Morning came carefully.
As if the sun itself wasn't sure it was welcome.
Light filtered through the narrow window in pale strips, cutting across the stone floor. Kuro woke slowly this time—not jolted by whispers, not drowning in cold. Just… tired. Deeply, bone-weary tired.
He stared at the ceiling for a long moment.
No voice.
No pressure at the back of his mind.
Just silence.
"…Huh," he murmured.
A chair creaked.
"You're alive," Lucien said from the corner. "Excellent. I was about to start poking you with a stick."
Kuro turned his head. Lucien was slouched sideways in a chair, boots on the wall, an apple halfway eaten. He looked like he hadn't slept at all.
"…You stayed up all night?" Kuro asked.
Lucien shrugged. "Someone had to. Mika does the intense brooding thing, I do the paranoia thing. We're a balanced team."
Kuro pushed himself up, blankets slipping to his lap. His body still felt strange—lighter somehow, but unstable, like a cracked cup that hadn't leaked yet.
"Where's Mika?"
"Talking with the Guildmaster. Again." Lucien grimaced. "About you. About it. About whether we're all doomed."
"That bad?"
Lucien hesitated. "…Worse."
Before Kuro could ask more, the door opened.
Mika stepped in, expression tight—not angry, not panicked, but sharply focused. The kind of look he wore before battle.
"Kuro," he said immediately. "How do you feel?"
Kuro searched himself. "Tired. Quiet. Like something stepped back."
Mika nodded slowly. "That tracks."
Lucien straightened. "Oh no. I hate when things 'track.' Explain."
Mika shut the door behind him. "The Guildmaster confirmed it. The outer presence—Elvastia's counterpart, or whatever it's become—isn't just circling the city anymore."
Kuro's stomach dropped. "It's closer?"
"Yes," Mika said. "But not physically."
Lucien frowned. "Then how?"
Mika looked directly at Kuro. "Through you."
The room went still.
Kuro's fingers curled into the sheets. "…I didn't open anything. I swear."
"I know," Mika said quickly. "This isn't about blame."
[He's telling the truth.]Elvastia's voice returned—quiet, tense.[You didn't invite it. It's reacting to you. Like a fracture responding to stress.]
Lucien ran a hand through his hair. "Okay. Cool. So the cosmic horror has a crush on Kuro's soul. What's the plan?"
"The plan," Mika said, "is distance."
Kuro looked up sharply. "Distance?"
"The Guildmaster believes the connection strengthens when you're emotionally unstable or isolated," Mika continued. "So they want to move you to the inner sanctum. Alone. Constant wards. Minimal contact."
Kuro's chest tightened.
"…Alone?"
Lucien's face twisted. "Yeah, no. That's a terrible idea."
Mika didn't disagree. His jaw clenched. "I told them that."
Kuro's voice came out smaller than he meant it to. "And?"
"And I overruled them," Mika said.
Both Kuro and Lucien stared.
"You can do that?" Lucien asked.
"I reminded them who cleared the Black Rift three winters ago," Mika replied flatly. "And who they still owe."
Silence.
Mika stepped closer to Kuro. "You won't be isolated. Not like that. We stay close. We anchor you. If that thing wants access, it doesn't get an empty space to grow in."
Kuro's eyes burned. "You'd risk that? For me?"
Mika didn't hesitate. "Yes."
Lucien crossed his arms. "I mean, I complain a lot, but I'm also not leaving. Just so we're clear."
[Annoying as he is… proximity helps.]Elvastia added reluctantly.[You're more you when you're with them.]
Kuro swallowed hard.
"…Thank you."
Mika's expression softened, just a fraction. "There's more."
Kuro tensed again.
"The Guildmaster believes the figure you saw—the one who said he sent you here—was an Echo," Mika said. "A remnant tied to your origin. Not Elvastia itself, but not human either."
Lucien muttered, "Because of course it wasn't simple."
Mika continued, "If it manifests again… it may try to push you toward remembering."
Kuro whispered, "And if I do?"
No one answered right away.
That was answer enough.
Kuro looked down at his hands. They were steady—but they didn't feel entirely his.
"…I'm scared," he admitted.
Mika reached out without thinking, resting his hand over Kuro's wrist. Solid. Warm. Real.
"That's okay," he said quietly. "Fear means you still care about staying yourself."
Lucien nodded. "And worst case scenario, we knock you out and drag you back. Very heroic. Very traumatic."
Kuro let out a shaky laugh.
The ground beneath them was cracked now. Nothing felt stable. But the fault lines hadn't swallowed them yet.
And as long as they stood together—
Maybe they wouldn't.