The moment Ichiro's voice echoed through the marble halls of Nirvalen's headquarters, time itself seemed to stop.
"Ren Akatsuki has returned."
Her words didn't just travel across the room—they shattered it.
Papers fluttered to the floor. The air trembled. The senior council members, once composed and untouchable, froze mid-gesture as though the world had turned to ice. For a few heartbeats, no one spoke. Then the silence cracked, replaced by disbelief and fear that had long been buried under pride.
"W-what did you say?" one of them stammered, his voice breaking.
"Ren… Akatsuki?" another repeated, as if saying the name might dispel the ghost.
"He's… alive?"
The chamber that once pulsed with authority now throbbed with unease. Memories of their betrayal—of the day they abandoned him—surfaced like knives twisting in their hearts.
The eldest of them finally exhaled, the weight of decades pressing on his shoulders. "Bring him here," he said. His tone was calm, but his trembling hands betrayed the truth. "If this is real… we will meet him now."
Ichiro bowed low, her silver hair brushing against her shoulder. "Understood."
She turned to the enormous door at the end of the corridor. Her pulse quickened as she placed her hand on the handle. She drew in a breath, steadying herself.
"Mr. Ren Akatsuki," she called. "You may come in."
The doors opened with a low, drawn-out creak that felt like the growl of a sleeping beast.
Instantly, the temperature in the room plummeted. The soft hum of the lights wavered. A shadow crawled across the walls, stretching long and deep, swallowing the warmth from the air. Every breath grew heavier, every heart slower.
And then—he walked in.
Ren Akatsuki.
He no longer looked like the man they remembered. His black coat brushed the floor with every step, and his eyes—cold, steady, and dark as the abyss—pierced through every soul present. A faint wisp of shadow curled from his boots, dissipating like smoke in the chill.
Behind him followed Althric, tall and regal, his silver hair glinting faintly under the lights. His presence alone felt noble, ancient—like a knight carved out of legend.
Each step they took echoed in the still chamber.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
"What is this… pressure?" someone whispered. "It's suffocating…"
"It's calm," another breathed, "but I can't move."
The aura rolling off Ren wasn't wild. It wasn't even violent. It was something far worse—controlled power, absolute and silent. The kind that reminded everyone present that they were standing before someone who had walked through hell… and come back stronger.
They stood from their seats, uncertain, their pride battling with fear. Then, slowly, one of the older members bowed. The others hesitated—but when Ren's gaze swept across them, cold and unflinching, they followed.
One after another, the most powerful figures in Nirvalen bent their heads before the man they had once cast aside.
Ichiro's eyes widened. She had worked under these people for years and had never seen them bow to anyone. Not to the S-Ranks, not even to foreign leaders.
But here they were—kneeling.
Ren said nothing for several seconds, letting the weight of their submission sink in.
Then, in a voice that cut through the silence like a blade of ice, he asked,
"Are you done?"
The words hit harder than any shout. They dripped with quiet contempt, heavy enough to make the air vibrate.
Ichiro flinched. "M-Mr. Ren Akatsuki! You should show respect to the higher-ups!"
Ren's eyes shifted toward her, expression unreadable.
"Miss Ichiro," he said, his tone calm—too calm. "I respect you. You've always stood for what you believed in."
His voice darkened. "But this is not your place to speak."
That single sentence silenced the room more effectively than any command.
One of the councilmen, trembling slightly, lifted his gaze. "Mr. Akatsuki… we deserve your anger. We know what we were—arrogant, corrupt, blind. We never stood by you. We called you dangerous, unstable… even a monster." His voice cracked. "But when Raviel attacked, we saw the truth. We saw you fight for us while we hid. We realized—if not for you, Nirvalen would've been erased."
Another spoke up, his hands shaking. "When you disappeared, we called you a coward. We cursed your name. But Daiki told us everything. That the price we escaped was paid by you. That your sacrifice saved us all. And when your comrades stood up for you—when they refused to forget—you changed us. You made us realize what we'd become."
He bowed his head lower. "We've tried to change since then. We want to protect humanity… with you. Please, Mr. Akatsuki. Let us stand by your side this time."
Their words trembled in the still air, raw and desperate.
Ren listened without interrupting. His eyes flickered—not with warmth, but with a quiet understanding of pain too deep to show.
When they finished, he spoke at last.
"I don't care," he said. His tone was soft, yet final—like a door closing.
The words froze them in place.
"I don't care about your apologies. I don't care about the guilt that eats you now." He stepped forward, and with each step, the room dimmed further. "All that matters is humanity—and those I swore to protect."
He stopped before the council table. Shadows stirred faintly around his boots.
"If you want me to see you as allies, then prove it. Protect the weak. Help them grow. Strengthen this world. Do that… and I'll accept your help."
He leaned forward slightly, voice lowering to a whisper that still carried across the room. "But…"
The floor cracked faintly under his feet. The shadows surged. His presence shifted from cold calm to suffocating terror.
"If you betray humanity again—if you exploit the helpless or return to your corruption—don't expect mercy."
The darkness behind him expanded, swallowing the light. His eyes burned faintly violet as his voice turned razor-sharp.
"I will find you. And I will end you."
The silence afterward was total. Even breathing felt forbidden.
Finally, one of the higher-ups forced out a reply, voice trembling but sincere. "We understand. You have our word… Shadow Monarch."
Ren didn't respond to the title. He simply turned and walked out, his cloak sweeping through the air behind him. Althric followed, silent and steady.
When the doors closed, the chamber erupted in ragged breaths and shaking hands.
"Was that… truly him?" someone whispered.
"That wasn't a man," another muttered. "That was… something beyond human."
The youngest among them, eyes wide, spoke softly. "He came from the Abyss. He saw what we couldn't even imagine—and he survived it. He doesn't need us anymore."
An older member leaned back, exhaling. "Whether he needs us or not isn't the point. He's chosen his side—humanity's. If we can't stand with him, then at least we must never stand against him."
For the first time in years, there was no arrogance in the council chamber—only resolve. They understood now.
To defy Ren Akatsuki was to defy the shadow that protected the light.
Outside, the corridor felt calmer—but not by much.
Althric walked beside Ren, his boots clicking softly on the marble floor. "My king," he said quietly, "you were rather harsh with them."
Ren didn't answer immediately. His gaze was distant, fixed somewhere beyond the walls. Then he said, "Yes. I was."
He paused, turning his head slightly toward Althric. "But tell me—would you trust someone who abandoned you when you were broken?"
Althric shook his head.
Ren continued, his tone deep and calm. "People can say they've changed, but words are air. Actions prove truth. Those men broke my faith once. I won't give them another chance to shatter it again."
Althric placed his hand on his chest, bowing his head. "You are right, my king."
Ren nodded faintly. His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes softened—just a flicker of sorrow hidden beneath the steel.
Inside the council chamber, silence lingered long after they left.
"They say he used to smile once," one of them murmured.
The youngest nodded slowly. "That man doesn't smile anymore. What he's seen… took that away."
"But maybe," said the elder at the end of the table, "it didn't vanish. Maybe it's just waiting for the right time to return."
For the first time in years, their meeting ended not with orders or politics—but with determination.
They would earn redemption not through words, but deeds.
Hours later, Ren stood in the corridor outside the medical wing. The hum of machinery echoed faintly through the sterile air. The scent of antiseptic mixed with the faint warmth of sunlight filtering through the tall glass panes.
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, silent.
"How long will we wait here, my king?" Althric asked, glancing toward the sealed doors.
"I'm not sure," Ren replied quietly. "But while we wait, check in with Master Kuro and Daiki. See how far the preparations have come."
"As you command." Althric bowed and departed, his cloak sweeping lightly across the polished floor.
Ren remained alone. The faint buzz of lights filled the silence. His mind wandered—to the battle, to Raviel's fall, to the faces of those he couldn't save.
When the door beside him opened, Ichiro appeared. Her expression had softened since the meeting.
"Ren," she said gently, "news of your return is spreading. Since Raviel's defeat, the governments of other nations have reached out. They're sending their hunters—high-rankers, even captains—to help. The world is standing with us and wants to help us."
Ren didn't respond. He only gave a slight nod. His gaze was fixed on the door at the end of the hallway—the one leading to Yume.
Moments later, the doctor emerged, clipboard in hand. "Are you with Miss Yume Akegami?"
Ren straightened. "Yes. Is she alright?"
"She's stable now," the doctor said, relief in his tone. "Her shadow energy was nearly depleted, but we treated her. She just needs rest. You may see her for a few minutes."
Ren exhaled softly. "Thank you."
He pushed open the door quietly. The room was bathed in soft, pale light from the window. Monitors beeped steadily. Across the rows of beds, injured hunters slept peacefully, recovering from the aftermath of war.
At the far end, near the window, Yume lay resting. Her breathing was shallow but steady, her hand resting lightly on the blanket.
Ren walked to her side, pulled the chair closer, and sat down. He glanced at the monitor—his brow furrowed. Her pulse was erratic. Her shadow energy fluctuated dangerously.
Without hesitation, he placed his hand over hers.
A faint wisp of darkness rose from his palm, curling like smoke. The energy flowed into her body—not violent, but gentle, controlled. The monitor's lines steadied. Her breathing evened out. The tension in her fingers eased.
Minutes passed in silence.
Then, she stirred.
Her eyelashes fluttered open. She blinked, disoriented at first, then focused on the familiar figure beside her.
"…Ren?"
He looked up, the faintest trace of a smile crossing his face. "You're awake."
She pouted weakly. "You could've told me you were here. You scared me."
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
That simple apology carried more warmth than any speech could.
Yume stared at him for a moment, then smiled faintly. "You're smiling again."
Ren blinked, slightly surprised. "Am I?"
"Don't lose it," she whispered. "That smile… you don't know what it means."
Her voice trembled with emotion. For a brief moment, Ren's heart stumbled. He reached forward, taking her hand in his.
"There's something I need to say," he began quietly. "Back then, when I told you to forget me—when I said I didn't need you—I lied." His voice faltered. "I never wanted to say those words. I never wanted to leave you. I just…"
Before he could finish, she sat up and wrapped her arms around him. Her grip was gentle but firm, trembling slightly.
"I don't want to hear it," she whispered against his shoulder. "Not anymore. That's all in the past. You're here now. That's enough."
Ren froze for a second, then slowly returned the embrace.
"Thank you," he murmured, voice low, almost breaking.
They stayed like that, unmoving. The steady rhythm of the monitors filled the silence—a fragile moment of peace between storms.
Outside, the sky over Nirvalen darkened.
Black clouds gathered, thick and unrelenting. Thunder rumbled across the horizon. Bolts of lightning split the sky, painting the city in fleeting white flashes.
Hunters on patrol looked up, gripping their weapons. Civilians hurried indoors.
"Something's coming…" one of them whispered.
And far above them, within the swirling storm, a shadow stirred—vast and ancient.
The calm was over.
The war for humanity's final dawn… was about to begin.