaned against a wall, bile rising, but nothing came. His body shuddered with nausea.
Behind him, Vernon walked in silence. The pale man's expression was unreadable, but his eyes lingered on Hayato more than once. His silence was sharper than words.
Hayato didn't meet his gaze. He couldn't.
Father… you told me what it would take. You showed me what the Doves feared. A kakuja. A monster. If this is the path… then I'll walk it. I won't be weak again.
But still his stomach turned, every step heavier than the last, as the estate gates loomed out of the fog.
[Seno Estate — Council Hall, 5:41 A.M.]
The hall was waiting.
Red banners hung heavy against the stone walls, torches hissing faintly, filling the chamber with smoke and shadow. The elders sat in their semicircle, masks gleaming in the dim light, their eyes sharp behind the hollow slits.
The doors groaned open, and Hayato stepped inside. His boots echoed against the stone, his shoulders rigid though his body swayed with exhaustion. In his hand he carried Jackdaw's mask — the crude leather still slick with blood.
He stood in the center of the chamber for a long moment. The elders stared down at him, waiting for him to kneel, to bow, to acknowledge them.
He didn't.
Instead, he tossed the mask. It clattered across the floor, spinning once before coming to rest at the foot of the dais.
Whispers filled the hall at once, sharp and hissing.
"Arrogant."
"Defiant."
"He dares."
Hayato didn't answer. He turned his back on them and walked toward the doors, each step echoing in the tense silence.
[Council Hall — After His Exit]
The mask still lay where it had fallen, staring up with its twisted grin. The elders leaned toward one another, their voices low but sharp.
"He should not be alive. That Rinkaku would have crushed him."
"And yet he returned. His aura pressed sharper. He reeked of blood not his own."
"Human blood smells different. This was… heavier. Wrong."
The word none wanted to speak finally came, sharp as glass.
"…Cannibalism."
The chamber stirred, masks turning, voices rising in uneasy debate.
"Speculation."
"Madness begins this way."
"Power begins this way."
One elder's voice cut through the others. "Do you forget Bastion's kakuja? The Doves themselves faltered before it."
"Do you forget what he became?" another spat back.
At last, the clan head raised a hand. Silence fell like a weight.
His mask gleamed faintly as he spoke, his tone calm, measured.
"Whether he fed or not does not matter. What matters is that he returned alive. Stronger. If he breaks, then he was never worthy. If he endures…" His voice sharpened. "…then he will be ours."
The torches hissed low, shadows stretching long across the chamber as silence claimed the room.
[Hayato's Quarters — Morning, 8:19 A.M.]
The light was pale when it finally reached his room, filtering through paper screens. Hayato stirred awake, his body stiff and screaming with pain. Every lash of Jackdaw's tendrils had left him raw, bruises blooming dark along his ribs and arms. His back felt like it had been torn apart.
But worse than the wounds was his stomach. Heavy. Wrong. He lurched forward, gagging violently, bile burning his throat, but nothing came. His body shook, slick with sweat, the rancid taste still coating his tongue.
A knock rapped once at the door. It slid open before he answered. Vernon stepped inside, arms folded behind him, pale eyes steady.
"You're awake," Vernon said flatly.
Hayato's voice was hoarse. "Barely."
Vernon studied him in silence for a long moment. Then he spoke, calm but cutting.
"You walked back alive from a fight that should have killed you. That alone will make them watch you more closely."
Hayato clenched his fists in the sheets. "…I only did what I had to."
Vernon's eyes narrowed faintly. "And now you know the cost. That taste doesn't fade. It stays with you. It rots you, piece by piece."
Hayato swallowed hard, his chest heaving. "…I don't care." His voice cracked, but he forced the words out. "I won't be weak. Not again."
For the first time, Vernon's lips pressed thin, almost a grimace. He turned toward the door, sliding it open.
"Then remember this: the clan will not protect you if you fall. They will only use you until there's nothing left."
The door shut, leaving the boy in silence.
Hayato sat hunched, trembling, his stomach burning, his throat raw with bile. He pressed his hands against his knees, whispering into the empty room.
"…I'll endure it. I'll use it. Whatever it costs."
The morning light crept across the floor, stretching his shadow long and thin against the stone. And though the sun rose, the taste of rot lingered — a reminder of what he had chosen.