Toki slipped out of the manor as quietly as a shadow peeling itself from the wall.
The door closed without a sound behind him. No footsteps followed. No voices stirred. The house remained asleep—warm, unaware, safe for a few more days.
Cold air wrapped around him instantly, sharp enough to bite. Snow reflected the moonlight in muted silver, turning the path ahead into a pale ribbon stretching into the dark. Toki exhaled slowly and began walking.
He did not summon Umma.
Too loud.
Too many eyes.
Tonight, silence mattered more than speed.
So he walked.
One step after another, boots pressing into fresh snow, leaving behind a trail no one would bother to follow.
He did not remember when the manor vanished behind him.
His body moved, but his mind wandered far ahead—circling thoughts he had already chased a hundred times, polishing them until they felt smooth enough to hold without cutting himself.
Three days.
The Star Collector's voice echoed faintly in his memory, calm and smug.
Three days until retribution.
Three days until blood.
Toki's lips curved slightly.
"Three days," he murmured to the empty road.
The capital rose before him —towers looming like watchful giants, gates standing open, unguarded in their arrogance. The city slept. No bells rang. No screams echoed. No metallic scent of blood lingered in the air.
Nothing had happened.
Toki slowed as he entered the streets.
Empty.
Still.
Peaceful enough to be insulting.
He stopped in the middle of the road and turned in a slow circle, eyes scanning rooftops.
No corpses.
No panic.
No signs of massacre.
A quiet laugh escaped him.
"So it really starts on the third day," he muttered. "You weren't lying."
His fingers flexed unconsciously, phantom pain flaring where flesh had once been torn apart.
"I didn't even tell them," he continued softly. "Not Bernard. Not the others. Not the division."
What would he have said?
There's a monster coming. Trust me. I cut his hand off.
He snorted.
"They didn't believe me when I waved his severed arm in front of them," he said, voice flat. "Why would they believe me if I begged?"
He pictured it—himself kneeling in the council chamber, blood still fresh on his clothes, demanding evacuation.
They would hesitate.
They would debate.
They would wait.
And waiting would get people killed.
Today was quiet.
Tomorrow would be quiet.
And on the third day—
Toki exhaled sharply, breath fogging the air.
"…On the third day," he finished, "everything breaks."
He slipped into the palace grounds with practiced ease.
No guards challenged him. No alarms sounded. At this hour, even the capital pretended to be mortal.
He crossed the courtyard slowly, boots crunching against snow-dusted stone.
"What's the point of worrying so much?" he said to himself suddenly.
The words surprised him with how light they sounded.
He stopped beneath a barren tree, its branches black against the sky.
"I'll enjoy these days," he decided. "I'll spend time with my division. I'll eat. I'll laugh."
His gaze drifted upward.
"Maybe we'll decorate a tree for the Snow Festival," he added, almost fondly. "Back home."
The image came easily—Tora arguing about ornaments, Kandaki reaching too high, Ozvold pretending not to care while fixing everything.
It felt… real.
Warm.
He smiled.
"And when the day comes," he continued calmly, "I'll just repeat what I did last night."
Run.
Fight.
Kill.
Over and over.
"I'll run," he said, voice growing steadier. "And run. And tear the Star Collector apart piece by piece."
His fingers curled into fists.
"If something isn't broken," he whispered, "why fix it?"
Even if it didn't work the first time.
Even if it took dozens.
Hundreds.
I can always start over.
A strange sense of relief settled in his chest.
"I'll be like water," he murmured. "Dropping, again and again, until I erode the obstacle."
The thought thrilled him.
Scared him.
But mostly—
It comforted him.
Without warning, Toki stepped forward and launched himself into motion.
The air cracked violently as it compressed before him, a thunderous boom tearing through the quiet courtyard. Snow exploded beneath his feet as he accelerated in a straight line—then twisted sharply, altering trajectory mid-stride.
He ran.
Fast.
His body reenacted the battle instinctively—dodging invisible strikes.
Lines gouged themselves into the snow behind him.
Again.
Faster.
He pushed harder.
Too hard.
His foot slipped.
For a fraction of a second, balance vanished.
Then the world tilted violently and he crashed, skidding across the ground, snow tearing at his clothes and skin. Pain flared bright and sudden as he came to a stop.
Silence returned.
Toki lay there, staring at the sky.
His sword lay a few feet away.
His revolver rested farther still, half-buried in snow.
Slowly, he lifted his arm.
The bandage around his wrist had come undone.
Blood seeped out lazily, running along his fingers, dripping into the snow below.
Red blooming against white.
For some reason—
The sight struck him as funny.
A sharp huff escaped his chest.
Then another.
Before he realized it, he was laughing.
Not softly.
Not gently.
He laughed until his ribs ached, until his breath came out in broken bursts, until tears burned at the corners of his eyes.
"So that's how you felt," he gasped, staring at his bleeding hand. "When I blew your arm apart."
He wiped his eyes, still grinning.
"Don't worry," he said lightly, as if speaking to an old friend. "I'll end your suffering soon."
"Maybe when I bring your whole body," he added. "Then maybe the cultists will finally learn."
Snow crunched as he sat up.
"Maybe then," he continued quietly, "they'll stop acting like the world belongs to them."
His gaze hardened.
"Maybe then Connor will learn not to challenge the wrong person."
He reached for his sword.
The blade gleamed faintly in the moonlight.
He ran a finger carefully along the edge.
Sharp.
Cold.
"Poetic," he mused. "Cutting my own throat with my own sword."
His eyes drifted to the revolver.
"…But this is faster," he admitted. "And less painful."
He paused.
"…Does it even matter?"
The question hung in the air.
"I'll die either way," he said flatly. "That's the one thing I've always been good at."
The words didn't hurt.
That frightened him more than they should have.
Toki slowly stood.
He brushed snow from his clothes, movements unhurried, deliberate.
"No," he said suddenly. "Not yet."
He picked up the revolver, turning it in his hand, feeling its familiar weight.
"I still have work to do."
The laughter was gone now.
Only focus remained.
"Three days," he whispered again.
He looked toward the city.
Toward the future.
Toward the loop that waited patiently to close around him.
"I'll show you everything I have," he murmured. "Every mistake. Every path."
His reflection stared back at him from a nearby window.
Smiling.
"Because unlike you," Toki said softly, "I don't have the privilege of dying."
The wind stirred.
Snow fell.
Footsteps brushed against the snow behind him.
They were light—too light to belong to a guard in armor, too deliberate to be the wind. Each step pressed down carefully, as if whoever approached did not wish to be heard, yet wasn't afraid of being noticed either.
Toki didn't turn.
His first instinct dismissed the sound entirely.
A cat, he thought distantly. One of the half-feral creatures that prowled the palace grounds at night, clever enough to avoid humans, bold enough to steal warmth wherever it could.
He exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the empty courtyard ahead.
Then he said—
"Zîtt."
The sound cut the air sharply.
A voice followed, smooth and familiar.
"If you didn't want me to come here," it said, faintly amused, "there are other ways to tell me that."
A pause.
"Though," the voice added lightly, "I have to admit—I'm oddly flattered to be treated like a cat ."
Toki froze.
Not visibly.
Just enough for the cold to seep a little deeper into his bones.
Lilith.
He turned his head slowly, deliberately, as if sudden movement might reveal something he hadn't prepared to show. At the same time, without looking, he slipped his injured hand behind his back, fingers curling inward, hiding the dark red stain soaking into the loosened bandage.
Lilith stood a few steps away.
Moonlight traced the sharp lines of her face, silvering the snow caught in her dark hair. She looked relaxed—hands loose at her sides, posture casual—but her eyes missed nothing.
"…Lilith," Toki said calmly. "What are you doing here?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"No 'hello'?" she asked. "I'm hurt."
"How did you know I left the house?" he asked instead.
Lilith studied him for a moment longer than necessary.
Then she sighed.
"As much as I hate admitting this," she said, folding her arms, "I didn't."
Her expression shifted—annoyance edged with reluctant respect.
"Utsuki asked me to come after you."
The name struck harder than any accusation.
Toki looked away.
For a moment, the city seemed very far away.
That was… mature of you, he thought. Putting your pride aside. For my sake.
The thought twisted uncomfortably in his chest.
"…I really needed to be alone tonight," he said quietly.
Lilith didn't argue.
Instead, she changed direction entirely.
"So," she said, her tone sharpening, "what are we going to do about the Star Collector?"
The question hung between them, heavy and unavoidable.
"It's strange," she continued. "There were no reports today. No victims. No disturbances."
Toki's answer came without hesitation.
"We're not going to do anything."
Lilith blinked.
"…That's a bad joke," she said flatly.
He met her gaze.
"I'm serious."
Silence stretched.
Snow drifted down between them, soft and indifferent.
Lilith's expression darkened.
"No," she said. "You're lying."
She took a step closer.
"You always lie like this when you've already made a decision."
Toki exhaled through his nose.
"I'm telling the truth."
He straightened, squaring his shoulders.
"No one wants to help us," he continued. "They'd rather investigate on their own than listen to warnings."
His voice remained even, controlled.
"So we'll let things resolve themselves."
Lilith's jaw tightened.
"People will die," she said bluntly.
Something flickered behind Toki's eyes.
"I'm tired," he replied, more sharply now. "I'm tired of doing everything."
He clenched his hidden hand, feeling warmth seep between his fingers.
"I'm tired of carrying this expectation."
The words surprised him with how honest they were.
"These next few days," he continued, voice lowering, "I'm going to enjoy some peace too."
Lilith's shoulders slumped slightly.
For a moment, she looked genuinely sad.
"You're right," she said quietly. "It is selfish of us to keep putting everything on you."
She nodded once.
"I respect that."
Then she stepped closer.
"But I don't respect letting innocent people die just to prove a point."
The words landed deeper than she intended.
Toki felt it immediately.
His gaze softened—just a fraction.
"I'm not trying to prove anything," he said.
You don't know, he thought. You don't know how much I'm about to lose.
He swallowed.
"Lilith," he said gently, "trust me."
He stepped closer now, lowering his voice.
"Just a little longer," he whispered. "And no one will have to suffer anymore."
Her brows knit together.
"I'll fix everything," he promised. "Just give me time."
He searched her face.
"…Can you trust me?"
Silence.
Snow fell.
The city slept.
Finally, Lilith nodded.
"…Alright."
She exhaled slowly.
"Do you want to go back home?"
Toki shook his head.
"I'll stay here," he said. "I'm waiting for my people."
His voice grew firmer.
"I owe them a real training session."
Lilith turned away.
"Fine," she said. "Then I'll tell your princess you're safe."
She took a few steps, then stopped—without turning back.
"If you change your mind," she said softly, "tell me."
"There's more than one way to solve a problem."
Then she walked away.
Her footsteps faded into the snow.
Toki remained alone.
The silence felt heavier now.
Her words echoed in his mind.
More than one way.
Something about it unsettled him.
"I'm not trying to prove anything," he muttered.
His fingers tightened.
She has no idea how much I'm about to sacrifice.
No one does!
He lifted his gaze toward the moon.
A smile slowly formed on his lips.
"But you're right about one thing," he said softly.
"There are many ways to solve a problem."
His smile widened—sharp, unwavering.
"And I'll try all of them."