The shed door creaked open a few minutes later, snow swirling in on a gust of wind and red-blue siren light. Reina slipped inside like a shadow, pulling the broken door shut behind her with a muffled thud. Her cloak was dusted white, breath steaming, eyes scanning the dim space until they found him slumped against the wall.
She didn't speak at first. Just crossed the small space in two strides and crouched in front of him, scarred face lit faintly by the cracks of police flashlights sweeping outside.
Kanashimi didn't look up. His bloodied hands rested limp on his knees, Aura Fang lying forgotten on the concrete between them.
Reina reached out slowly, gloved fingers curling under his chin, tilting his face up until their eyes met. Her expression was hard, but something softer flickered behind it—relief, maybe even pride mixed with regret.
"It's done," she said quietly. "Demon dissolved. Girl down. No phone fragments big enough to recover data. Witnesses saw a monster, not us. By morning they'll call it mass hallucination, gas leak, anything but truth."
Kanashimi's voice came out rough, barely above the distant shouts outside. "I… cut through both. In one stroke."
Reina's thumb brushed a streak of blood—his or the girl's—from his cheek. "You did what the mission demanded. Clean. Final. No suffering." She paused, studying him. "First blood on the surface always tastes wrong. It'll pass."
He finally met her gaze fully, storm-gray eyes dull. "She didn't scream. Not once."
Reina exhaled, dropping her hand to his shoulder, grip firm. "Some people fight quiet. Doesn't make the order less necessary." She glanced toward the door as another siren wailed closer. "Police are cordoning the park. We have minutes. Can you move?"
Kanashimi pushed himself up with her help, wincing as the rib wound pulled. He retrieved the Aura Fang, sliding it back into its sheath with hands that still trembled faintly.
Reina pulled a small vial from her cloak—clear liquid shimmering with faint tochi. "Drink. Seals the bleeding, dulls the pain long enough to get us underground."
He took it without question, downing the bitter contents in one swallow. Warmth spread through his side almost instantly, knitting flesh just enough to hold.
She offered her arm again. He took it.
They slipped out the back of the shed into deeper shadows, moving rooftop to alley to treeline—away from the flashing lights, the shouting officers, the growing crowd of stunned onlookers filming the last wisps of demonic smoke rising into the snow.
As they reached the forest ridge, the city's glow fading behind them, Reina spoke once more, voice low.
"You hesitated at first. Then you didn't. That's growth, boy. Hard growth, but growth."
Kanashimi stared ahead into the dark trees, snowflakes melting cold on his lashes.
"I saw the sky," he whispered. "All of it. And now… I don't know if I'll ever want to see it again."
Reina squeezed his arm once—no words, just steady pressure—before guiding him down the hidden hatch and back into the long, familiar dark of Lumora.
Behind them, the surface world spun its stories to explain the unexplainable.
Below, a boy returned carrying silence heavier than any blade.
The descent through the hidden tunnel was long and silent, the city's distant chaos fading into muffled nothing. Reina supported most of Kanashimi's weight now—the vial's warmth dulling the pain but not the exhaustion. His cloak dragged wet and heavy, stained dark in places the snow hadn't washed clean.
When they finally pushed open the forest hatch and emerged into the pre-dawn dark, the storm had quieted to a gentle, relentless fall. Snow had already filled their earlier tracks, erasing the fight as if it had never happened.
But Kanashimi stopped the moment his boots touched the powder.
This was the exact clearing.
The tree the guardian had sliced still leaned, half-felled. Frozen blood—his own—crusted dark on the bark where he'd been thrown. The air still carried the faint metallic tang of tochi expended in violence.
Reina felt him tense beneath her arm. She followed his gaze, scarred face unreadable.
"Place feels different coming back, doesn't it?" she said quietly.
Kanashimi didn't answer right away. He stared at the spot where he'd lain pinned, spear at his throat, stars wheeling overhead. Where he'd whispered his almost-last words.
"I thought I would die here," he murmured, voice raw. "Before I ever reached the sky."
Reina's grip tightened on his arm—not rough, just steady. "You didn't. And you finished the mission. That's what matters."
He bent slowly, wincing, and brushed snow from a patch of frozen ground. Beneath it, a faint groove from the guardian's ice crescent still scarred the earth.
"I almost killed one of ours," he said. "Then I killed… her."
Reina exhaled white into the cold. "You followed orders. Protected the villages. Protected every child sleeping under crystal right now who'll never have to know what you saw up there." She tugged him gently forward. "Come on. Lumora's waiting. Dawn's close."
They moved through the trees, slower now. Every step crunched memories.
Halfway to the main ward line, Kanashimi spoke again, so soft she almost missed it.
"The stars were beautiful."
Reina didn't reply immediately. Then, gruffly: "You'll see them again someday. When you're ready."
He didn't believe her. But he kept walking.
The faint glow of Lumora's hidden entrance appeared ahead—soft blue crystal light spilling through disguised stone like a promise, or a cage.
Reina keyed the ward with her blood seal. The door ground open.
Warm air, moss scent, distant water trickle—home.
Kanashimi paused on the threshold, snow melting off his cloak in rivulets, mixing pink with meltwater at his feet.
He looked back once at the dark forest, at the falling snow already covering everything.
Then he stepped inside.
The door sealed behind them with a final, quiet thud.
The final stretch through Lumora's glowing tunnels felt endless, the soft blue-green light washing over them like gentle judgment. Kanashimi's steps grew heavier with every ward they passed, the vial's warmth fading, pain and exhaustion creeping back in. Reina held him up without complaint, her arm a steady anchor around his waist.
When they reached the quiet residential caverns—hanging gardens whispering overhead, crystal walls humming faintly—they didn't head to the healers or the council hall.
Reina steered him straight to the modest arched door of Master Yoriichi's home: simple black stone, no ornament, the place where Kanashimi had lived since he could walk. His prison and his sanctuary.
She knocked once—sharp, precise.
The door opened almost immediately. Yoriichi stood there in plain training robes, silver hair loose over his shoulders, expression as unreadable as winter steel. But his eyes—those sharp, piercing eyes—took in everything in a single sweep: the blood, the snow still melting from Kanashimi's cloak, the way the boy leaned on Reina like a crutch.
Reina bowed her head slightly. "Mission complete. Target eliminated. Demon manifestation contained. No trace leading back to us."
Yoriichi's gaze lingered on Kanashimi's face—pale, streaked with dried blood and melting snowflakes, eyes distant and too old for sixteen.
Reina gently shifted Kanashimi's weight fully to his master. "He needs rest. And… time."
Yoriichi accepted him without a word, one strong arm sliding around the boy's back, taking the burden as easily as if he weighed nothing. Kanashimi sagged against him, head dropping to his master's shoulder for the first time since he was small.
Reina stepped back. "I'll report to Lord Eldrin." She paused, voice softening a fraction. "He did well."
Then she was gone, footsteps fading down the crystal path.
Yoriichi guided Kanashimi inside, closing the door with a quiet click that sealed the world away.
The house was dim and familiar: low ceilings, sparse furnishings, the faint scent of incense and polished wood. A single lantern glowed on the table. Everything exactly as it had been when he left—except him.
Yoriichi lowered him onto the edge of the sleeping mat, kneeling to unfasten the blood-stiffened cloak. His movements were careful, methodical—peeling away layers, checking wounds, cleaning the gash on his ribs with steady hands that never trembled.
Kanashimi sat motionless, staring at nothing.
Finally, when the worst of the blood was wiped away and fresh bandages bound tight, Yoriichi sat back on his heels.
"You returned," he said simply.
Kanashimi's voice came out cracked and small. "I saw the sky, Master. It was… wide. And bright. And loud."
Yoriichi was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached out and rested a hand on the back of Kanashimi's neck—warm, grounding, the same touch he'd used after every brutal training session when the boy was too small to hide his tears.
"You carried the mission," Yoriichi said. "You carried Lumora on your shoulders tonight. Rest now. The sky will still be there tomorrow."
Kanashimi's eyes finally filled—silent, hot tears that slipped down his cheeks without permission. He didn't wipe them away.
Yoriichi pulled him forward gently, until the boy's forehead rested against his shoulder again. No embrace, just steady presence.
Outside, the crystals pulsed their endless soft light.
Inside, a weapon learned what it felt like to be held after being used.
The soft glow of Lumora's crystals filtered through the paper screen like early dawn, even though true dawn never reached this deep. Kanashimi lay curled on his sleeping mat, still in yesterday's under-robes, bandages peeking from beneath the loose collar. For once, his face was unguarded in sleep—brows relaxed, lips slightly parted, the sharp edges of duty smoothed away.
The door to his small room slid open without ceremony.
Yōsei slipped in, already dressed in her academy robes, midnight braid swinging. She padded across the tatami on silent feet, knelt beside him, and leaned in with the biggest, most mischievous grin.
"Wake up, wake up, sleepy assassin~" she sang softly.
No response.
She poked his cheek. Still nothing.
With a dramatic sigh, she raised her hand and delivered a light, playful slap—more sound than sting—right across his uninjured cheek.
Kanashimi's eyes snapped open. He bolted upright in one fluid motion, hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that wasn't there, heart racing.
"Who wakes people like this?!" he hissed, voice rough with sleep and lingering shock. His gray eyes focused on her, confusion quickly turning to flustered indignation. "What are you doing in my room? Master Yoriichi will—"
"Will what?" Yoriichi's calm, cool voice drifted from the doorway behind her.
Kanashimi froze mid-sentence.
Yoriichi stood there in his usual severe black training robes, arms folded, silver hair tied high. His expression was as unreadable as ever—strict, composed, impossible to argue with.
"I told her to wake you," he said simply. "You slept past the usual hour. Training begins in ten minutes. Bandages or no bandages."
Yōsei stuck her tongue out at Kanashimi when Yoriichi wasn't looking, then turned to the master with perfect innocence. "See? I was gentle."
Yoriichi's gaze flicked to her, one brow arching the tiniest fraction—the closest he ever came to amusement. "Gentle is not slapping my student. Next time use water."
"Noted!" Yōsei chirped, utterly unrepentant.
Kanashimi rubbed his cheek, cheeks faintly pink—whether from the slap or the embarrassment, hard to tell. "Master, I'm capable of waking on my own…"
"You weren't," Yoriichi replied, turning already to leave. "Ten minutes. Do not make me send her again."
The door slid shut with quiet finality.
Yōsei flopped onto the mat beside him, grinning like she'd won a prize. "You should've seen your face. Priceless."
Kanashimi groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "You're going to get me killed one day."
"Nah," she said softly, nudging his shoulder with hers. "I'd never let that happen. Now get up, hero. Breakfast is waiting, and I snuck you extra sweet-root. Consider it apology for the slap."
He peeked at her through his fingers. The warmth in her midnight eyes was steady, worried, proud—all the things she refused to say out loud after last night.
Kanashimi exhaled, tension easing just a fraction.
"…Five more minutes," he muttered.
Yōsei laughed, bright and real, the sound bouncing off the crystal walls like sunlight.
"Four. And only because you look cute when you're grumpy."
Kanashimi stood in the small common room, rolling his shoulder experimentally under the fresh bandages Yōsei had helped him wrap while pretending not to notice how gently her fingers brushed his skin. Yoriichi was already at the low table, sipping tea with that perfect, immovable posture.
Kanashimi bowed, voice carefully neutral. "Master… today is Sunday. May I have leave from morning practice?"
Yoriichi set his cup down without a sound, steel-gray eyes lifting to study his student. The silence stretched just long enough to make Kanashimi's palms sweat.
"Granted," Yoriichi said finally. "Your body needs recovery."
Relief flickered across Kanashimi's face—quick, then hidden. "Thank you, Master."
Yoriichi wasn't finished. "What will you do with the free hours?"
Kanashimi hesitated, fingers tightening at his sides. "Just… roam. Walk the gardens. Clear my head."
Yoriichi's brow arched the tiniest fraction. "With whom?"
Kanashimi blinked. "Alone."
The master's gaze sharpened. "You never roam alone. When you wander the village paths, you always fight. Sparring matches with the older sentinels. Challenges from the academy brats who think the 'cursed boy' is an easy mark. Even quiet walks end in bruises." He paused, voice calm but pointed. "If you truly want rest, choose better company. Or stay within these walls and meditate."
Yōsei, who had been pretending to be very interested in her tea cup, suddenly brightened like someone just handed her a gift. "I could go with him!" she volunteered, way too eagerly. "I have no lessons today either. We'll just walk the lower gardens, feed the glow-fish, maybe steal some honey-cakes from the kitchens. No fighting, promise!"
Kanashimi shot her a half-panicked, half-grateful look. "I… don't need a guard."
"You need a babysitter," Yōsei corrected sweetly, standing and looping her arm through his before he could protest. "And lucky for you, I'm excellent at it. Besides, Master Yoriichi just said you should choose better company. That's me. Obviously."
Yoriichi exhaled through his nose—almost a sigh, almost amusement. "See that it remains peaceful. No sparring. No demonstrations. No drawing crowds."
Yōsei saluted with mock seriousness. "Yes, Master! We'll be boring. Super, super boring. We might even nap under the big crystal willow."
Kanashimi opened his mouth—probably to argue—then closed it. The idea of walking beside her through quiet gardens, no blades, no orders, no blood… it sounded impossible. And terrifying. And maybe exactly what he needed.
He bowed to Yoriichi again, deeper this time. "I'll return before evening training."
Yoriichi's gaze softened by a hair. "See that you do."
Yōsei tugged him toward the door, already chattering about which path had the prettiest new blooms. Kanashimi let her pull him along, cheeks faintly warm, heart beating a little too fast for reasons that had nothing to do with missions or demons.
As the door slid shut behind them, Yoriichi picked up his tea again.
And allowed himself the smallest, most private curve of a smile.
Kanashimi let Yōsei drag him only as far as the threshold of the house again. The moment they stepped back inside, he slipped his arm free, shoulders sagging.
"I'm… going to sleep," he mumbled, avoiding her eyes. "Tell Master I'll train double tomorrow."
He shuffled to his room before she could protest, sliding the door shut with a quiet but firm click. The mat felt like heaven as he collapsed onto it face-first, still in his robes, bandages and all. He pulled the blanket over his head like a child hiding from monsters.
Darkness. Silence. Finally.
Or so he thought.
Barely two minutes later, the door slid open again—slow, deliberate, impossible to ignore.
Yōsei's voice floated in, sugary sweet and dangerously mischievous. "Oh no you don't, mister assassin. You do not get to murder a girl, see the stars, come home looking like a tragic painting, and then hide under a blanket all day. That's against friendship rules."
Kanashimi groaned into the pillow, voice muffled. "Yōsei… please. I just want quiet."
The mat dipped as she knelt beside him, then flopped down dramatically, stretching out right next to him like she owned the place.
"Too bad," she whispered, tugging the blanket down just enough to uncover his messy black hair. "Quiet is boring. And you're not allowed to be boring on my watch."
He turned his head just enough to glare weakly at her with one tired eye. "You're impossible."
"And you're adorable when you sulk," she shot back, poking his forehead. "Come on. At least eat the honey-cakes I stole for you. One bite. Then I'll let you nap… maybe."
Kanashimi sighed, long and defeated, but there was the tiniest curve at the corner of his mouth. "You're worse than training."
"Flattery will get you nowhere," she grinned, already unwrapping a small cloth bundle and waving the sweet scent of warm honey-cake under his nose. "But eating this might get you a head pat and permission to sleep."
He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, then pushed himself up on one elbow, accepting the cake with reluctant fingers.
Yōsei beamed like she'd won a war.
Outside the room, Yoriichi passed by the open door on silent feet, caught a glimpse of the scene—his deadly student grumpily nibbling pastry while the princess teased him mercilessly—and kept walking without a word.
Though if anyone had been looking closely, they might have noticed the master's shoulders were a fraction less tense than usual.
Yōsei crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe with that dangerous sparkle in her midnight eyes. "Why not just come to my house instead? Father's away at the council all day, the gardens are pretty, and the kitchen staff listen to me. We can nap on actual cushions instead of your boring mat."
Kanashimi pulled the blanket higher over his face, voice muffled and flat. "Not interested."
Yōsei's grin widened, undeterred. "Don't worry, I'll feed you properly. Real food. Warm soup, fresh honey-cakes, those little crystal-fruit tarts you pretend you don't like but always finish first."
He peeked one stormy eye over the blanket's edge. "Not interested."
She was on him in a flash—playful punch to the (uninjured) shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make him yelp in surprise.
"Get. Ready." She poked his chest with every word. "You have five minutes or I'm dragging you out in your sleeping robes. And trust me, the whole village will see."
Kanashimi rubbed his shoulder, glaring half-heartedly, cheeks pink again. "…Fine."
He shuffled behind the changing screen, grumbling the entire time. Yōsei hummed cheerfully on the other side, loud enough to be annoying on purpose.
When he emerged minutes later—simple dark tunic and trousers, hair still a sleepy mess, bandages hidden beneath—she gave an exaggerated whistle.
"Wow. Almost civilized. I give it an eight out of ten. Points deducted for the bed-head."
He shot her a look that could've frozen water. "You're enjoying this too much."
"Immensely," she admitted, grabbing his wrist and tugging him toward the door. "Come on, grumpy. Sunshine, sweets, and zero training. Doctor's orders—well, princess's orders, same thing."
Kanashimi let himself be pulled along, muttering under his breath the whole way. But his steps were lighter than they'd been in days, and when she glanced back with that bright, triumphant smile, he didn't look away quite as fast as usual.
As they stepped out into the glowing paths of Lumora, Yōsei swinging their joined hands like it was the most natural thing in the world, she leaned in and whispered, "See? The sky can wait. Today you get cake and cuddles instead."
He groaned. "There will be no cuddles."
"We'll see about that," she sing-songed.
And for the first time since coming home, the corner of Kanashimi's mouth twitched upward—just a little.
The lower gardens were quieter than usual, the hanging vines dripping with soft bioluminescent dew, glow-fish darting lazily in the crystal ponds. Yōsei had Kanashimi firmly by the wrist, tugging him along the winding paths toward the private balcony of the Eldrin residence, chattering nonstop about which tart flavor he absolutely had to try first.
He trailed behind her, cheeks still faintly pink, muttering half-hearted protests like "I can walk without being dragged" and "people are staring."
Because people were staring.
A cluster of older gardeners pruning the luminous ferns paused mid-snip, eyes wide as the princess marched past with the infamous Kanashimi in tow. A pair of academy girls whispered behind their hands, giggling. Even a sentinel on patrol did a double-take.
And then there was Elder Mira—sharp-eyed, sharper-tongued, the village's unofficial queen of gossip. She was "casually" tending a bed of moon-blooms right along their path, but her ears were practically twitching.
"Well, well," Mira called out, voice carrying just enough to draw more heads. "If it isn't Princess Yōsei… and young Kanashimi. Out for a stroll, are we? How… unexpected."
Yōsei didn't slow, just flashed a dazzling smile. "Good morning, Elder Mira! Beautiful blooms today. We're just heading to my balcony for some very important… resting."
Mira's brows shot up. "Resting. Together. Alone on the princess's private balcony." She clutched her pruning shears like they were pearls. "My, my. Lord Eldrin knows about this, I assume?"
Kanashimi stiffened, trying to pull his hand free, but Yōsei's grip was iron disguised as silk.
"Father trusts me completely," Yōsei said sweetly, finally stopping to face the elder. "And Kanashimi just got back from a very tiring mission. He needs peace and quiet. With a friend. That's all."
Mira's gaze flicked to their still-joined hands, then to Kanashimi's faintly flushed face. "Peace and quiet. Of course, dear. Though tongues do wag when the 'cursed boy' is seen being dragged—pardon, escorted—by the princess herself."
Kanashimi finally spoke, voice low. "It's not—"
Yōsei cut him off with a squeeze. "Let them wag, Elder. Tongues that wag too much usually end up tripping over lies." She tugged Kanashimi forward again. "Come on, before the tarts get cold."
They left Mira standing there, mouth opening and closing like a glow-fish out of water.
By lunchtime, the gossip had spread like wildfire through the crystal halls.
"Did you see? The princess practically abducted him!"
"She's taking him to her private rooms—alone!"
"After he just came back from the surface… covered in blood, they say…"
"Lord Eldrin will have something to say about this."
And of course, it reached Yoriichi.
He was in the middle of a quiet kata in the training hall when Sentinel Reina approached, bowing respectfully.
"Master Yoriichi. Word from the gardens—the princess was seen dragging your student toward the Eldrin residence. Quite… affectionately. Elder Mira is already spreading it."
Yoriichi completed his form without breaking rhythm, then lowered his hands, expression as calm as ever.
"Thank you for the report."
Reina hesitated. "Will you… intervene?"
Yoriichi picked up his tea from the ledge, took a slow sip.
"No," he said finally. "The boy asked for rest. She is providing it. In her way."
Reina blinked. "But the gossip—"
"Gossip dies when ignored." He paused, the faintest curve touching his lips. "And if anyone challenges the princess's choice of company… they will answer to me."
Reina bowed again, hiding a small smile, and left.
Back on the balcony, Yōsei finally released Kanashimi's wrist—only to shove a tart into his hand.
"Eat. And stop looking like you're about to bolt. No one's coming to save you from me today."
Kanashimi stared at the tart, then at her bright, defiant face.
He took a bite.
And for the first time in days, the weight on his chest felt just a little lighter.
Yōsei hummed a cheerful little tune as she skipped through the grand arched entrance of the Eldrin estate, the glowing vines overhead casting soft violet light on her braid. She was already picturing the look on Kanashimi's face when she shoved another tart into his hand—half grumpy, half secretly pleased.
But the moment she turned the corner toward the inner corridors, she nearly walked straight into her father.
Lord Eldrin stood there in his formal robes, arms folded, silver-trimmed cloak still dusted with crystal pollen from the council chambers. His expression was calm, but his midnight-blue eyes—exact match to hers—held that familiar mix of amusement and quiet authority.
"Yōsei," he greeted, voice warm but pointed. "You're returning with Kanashimi, I presume?"
She froze mid-step, then flashed her brightest, most innocent smile. "Yes, Father! I finally convinced him to come rest here instead of brooding in that boring house all day."
Eldrin's brow arched. "Convinced. I heard it involved dragging him by the wrist through half the village."
Yōsei waved a dismissive hand, cheeks pink but unrepentant. "Details. The important part is he agreed."
Eldrin glanced past her down the empty corridor, then back to his daughter. "And… where exactly is he now?"
Yōsei blinked. Turned. Looked.
The hallway was completely empty. No brooding boy in sight.
A tiny, fond laugh escaped her before she could stop it. In her mind, the thought was crystal clear: He vanished like a startled child the second he saw Father.
Eldrin's other brow joined the first. "Yōsei…"
Before she could stammer an excuse, there was a soft rustle of robes and quick footsteps from the side garden door.
Kanashimi appeared in the archway, breathing a little faster than usual, cheeks flushed from the cool cavern air. In his hands he delicately cupped something glowing—a rare lumina butterfly, its wings shimmering pale gold and sapphire, tiny sparks of light trailing as it fluttered.
He had clearly been chasing it.
He froze when he saw Lord Eldrin watching him with quiet surprise.
The butterfly fluttered once more, then escaped his careful fingers, drifting lazily up toward the vine ceiling.
Kanashimi's ears turned pink. He bowed deeply, stiffly, eyes fixed on the floor. "My lord. I… apologize for the delay. The butterfly was… near the entrance. It's uncommon this cycle."
Yōsei bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud, eyes sparkling with pure delight.
Eldrin regarded the boy for a long moment—the village's living weapon, the one who had returned blood-stained from the surface only yesterday—now standing in his hallway flustered over a butterfly.
A small, genuine smile softened the lord's stern features.
"No apology needed," Eldrin said gently. "It's good to see you distracted by something beautiful for once."
He glanced at his daughter, who was practically glowing with smug victory.
"Take care of him today, Yōsei. And Kanashimi—" he added, voice kind but firm, "—you are always welcome here. No need to vanish at the sight of me."
Kanashimi's flush deepened. He bowed again, even lower. "Yes, my lord."
Yōsei finally lost the battle and let out a soft giggle, grabbing Kanashimi's sleeve and tugging him past her father toward the balcony stairs.
"Come on, butterfly boy. Tarts are waiting, and I'm not letting you escape again."
As they disappeared up the stairs—Yōsei's laughter echoing softly—Lord Eldrin watched them go, shaking his head with quiet fondness.
The cursed boy and his fearless daughter.
Perhaps, he thought, Lumora's future wasn't as fragile as they all feared.
Eldrin's gaze lingered on the pair of them, warm but with that piercing edge only a father could wield. He tilted his head slightly, voice mild yet laced with gentle teasing.
"But why the rush to your private balcony? Both of you, alone all day… Did you finally find someone you like, Yōsei?"
Yōsei's cheeks exploded into bright crimson. She released Kanashimi's sleeve like it suddenly burned, hands flying up in frantic denial. "It's not like that, Dad! Not at all! We're just friends! Friends! He needed rest after—after everything, and I was being nice! That's it!"
She waved her arms so wildly she nearly knocked over a nearby vase of glowing moon-blooms.
Kanashimi, already flushed from the butterfly incident, turned an even deeper shade of red. He bowed so low his forehead nearly brushed the floor again, voice coming out strangled. "My lord, I assure you—nothing improper. The princess only wished to… provide sweets. And quiet."
Eldrin watched them both squirm for a long, amused moment, lips twitching with the effort not to smile outright.
"I see," he said at last, tone perfectly innocent. "Sweets and quiet. Very noble intentions."
Yōsei groaned, covering her face with both hands. "Daaaad…"
Kanashimi looked like he was calculating the fastest escape route back to the training hall for a thousand push-ups—anything to end this conversation.
Eldrin finally took pity. He reached out and ruffled Yōsei's hair the way he used to when she was small, then rested a brief, reassuring hand on Kanashimi's shoulder.
"Relax, both of you. I trust my daughter's judgment. And I trust the boy who carries Lumora's heaviest burden to behave with honor." His eyes softened. "Enjoy your day. The tarts are fresh—Cook made extra this morning. I'll be in council until evening."
He gave Kanashimi one last kind nod, then turned and walked away down the corridor, robes whispering over crystal.
The moment he was out of sight, Yōsei let out a huge, dramatic breath and slumped against the wall.
"I'm going to die of embarrassment. He did that on purpose."
Kanashimi straightened slowly, still pink but managing a tiny, sheepish exhale that might have been the ghost of a laugh. "…He's terrifying."
"Right?!" Yōsei grabbed his sleeve again—this time much gentler—and started tugging him toward the stairs. "Come on, before he comes back with more dad jokes. Balcony. Tarts. No more interrogations."
Kanashimi followed without protest, muttering under his breath, "I preferred fighting the demon."
Yōsei's laughter echoed all the way up the stairs—bright, unstoppable, and just loud enough to make the glowing vines overhead shimmer a little brighter.
They finally reached the private balcony—high up on the Eldrin estate, overlooking the vast glowing cavern of Lumora's lower gardens. Hanging vines draped like curtains, crystal flowers blooming in soft pinks and blues, the air warm and sweet with nectar. A low table was already set with a mountain of fresh tarts, tea steaming gently, cushions scattered everywhere like an invitation to laziness.
Yōsei basically shoved Kanashimi down onto the biggest pile of cushions, hands on his shoulders until he sat with an undignified "oof."
"Stay," she ordered, wagging a finger. "No brooding. No escaping. No vanishing after butterflies. Doctor's orders."
Kanashimi opened his mouth to protest—probably something grumpy like "I'm not a dog"—but Yōsei was already grabbing the prettiest tart (glazed crystal-fruit, shiny and perfect) and turning back with a triumphant grin.
"Open up, grumpy boy. You talk too much when you're embarrassed."
"I do n—"
She didn't wait. She just leaned in and shoved the tart straight toward his mouth to silence him.
Kanashimi instinctively leaned forward at the exact same second to take a proper bite.
Result: tart met lips… and so did their lips.
Soft. Warm. Accidental. Way too sweet.
For one frozen heartbeat, they both stayed perfectly still—eyes wide, breath caught, the tart squished awkwardly between them, glaze smearing on both their mouths.
Then they jerked apart at the exact same instant, faces exploding into crimson.
"Are you mad?!" they blurted in perfect unison, voices overlapping in panicked harmony.
Silence.
Then Yōsei burst out laughing—loud, uncontrollable, falling back onto the cushions clutching her stomach. Kanashimi sat there stunned, fingers touching his lips like he couldn't believe they were real, cheeks so red they practically glowed brighter than the garden below.
"Y-you—" he stammered, "you kissed me with a tart!"
"You leaned in!" she wheezed between giggles, pointing an accusing finger. "You totally leaned in!"
"I was trying to eat it normally!"
"Normally doesn't involve tongue, Kanashimi!"
His eyes went comically huge. "There was no—! I didn't—!"
She rolled onto her side, still laughing, tears in her eyes. "Your face right now is the best thing I've seen all year. I'm never letting you live this down. Never."
Kanashimi grabbed a cushion and buried his burning face in it, voice muffled and mortified. "…Kill me now."
Yōsei crawled over, tugged the cushion away just enough to peek at him, grin softer now but still wicked.
"Hey," she whispered, bumping his shoulder with hers. "For the record… not mad. At all."
He peeked back, gray eyes shy and flustered and something warmer he didn't know how to name yet.
"…Me neither," he mumbled, so quiet she almost missed it.
She beamed, shoved the rest of the tart into his hand properly this time, and flopped down beside him to watch the glow-fish dance in the pond below.
And if their shoulders stayed touching the entire afternoon… neither of them mentioned it.
Yōsei wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, still giggling, but now pointing an accusing finger right at his nose.
"This is one hundred percent your fault! You leaned in like you were trying to eat my face along with the tart!"
Kanashimi scooted back an inch on the cushions, face still flaming, voice rising in indignant panic. "You're the one who shoved it at me like a weapon! I was just trying to take a normal bite!"
"Normal people don't lunge forward with their lips puckered!"
"I did not pucker!"
"You totally puckered! I felt it!"
He made a strangled sound, grabbing another cushion and holding it in front of his face like a shield. "You're making this worse on purpose!"
Yōsei crawled closer, trying to tug the cushion away. "Admit it—you wanted that kiss and used the tart as an excuse!"
"I absolutely did not!" His voice cracked on the last word, betraying him completely.
She finally yanked the cushion free, triumphant. "Liar. Your ears are redder than the glaze. You can't even look at me!"
Kanashimi turned his head sharply toward the garden view, arms crossed tight. "Because you're being ridiculous."
"Ridiculously right," she sing-songed, scooting even closer until their shoulders bumped again. "Come on, say it: 'Yōsei, I totally meant to kiss you and I'm embarrassed because I liked it.'"
He whipped his head back, gray eyes wide. "That is not what happened!"
"Then explain the leaning!"
"You surprised me!"
"With deliciousness!"
"With assault by pastry!"
They glared at each other for one intense second—cheeks flushed, breathing fast—then both cracked at the exact same time.
Yōsei snorted first, then dissolved into helpless laughter again, flopping sideways onto the cushions. Kanashimi tried to hold his scowl, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, twitching upward until a soft, reluctant chuckle escaped.
"You're impossible," he muttered, but there was no heat in it.
"And you're adorable when you're flustered," she shot back, reaching over to boop his nose with a sticky finger. "We're never speaking of this again… except I'm telling everyone."
He caught her wrist gently before she could pull away. "Don't you dare."
"Too late. Mental note made. Future blackmail acquired."
He groaned, but didn't let go of her wrist. "You're evil."
"Only for you," she whispered, grin softening into something warmer.
They stayed like that—hands loosely linked, shoulders touching, pretending to watch the glow-fish while stealing tiny glances at each other, both secretly smiling.
The tarts sat forgotten for a little while.
Kanashimi suddenly froze mid-bicker, the playful glare melting off his face as reality crashed back in. He sat up straighter on the cushions, eyes going wide with genuine alarm.
"If Master Yoriichi gets to know that…" he trailed off, voice dropping to a horrified whisper, "…he'll make me run the full binding sequence a thousand times. Or worse. He'll say it's 'distraction training.'"
Yōsei paused with a tart halfway to her mouth, then burst into fresh giggles, flopping back against the cushions.
"Oh please, your master is terrifying, but he's not going to execute you over an accidental tart-kiss." She poked his chest. "Though the look on his face would be priceless. Imagine telling him: 'Master, the princess assaulted me with pastry and our lips touched.' He'd probably just blink once and say 'Again, but with poison this time.'"
Kanashimi groaned, burying his face in his hands again. "This is exactly why I wanted to sleep all day. You drag me here, shove sweets in my face, cause… that, and now I'm going to die of embarrassment or extra training."
Yōsei rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand, grinning like a cat who got the cream. "You're cute when you're scared of your own master. Besides…" She leaned in closer, voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "If he does punish you, I'll sneak into training and distract him. Maybe even kiss you again right in front of him. For moral support."
His head snapped up, cheeks flaring bright red. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me, butterfly boy," she challenged, booping his nose again. "I'm the princess. I dare anything."
Kanashimi stared at her—half mortified, half something softer he still didn't have words for—then flopped back onto the cushions with a dramatic sigh.
"…I'm never eating tarts again."
Yōsei immediately picked up another one and waved it threateningly over his face. "Liar. Open wide or I'll tell Yoriichi everything. With sound effects."
He opened his mouth to protest.
She didn't shove it in this time.
But she did hold it close enough that he had to take a careful, very deliberate bite—eyes locked on hers the whole time, both of them trying (and failing) not to smile.
Time passed in the gentlest way on that private balcony—slow, warm, and full of stolen moments neither of them would admit to later.
The pile of tarts dwindled bite by bite. Yōsei kept finding excuses to feed him pieces ("Your hands are sticky, let me"), and Kanashimi kept pretending to protest while secretly letting her win every time. Their shoulders stayed pressed together, knees brushing whenever one of them shifted on the cushions. Laughter came easier—first at the tart incident, then at old stories from when they were kids, then at nothing at all.
Eventually the teasing quieted into comfortable silence. Yōsei lay back on the cushions, arms tucked behind her head, staring up at the glowing vines overhead. Kanashimi mirrored her without thinking, lying beside her—close enough that their fingers almost touched.
The cavern light softened into what passed for late afternoon in Lumora, casting everything in dreamy violet and gold.
Yōsei spoke first, voice softer than usual. "You know… you never told me what the surface sky looked like. The real one."
Kanashimi was quiet for a long moment. Then, barely audible: "Big. Too big. Like it could swallow you whole… but in a good way. And the stars—" He stopped, throat tight.
She turned her head to look at him. "You can tell me."
He met her eyes, something raw flickering there. "They were everywhere. Millions. Like someone spilled diamonds across black silk. And cold. So cold it hurt to breathe. But… beautiful."
Yōsei reached over without asking and laced her fingers through his. He didn't pull away.
"I'm glad you got to see it," she whispered. "Even if it cost too much."
His hand tightened around hers—just once. "Me too."
They stayed like that as the light dimmed further, hands linked, shoulders touching, hearts beating a little too fast for "just friends."
Neither moved to let go.
When the first evening chimes rang softly through the estate—signaling dinner soon—Yōsei finally sighed.
"We should probably head back before Father sends a search party… or worse, Yoriichi shows up with that scary-calm face."
Kanashimi huffed a tiny laugh—the real kind, small but genuine. "He'd make me run laps for holding hands."
"Then we'll just say we were… practicing grip strength," she grinned, sitting up but not releasing his hand yet. "For training purposes."
He rolled his eyes, but stood with her, fingers still tangled.
As they walked back through the glowing corridors—hands brushing now instead of boldly linked, cheeks warm in the soft light—Yōsei bumped his shoulder.
"Same time tomorrow? More tarts. Fewer accidental kisses. Maybe."
Kanashimi glanced at her, gray eyes softer than they'd been in years.
"…Maybe," he echoed.
And for the first time since returning from the surface, the weight on his chest felt almost bearable.
The evening chimes faded into quiet, and the balcony lights dimmed to their gentle nighttime glow. Yōsei and Kanashimi had stayed much longer than planned—tarts gone, tea cold, conversation drifting from silly to serious and back again.
Eventually, Kanashimi stood, brushing crumbs from his tunic, expression soft but suddenly guarded again.
"I should go," he said quietly. "Master Yoriichi will expect me for evening forms."
Yōsei sat up, braid a little messy from lying on the cushions all afternoon, cheeks still faintly pink from all the laughing (and maybe from other things). She tried for casual, but her voice came out smaller than she wanted.
"Already? It's not that late…"
He glanced toward the garden paths below, then back at her. "If I stay longer… people will talk more. And Master will notice."
She stood too, stepping close enough that their shoes almost touched. "Let them talk. And let your master notice. You're allowed one good day, Kanashimi."
He looked down at her—really looked—gray eyes holding hers for a long, quiet moment. The teasing from earlier was gone; something warmer, more careful lingered there instead.
"Thank you," he said, voice low. "For today. For… not letting me hide."
Yōsei's heart did a ridiculous flip. She reached up like she was going to fix his collar (totally unnecessary), fingers brushing the edge of his bandage instead.
"Anytime, butterfly boy," she whispered, smiling soft. "Tomorrow too, if you want."
He exhaled something that might have been a laugh, then—bold for him—reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered half a second longer than strictly friendly.
"…Maybe," he said again, the same word from earlier, but this time it sounded a lot like yes.
Then he stepped back, bowing slightly—not the stiff formal one he gave elders, but something gentler. "Good night, Yōsei."
She watched him walk to the balcony door, cloak swaying, silhouette outlined in crystal light.
Just before he disappeared down the stairs, he paused and glanced back.
She waved, small and silly.
He lifted one hand in return—almost a wave, almost shy.
Then he was gone, footsteps fading into the estate corridors.
Yōsei flopped back onto the cushions, staring up at the glowing vines with the goofiest grin.
Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.
Kanashimi walked the glowing paths back to Yoriichi's house slower than usual, hands in his sleeves, cheeks still carrying a faint warmth that had nothing to do with the cavern air. Every few steps he caught himself almost smiling at nothing—then quickly schooled his face back to neutral, like someone might catch him.
He slid the door open quietly, expecting the usual dim lantern and Yoriichi already in meditation.
Instead, the master was standing in the common room, arms folded, silver hair loose, expression calm but unmistakably waiting.
Kanashimi froze in the doorway.
Yoriichi's steel-gray eyes took him in with one slow sweep: the relaxed shoulders, the faint crumb of glaze at the corner of his mouth, the softness around his eyes that hadn't been there since… ever.
"You missed evening forms," Yoriichi said, voice perfectly even. No anger—just fact.
Kanashimi bowed immediately, deep and formal. "I apologize, Master. I lost track of time."
Yoriichi stepped closer, studying him like a blade he was checking for new nicks.
"You look… rested," he observed. A pause. "And fed."
Kanashimi's ears went pink. He straightened, trying to look anywhere except directly at his master. "The princess insisted on… hospitality. Tarts. Tea. Conversation."
"Conversation," Yoriichi repeated, the word flat but heavy. "In private. On her balcony. All day."
Kanashimi's flush deepened. "Yes, Master."
Yoriichi circled him slowly, the way he did when inspecting footwork. "The village is already speaking of it. Elder Mira claims you were 'dragged.' Others say the princess has finally chosen company."
Kanashimi's head snapped up, alarmed. "It was not— We only talked. And ate. Nothing… improper."
Yoriichi stopped in front of him, arms still folded. "And yet you return with sugar on your mouth and a smile you're trying—and failing—to hide."
Kanashimi's hand flew to his lip, brushing away the invisible evidence, face now scarlet.
Yoriichi let the silence stretch just long enough to make his student squirm.
Then: "Good."
Kanashimi blinked. "…Master?"
Yoriichi turned away, picking up his tea from the table as if the conversation were ordinary. "You carried a heavy burden on the surface. You returned unbroken, but not untouched. If the princess's company gives you lightness… I will not object."
He took a sip, then added without looking back, "But you will run the full binding sequence at dawn. For missing practice. And for allowing distractions."
Kanashimi bowed again, relief and dread mixing in his chest. "Yes, Master."
Yoriichi set the cup down. "Clean your face. Meditate. And tomorrow—train as usual. Distractions end when training begins."
Kanashimi turned to retreat to his room, relief flooding him that the interrogation seemed over.
But Yoriichi's voice stopped him cold at the doorway—calm, quiet, lethal.
"One more thing."