The palace courtyard was already alive.
Steel rang against steel in disciplined rhythm as knights ran drills across the stone pavement. The smell of iron, sweat, and frost mixed into something familiar.
Umma crossed the courtyard swiftly, her talons clicking sharply against the stone as her wings folded tight against her body. The massive bird drew attention instantly.
The knights of the Fourth Division noticed her at once.
More importantly, they noticed him.
Toki.
One by one, training halted. Conversations died mid-sentence. Not out of fear—but out of respect.
They didn't stop him.
They didn't question him.
They knew that when their Commander moved like this—he was already several steps ahead of everyone else.
Without a word, the knights struck their fists against their chests in salute.
A sharp, unified sound.
Toki did not slow.
He returned the gesture as he passed, fist to chest, his expression unreadable. No speech. No acknowledgment beyond that single motion.
At the foot of the palace steps, Umma came to a halt.
Toki slid down from her back and rested a hand against her neck, fingers threading gently through her feathers. The tension in his shoulders eased just slightly.
"Wait nearby," he murmured. "Stay alert."
Umma lowered her head in understanding, eyes never leaving him.
Lilith watched the exchange quietly. There was something intimate about it—not affectionate in a childish way, but built on trust earned over time.
Together, they climbed the palace steps.
Inside, the atmosphere shifted immediately.
The warmth of the torches contrasted sharply with the cold dawn outside. Marble floors reflected golden light as they moved swiftly through corridor after corridor. Doors opened before them without question.
The guards knew Toki.
They had seen this before.
And every time he entered the palace like this, it meant trouble.
Toki stopped before the tall double doors of the Assembly Hall.
For just a fraction of a second, his hand hovered over the handle.
He pushed the doors open.
The conversation inside cut off instantly.
Smith stood near the long table, posture stiff. Lorelay was beside him, arms crossed, her expression sharp and attentive. Bernard leaned against the table's edge, brow furrowed in thought, while Harold stood upright, hands folded behind his back, ever the image of disciplined restraint.
At the head of the table sat King Mathias, his presence commanding even in stillness.
And beside him—
A man Toki did not recognize.
Black hair, neatly kept. Crimson eyes that gleamed unnaturally in the torchlight. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze was anything but. It slid immediately toward Lilith, sharp and assessing—like a blade testing armor for weakness.
Toki noticed.
The king was the first to speak.
"Toki," Mathias said, his voice calm but curious. "What brings you here so early?"
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"Have you uncovered something new regarding your investigation?"
Smith's eyes flicked toward Toki with visible tension.
He remembered the last time Toki had burst into this room unannounced.
And the argument that had followed.
And the one before that.
Every time, the outcome had been… unpleasant.
Bernard straightened, interest lighting his expression.
Harold remained silent, but his eyes followed Toki carefully.
Lilith felt it too—the shift in the room. The invisible pressure that settled when too many powerful people shared the same space.
Toki stepped forward.
"yes."
A pause.
"But what I'm about to say concerns all of you."
The stranger's gaze hardened, lingering on Lilith a second longer than necessary before returning to Toki.
Smith inhaled sharply, clearly about to object—then stopped himself.
Bernard hid a faint smile.
Harold shifted his weight, thoughtful.
Mathias leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled.
"…Very well," the king said at last. "Proceed."
Toki exhaled slowly.
Only then did he allow himself to feel the weight pressing against his chest.
Every word matters now.
He reached into Lilith's bag and withdrew what remained of the Star Collector's hand.
The air in the chamber changed instantly.
The severed limb was wrapped in cloth, but even so, an unnatural pressure radiated from it. The faint shimmer of residual energy crawled along the exposed bone.
Several people recoiled instinctively.
Toki held it up.
"I found the Star Collector's weakness," he said calmly.
His voice did not rise. It did not need to.
"I was right."
Silence followed—thick and suffocating.
Toki's gaze shifted toward Smith.
"Now," he continued, "I need the artifacts I requested. Immediately."
Gerald Smith went pale.
All color drained from his face as if someone had pulled the blood straight out of him. Sweat poured down his temples, soaking the collar of his uniform. His lips parted, but no sound came out.
This was real now.
Too real.
Before Smith could speak, another voice cut through the room.
"And who," the man with black hair said slowly, "decided that you get to demand artifacts as if they were children's toys?"
Toki turned sharply.
"Who do you think you are?" he snapped back, indignation flaring openly now.
The man stepped forward.
One step.
Then another.
Each footfall echoed like a verdict.
Up close, his presence was suffocating. His crimson eyes bore into Toki with naked contempt, as though he were examining filth that had dared to speak.
His voice dropped.
"My name is Connor Berg," he said.
"I am the Patriarch of the Church of the Goddess Moonlight."
A few of the knights stiffened.
Lilith felt her stomach drop.
"And I will not allow sacred artifacts," Connor continued, "to fall into the hands of a disrespectful, demon-tainted mongrel like you."
Before anyone could react—
Connor reached out.
His hand tangled in Lilith's hair.
He yanked—hard enough to force a sharp intake of breath from her throat.
She staggered half a step, fingers clenching instinctively—but she didn't cry out.
Fear locked her voice away.
"And you," Connor said, turning his gaze down at her with icy disapproval, "were supposed to be observing him."
He gave her hair another sharp pull.
"Not wandering the city at night like a disobedient child."
Lilith's hands trembled.
Her chest felt tight.
Connor leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear.
"Have you forgotten who you serve?" he whispered.
"It seems you are long overdue for… reeducation."
That was when Toki snapped.
In a single, violent motion, he grabbed Connor's wrist.
The grip was immediate.
Absolute.
"HOW DARE YOU," Toki roared, his voice cracking like thunder.
The pressure increased.
Bone ground against bone.
Connor's expression flickered—just for a fraction of a second.
Pain.
The room froze.
Toki stepped closer, eyes burning.
"I don't care who you are," he said, each word shaking with restrained fury.
"If this is the holiness you preach—this cruelty you dare call divine—then I want nothing to do with it."
His grip tightened further.
Connor's jaw clenched.
Still, he smiled.
Smith finally found his voice.
"P-please," he stammered, stepping forward. "There's no need for this. Surely we can resolve this another way—"
"Silence, Smith," Connor snapped without even looking at him.
His crimson eyes never left Toki.
"This idiot you call your apprentice," Connor continued, venom dripping from every syllable, "is an even greater embarrassment than you."
Smith flinched as if struck.
Connor laughed softly.
"Did you truly believe I would ever agree to give him artifacts?" he sneered.
"This is precisely why the Church of Moonlight holds a monopoly over them—and not your pitiful Order."
He leaned in slightly, ignoring the pain in his wrist.
"With men like you in charge," Connor said coldly, "it's no wonder this kingdom crumbles more with each passing day."
The words lingered.
Toki shoved Connor with both hands.
The force of it echoed through the hall—boots scraping violently across marble as Connor stumbled backward, barely keeping his balance. The torches flickered from the sudden movement, shadows twisting across the stone walls .
"You can say anything you want about me," Toki snarled, stepping forward without hesitation, his voice trembling with rage he no longer bothered to restrain.
"But keep my master's name out of your filthy mouth."
The room froze.
Toki's chest rose and fell sharply. His hands were clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone white, nails biting into skin.
"And who do you think you are," Toki continued, eyes burning, "to judge the king who carries the weight of this kingdom on his shoulders?"
He turned his glare outward, including everyone.
"Who gives you the right to look down on knights who bleed every day just to keep this land from collapsing?"
His voice cracked—not from weakness, but from something deeper.
"I won't let you mock my friends," he growled. "My comrades. The people who fight beside me."
Another step forward.
"I swear," he said, low and feral, "I will make you swallow every word you just spat out."
Connor straightened slowly.
For a moment, the pain in his wrist was visible. Then it vanished—buried under arrogance.
He smiled.
Not wide. Not loud.
A thin, cruel curve of the lips.
He walked back toward Toki, deliberately closing the distance, his presence heavy and suffocating.
"Would you like me," Connor said in a low, mocking tone, "to teach you what respect truly means, boy?"
Before Toki could answer, a firm voice cut in.
"Connor," King Mathias said, rising from his seat. His tone was controlled, but steel lay beneath it. "There is no need to take this any further."
Harold stepped forward as well, his expression tense but sincere.
"Toki," he said, meeting his gaze directly, "I understand your anger. I truly do. But fighting while consumed by it will only lead to regret. Don't cross a line you can't step back from."
Connor laughed quietly.
Then his eyes dropped.
A flicker of realization crossed his face.
"…You don't even have your sword," he said, voice dripping with contempt.
"What kind of commander walks into conflict unarmed?"
Toki didn't blink.
"I would never dare," he replied coldly, "to raise the sword I swore to protect my lady with—against a dog like you."
The words struck hard.
His lip curled.
"Steel is sacred," Toki continued. "And filth like you doesn't deserve it."
He inhaled once.
Slow.
Controlled.
"Vermin like you," he said quietly, "gets taught with a stick."
He turned his head sharply.
"Bernard," he called. "Throw me that broom in the corner."
Smith's face drained of color.
"Bernard—don't!" he shouted. "Stay out of this!"
Too late.
Bernard had already moved.
With a swift, decisive motion, he hurled the broom across the hall. It spun end over end before landing perfectly in Toki's hands.
"Sorry, Smith," Bernard said calmly, his voice unwavering.
"But Toki is my friend."
He looked straight at Connor.
"And even if the entire Church of Moonlight stands against him," Bernard continued, "I'll stand on his side."
Smith turned desperately toward Harold.
Harold let out a slow breath, rubbing his forehead.
"I can't believe I'm saying this," he muttered.
"But Bernard's right."
Smith swallowed hard and looked to the king.
Mathias didn't speak.
But his silence was louder than any command.
Toki is not alone.
Toki tightened his grip on the broom.
With a sharp twist and a violent crack, he snapped the head clean off.
Wood splintered. Fragments scattered across the floor.
What remained in his hands was a long shaft—its broken end jagged, .
Connor's smile vanished.
For the first time, uncertainty crept into his eyes.
Slowly, deliberately, Connor reached for his sword.
Steel slid free with a cold, ringing hiss.
The blade caught the torchlight, gleaming like judgment.
"So," Connor said quietly, crimson eyes locked onto Toki, "you've chosen violence."
Toki twisted aside just in time.
Connor's blade cut through the air where his throat had been a heartbeat earlier, the edge hissing past with lethal intent. Marble cracked beneath Toki's boots as he slid back—
—and then pain exploded through his ribs.
Connor's kick slammed into his side, knocking the breath from his lungs and sending him skidding across the floor.
Toki coughed once, then laughed through clenched teeth as he pushed himself up.
"Oh," he spat, eyes lifting slowly. "So you fight dirty."
His gaze hardened.
" It suits you."
Connor didn't answer.
He advanced again. Toki met him head-on, the broken broom shaft deflecting steel again and again—each impact sending vibrations screaming up his arms.
But the wood was failing.
Every clash shaved it shorter.
Splinters flew.
Tch.
Too short.
Connor noticed.
A thin smile touched his lips.
He moved faster.
Toki stepped forward regardless, forcing Connor back with sheer aggression, even as the weapon in his hands diminished with every exchange. The broom shaft was little more than a jagged spike now—barely longer than his forearm.
Connor struck low.
His leg swept out—
A trap.
Toki saw it.
Now.
Connor's foot hooked behind Toki's ankle, yanking hard.
Toki let himself fall.
In the same motion, he snapped his raised leg down, locking Connor's shin mid-sweep. His other foot slammed down—not on the floor—
—but on Connor's sword.
Steel rang violently as the blade was pinned.
Using the pressure, Toki launched himself forward.
The world narrowed.
Just Connor's face.
His eyes widened.
Too late.
Toki drove the remaining shard of wood straight toward him, aiming for the throat—
"ENOUGH!"
The shout tore through the hall like thunder.
Something slammed into Toki's arm.
Pain—sharp, blinding.
The attack stopped inches from Connor's neck.
Smith stood between them.
His hand was raised.
And impaled.
The splinter had buried itself deep into his palm, blood pouring freely as it soaked into his sleeve and dripped onto the marble below.
The room froze.
Toki's breath hitched.
"Master—"
Smith didn't look at him.
His jaw was clenched, teeth bared in agony—but his voice was steady.
"That's enough," he said again, louder now.
He turned his head toward Connor, bowing stiffly despite the blood running down his arm.
"Patriarch Connor," Smith said, forcing the words out, "I apologize for my apprentice's behavior."
Toki stared at him.
"No—"
"I will take full responsibility," Smith continued. "All of it."
The splinter was still lodged in his hand.
Smith didn't even flinch.
Then he turned.
And struck Toki across the face.
The slap echoed through the chamber.
Toki staggered back, stunned—not by the pain, but by the command behind it.
"And you," Smith shouted, his voice finally cracking, "go home."
His eyes burned with anger and fear and something dangerously close to heartbreak.
"Your service for today is more than sufficient."
Silence.
Toki stood rigid.
His hands trembled.
"I—" he began.
"GO," Smith barked.
Lorelay rushed forward immediately, grabbing Smith's arm.
"Hold still," she ordered, already tearing cloth free. "You idiot—do you have any idea—"
She wrapped the wound quickly, her hands steady even as blood continued to seep through the bandages.
Connor watched in silence.
Then, slowly, he slid his sword back into its sheath.
The sound of steel disappearing rang louder than any scream.
He stepped past Toki, close enough that Toki could feel his breath.
Connor leaned in.
His voice dropped to a whisper meant only for him.
"Watch how you step," he murmured.
"Or I'll make sure your little Utsuki never even sets foot in the royal selection again."
Toki didn't move.
Connor straightened and walked away, robes swaying calmly as if nothing had occurred.
Only when the doors closed behind him did the tension finally break.
Toki bowed deeply.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, not looking up. "To all of you."
No one answered.
He turned and left the chamber alone.
Each step echoed heavier than the last.
Behind him, Smith watched the door long after it closed, blood still staining the floor.
Lilith ran after him.
Her footsteps echoed through the palace corridors as Toki pushed open the final doors without looking back. Cold air rushed in, sharp and clean, carrying away the stifling tension of the hall behind them.
Outside, Toki stopped.
He lifted two fingers to his lips and whistled.
The sound was sharp.
Almost instantly, the wind answered.
Umma came before them. Stone cracked softly beneath her talons as she folded her wings, eyes immediately locking onto Toki.
She felt it.
The tightness in his shoulders.
The violence still humming beneath his skin.
They mounted her back .
No salutes.
No words.
Umma took off in a powerful leap, clearing the palace walls in a single breth. The gates of the courtyard passed them behind in a blur. The knights below barely had time to look up.
Lilith held onto him tightly, her grip firmer than usual—not out of fear of falling, but out of fear of losing him to his own thoughts. Umma adjusted her pace instinctively, legs beating steady and calm, trying to soothe the tension coiled inside her rider.
Minutes passed.
Then, finally—
"I'm sorry," Lilith said quietly.
The words were almost stolen by the wind.
Toki didn't turn his head.
"Sorry for what?" he asked, his voice controlled—but hollow. "I'm the one who started a fight in the middle of the palace."
Lilith swallowed.
"I'm sorry for how my father behaved."
The sentence landed like a blow.
Toki stiffened.
His breath caught before he could stop it.
"…Your father?" he repeated slowly.
For the first time since they'd left the palace, he turned to look at her.
"Connor is your father?"
His mind raced.
Berg.
The name surfaced immediately.
"Wait," he said, voice low. "Connor Berg. Lady Rosalin Berg carries the same family name…"
Realization struck him fully now.
"That means you and Rosalin are—"
"Yes," Lilith said softly. "We're sisters."
The admission carried no bitterness in her tone.
Just quiet truth.
"She's the favored daughter," Lilith continued. "The pride of the Berg family. That's why she was chosen for the royal selection."
Her fingers tightened in the fabric of Toki's coat.
"And I was left behind," she said. "To become a priestess of the Church of Moonlight."
"…I respect you even more now," he said suddenly.
Lilith blinked and looked at him.
"What?"
"With a family like that," Toki went on, a grim edge to his voice, "it's no wonder you've lived a hard life."
A faint, humorless smile crossed his lips.
"You turned out better than they deserved."
Lilith let out a quiet breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
For a moment, she allowed herself to lean closer to him.
Then she remembered.
"But now," she said carefully, "you're the one with bigger problems."
Toki didn't respond.
"Smith slapped you," she said. "Because of us."
Toki looked ahead again.
"I'd rather Smith slap me a hundred times," he said without hesitation, "than let that bastard spit on everything I've built."
His jaw tightened.
"On my friends. On my comrades. On the people who trust me."
The wind roared louder as Umma ran faster.
"We're on our own now," Toki said quietly.
Lilith searched his face.
"…Does that scare you?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"No," he replied. "It clarifies things."
He rested a hand against Umma's feathers, grounding himself.
"For the first time," he said, "I know exactly where I stand."
Lilith nodded slowly.
"Then," she said, "I guess we'll face what comes next together."
Toki didn't answer.
But he didn't pull away either.
They had already chosen their side.