The next three days passed like a blur.

  They slipped by in fragments Yukito couldn’t later separate—morning light through his window, dusk settling over Havencrest, night again. The Temple bell marked hours he didn’t bother to count, its sound fading in and out of his awareness.

  He didn’t speak much.

  When he did, it was only enough to answer questions he couldn’t avoid. Yes. No. I’m fine. Words without weight, offered automatically, like a reflex he hadn’t bothered to turn off.

  Every day of those three days, he went to the hill.

  The path was worn enough that his feet found it without thought. He would sit at the top, where Havencrest spread out below him, and the sky felt wider than anywhere else in the city. Sometimes he cried. Sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes he just sat there, staring at nothing until his thoughts thinned out and left him alone.

  Takumi noticed.

  He didn’t follow.

  Takumi spoke to him once near the end of the second day.

  It was about meals and schedules and what the Temple expected next.

  Yukito listened.

  Nothing changed.

  Takumi stayed closer to the Temple. He listened when Hunters spoke. He answered when his father asked questions. He stood where he was told to stand and did what needed to be done, because that was what he knew how to do when everything else felt unsteady.

  Mr. Renshō spoke to them both.

  With Takumi, it was practical—quiet guidance, reassurance wrapped in routine. He spoke of Ojiro’s record. Of the preparations being made. Of the ceremony that would come.

  With Yukito, it never lasted long.

  Mr. Renshō tried once. Then again.

  Yukito listened without really hearing, eyes drifting past him toward the hill in the distance. He nodded at the right moments. Said thank you when it was expected.

  The third night, Yukito stayed on the hill longer than usual.

  The village below was lit again, lanterns repaired and rehung, streets cleared enough to look almost normal from a distance. Havencrest always did that—patched itself together quickly, smoothed over the damage until it could pretend the night hadn’t happened.

  The sky above him was clear.

  Stars spread wide across it, sharp and cold. The same constellations Ojiro used to point out, lying flat on his back, hands folded behind his head like nothing in the world could touch him up there.

  Yukito sat with his knees drawn in, bandaged arm resting uselessly against his side.

  He didn’t cry this time.

  He thought about the rubble.

  The weight that wouldn’t move.

  The sound of Ojiro’s voice, confident and easy, right before everything went wrong.

  He thought about how the archon had screamed—and flown away.

  Untouched.

  The thought settled into him slowly, solid and undeniable.

  It’s still alive.

  The world hadn’t corrected itself.

  Nothing had been balanced.

  Yukito stared out at the sky, jaw tightening.

  “That monster needs to die,” he said aloud, the words quiet and steady in the open air.

  They didn’t sound like a promise.

  They sounded like a conclusion.

  The ceremony to honor the fallen Hunters was held the following morning.

  The Temple had been prepared for it.

  A raised stone platform stood at the base of the Temple steps, broad enough to hold only those meant to speak. Upon it stood three figures: the Elder, robed and still as stone; the Mayor of Havencrest, hands folded carefully in front of him; and Mr. Renshō, straight-backed in Hunter attire, his expression composed by long habit.

  No one else joined them.

  The training grounds stretched out before the stage, cleared and swept clean. Hunters stood in ordered ranks across the open stone, armor polished, eyes forward. Civilians gathered behind them in quiet clusters, kept at a respectful distance.

  At the edge of the grounds stood the memorial.

  Massive stone slabs rose vertically from the earth, arranged in a long line against the outer wall like silent sentinels. Names were carved deep into their surfaces—some worn smooth by time, others sharp and new, their edges still catching the morning light.

  Yukito stood among the Hunters.

  But his gaze wasn’t on the stage.

  It was on the nearest slab—on the freshly carved name Ojiro Katsuragi, etched into stone alongside countless others.

  Not elevated.

  Not separate.

  Just added.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  The Elder spoke first.

  His voice was calm and even, carrying the weight of ritual more than grief. He spoke of balance. Of duty. Of the long history of Hunters standing between Havencrest and the dangers beyond it.

  “This is the price of order,” he said. “And it is not paid in vain.”

  The Mayor stepped forward next.

  “We gather today,” he said, his voice warm and practiced, “to celebrate our fallen heroes—those who gave their lives so Havencrest might endure.”

  He spoke of unity. Of rebuilding. Of strength in the face of loss.

  Yukito didn’t listen.

  Mr. Renshō was the last to speak.

  “Ojiro Katsuragi served this city with honor,” he said. “He understood the risks of being a Hunter—and he accepted them.”

  Yukito’s hands curled slowly into fists.

  “He acted without hesitation,” Mr. Renshō continued. “He stood when others could not. Because of his actions, lives were saved.”

  People bowed their heads. Some wiped at their eyes. A few murmured quiet words of respect.

  Yukito did not bow.

  He stared at the stone slab, at the clean lines of the newly carved name. At how easily it fit among the others.

  Then his gaze dropped to his bandaged arm.

  It stung now—a dull, persistent ache beneath the wrappings, sharp enough to remind him it was still there. Still real.

  Yukito clasped his injured forearm, fingers tightening around the scar beneath the cloth, and reminded himself of the decision he had already made.

  I will kill that monster.

  When the ceremony ended, it ended cleanly.

  The crowd dispersed. Conversations turned to repairs, to safety, to what came next. Hunters broke formation and returned to their duties with practiced efficiency.

  Life resumed with unsettling speed.

  Later that night, Yukito left the barracks.

  The halls were dim, lanterns turned low, shadows stretching long across stone floors worn smooth by years of boots and routine. Doors lined the corridor—Hunters asleep behind them, some injured, some already scheduled to return to duty by morning.

  Yukito passed them quietly.

  With every step, the thought returned unbidden.

  Next time.

  Next time won’t happen.

  Next time, no one gets hurt because of me.

  Next time, I won’t hesitate.

  He pushed the thought away and kept moving.

  Outside, Havencrest was quieter than it had been in days. Lanterns glowed softly along the streets, casting warm light that did nothing to chase away the unease clinging to the air. Repairs had already begun—boards nailed into place, shattered stone cleared from walkways, damage smoothed over just enough to let people sleep.

  Too fast.

  Yukito moved through familiar streets, his boots echoing softly. He passed homes with doors shut tight, windows dark. He wondered who lived there. Who would be awake the next time something fell from the sky?

  Who wouldn’t make it out?

  The thought tightened in his chest.

  At the edge of the training grounds, he slowed.

  The memorial wall stood there in the half-light—massive stone slabs rising vertically from the earth, their surfaces carved deep with names. Some were old, weathered smooth by time and rain. Others were sharp and new.

  Yukito stepped closer.

  He found the name easily.

  Ojiro Katsuragi.

  The letters were clean. Precise. Already indistinguishable from the rest.

  Yukito raised his hand, stopping just short of touching the stone. His bandaged arm throbbed faintly, the sting a quiet reminder of how he’d been too late.

  I hesitated.

  He turned away.

  That was when a voice cut through the quiet.

  “I knew you were up to something idiotic.”

  Yukito stopped.

  “But I never thought you’d be stupid enough to desert.”

  Takumi stood several paces behind him, partially lit by a nearby lantern. His arms were crossed, posture tense, eyes sharp despite the late hour.

  Yukito exhaled slowly. “Move.”

  Takumi didn’t. “You think walking out solves anything?”

  “It’s better than standing here and waiting for it to happen again,” Yukito said. He didn’t turn around. His eyes stayed on the dark stretch of road beyond the village edge.

  Takumi stepped closer. “You think that thing you’re feeling right now goes away if you chase it?”

  Yukito finally faced him. “I think it gets worse if I don’t.”

  Takumi’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t how it works. You don’t just decide to hunt something like that. There are rules. Protocol. Ways we’re supposed to go about this.”

  “Rules didn’t save Ojiro.”

  The words landed hard between them.

  Takumi’s hands clenched at his sides. “And neither will this.”

  Yukito took a step forward.

  Takumi shifted with him, blocking the path. “You’re not leaving,” he said.

  “I am.”

  “Then you’ll have to go through me.”

  For a heartbeat, neither moved.

  Then Yukito tried to step past him.

  Takumi reacted on instinct.

  He caught Yukito’s arm and turned, sweeping his leg behind him and driving him down in one fluid motion. Yukito hit the stone hard, breath knocked from his lungs as Takumi pinned him flat, knee pressed between his shoulder blades, forearm locked across his back.

  The same hold.

  The one from the alley.

  “Don’t make me do this,” Takumi said through clenched teeth.

  Yukito didn’t struggle.

  That was what made Takumi hesitate.

  Pinned beneath him, Yukito spoke, his voice rough but steady.

  “I’m not running.”

  Takumi froze.

  “I have to do this,” Yukito said, his voice breaking despite himself.

  Silence stretched.

  Takumi loosened his grip slightly. “You’re serious.”

  “Yes,” Yukito said. “I’m going to find that monster and kill it.”

  Takumi sat back, releasing him slowly. Yukito pushed himself up, wincing as his bandaged arm protested, but he didn’t look away.

  “It flew off as if nothing happened,” Yukito said. “Like it’ll just do it again. Somewhere else. To someone else.”

  Takumi’s gaze drifted to the memorial wall behind them. To the names carved into stone.

  “I can’t let that happen,” Yukito said. “I won’t.”

  Takumi scrubbed a hand through his hair, breathing hard. “This is reckless.”

  “Then stop me.”

  Takumi didn’t.

  He looked at Yukito—really looked at him—and something in his expression shifted. Not in agreement. Understanding.

  Takumi hesitated, jaw tight. Then he reached out and offered Yukito his hand.

  Yukito didn’t respond.

  Takumi straightened. “If you go alone, you won’t last.”

  Yukito didn’t move

  He let out a slow breath. “I’m coming with you.”

  Yukito’s eyes flicked up. “Takumi—”

  “I’m not letting you do this alone,” he said. “Not after everything.”

  They stood there, the village silent around them, lantern light stretching long shadows across the stone.

  Yukito turned toward the road.

  This time, Takumi walked beside him.

  Behind them, Havencrest remained lit and standing—patched together, already moving forward.

  Ahead of them, the road disappeared into darkness.

  And neither of them looked back.