For the first time in days, Persetta's square was alive.
Memento soldiers gathered alongside civilians, drawn together by something that almost felt like hope—though no one dared call it that. By recommendation, a new leader would be chosen that night—something that hadn't happened since Memento was established under Maro. The thought lingered uneasily, like a stone left unturned.
Only the golden glow of lanterns lit the square. The moon hid behind a blanket of clouds, taking its stars with it. A large wooden stage—resting on tiny wheels—sat at the edge of the plaza, its sides painted with Memento's phoenix. The image looked freshly redone, yet somehow older than before.
Tsuki entered alongside Azumi and Geo. Hatori already stood waiting near the front, his posture stiff, eyes fixed anywhere but the crowd. The square was packed shoulder to shoulder, the hum of low conversation bouncing off stone walls worn thin by war. Groups clustered in half-lit corners, voices hushed but urgent.
"Danzo's the obvious choice."
"What about Hajima? He's been here the longest."
"Longer doesn't make him Maro."
The name pressed down in Tsuki's chest.
Some glanced toward the northern gates—the entrance to Persetta. Others whispered "Tona" under their breath, hopeful and unsure, like saying it too loudly might remind the world he still wasn't here.
Azumi caught Tsuki's eye. "Feels different without him here."
Tsuki nodded. She didn't trust her voice.
A horn sounded—sharp and sudden—and the crowd fell quiet as if pulled under water. The higher-ups stepped onto the stage, Danzo and Hajima among them. Tsuki felt her shoulders straighten without thinking.
"Tonight," Hajima announced, stepping forward, "we honor Maro's tradition. We place Memento's leadership in the hands of all of you."
The formality of his words carried weight. A few people stood straighter. Others crossed their arms, as if bracing for something they weren't sure they wanted.
An older man stepped forward. Ginger hair. Freckles scattered across the face of his shorter frame—Tiero.
"The candidates are as follows," he said. "Danzo—right hand of Maro, former Stalker. Hajima—leader of Phantom Squadron, commander during Zimala's defense." He paused, then nodded to himself. "And myself. A capable warrior, ready to lead Memento to victory."
No cheers followed. Only expectation—thick and unkind.
Danzo stepped forward. His eyes moved slowly over the crowd, lingering on familiar faces. Fallen ones too.
"I never wanted this day to come," he said. "Not like this. I won't stand here and promise to be Maro. No one could." His voice held, but only barely. "But I would give everything I have to carry his vision forward. I won't stop until Alden is free. Just as he wanted."
Applause broke out—scattered at first, then stronger. Judgment Squad clapped louder than most. Geo lifted two fingers to his mouth and let out a sharp whistle, drawing a few startled laughs that didn't quite mask the ache beneath them.
"Hajima," Tiero said, gesturing. "Your turn."
Hajima approached the front of the stage. He cleared his throat once, eyes sweeping the square with the practiced calm of a soldier who had buried too many friends.
"I won't keep it long," he said. "I don't see myself as the leader of Memento itself. My place is with Phantom." He glanced toward Danzo. "I trust him to lead our rebellion."
The square erupted—not with applause, but confusion. Gasps. Murmurs. Agreement and disbelief colliding as Hajima stepped back without another word.
Tiero hesitated, then moved forward again. "Well," he muttered, forcing a smile, "I won't be nominating Danzo. As good a man as he is. I believe I have what it takes to lead Memento to victory."
This time, the applause was thinner and uneven. The names rang out soon after. Danzo. Over and over. Tiero, occasionally—almost apologetically.
Danzo exhaled at the front of the stage. Hajima clasped a hand on his shoulder. Their eyes met. Danzo gave a slow, steady nod.
Tsuki raised both fists into the air before she realized she'd done it. Geo followed, shouting Danzo's name. Hatori smiled softly, tension easing from his frame. Azumi slipped an arm around him in celebration, grounding him in the moment.
Danzo wasn't just a leader. To them—he was still an honorary Judgment Squad member.
And for the first time since Maro's fall, the future didn't feel completely hollow.
An hour had passed since the election and short celebrations. The square had begun to die down, but some lingering citizens and Memento soldiers remained.
Tsuki had slipped away long before the crowd thinned, now sitting in HQ in the war-room that Maro had sat everyday—giving orders and planning.
Danzo now sat in his chair, though, uncomfortably. Knowing the task of living up to Maro's legacy would be grueling.
Tsuki had her head down, while Danzo sipped a cup of freshly brewed tea. "Got to say, I was pleasantly surprised when you asked to meet with me. More so, I was glad to get out of the celebration. Never been one for crowds."
Tsuki raised her head, opening her mouth, but her words caught. Danzo tilted his head.
"You alright?"
"Yeah… I'm just—worried is all. Tona's been gone for entire days, coming back covered in blood."
Danzo took another sip, setting it down gently onto the wooden table before him. The flames of the lanterns were dimmed slightly, and the war table covered in maps and notes from the day of the Raids.
"I heard a rumor," Danzo began, "of the Ghost in Alden Central. Apparently, he saved two ability users the other day. They were being tracked like dogs to be put down."
Tsuki clenched her fists and shook her head. "Walking into Alden Central alone is a death wish. I don't understand."
Danzo glanced at the door to the room, where sounds echoed from down the hall. He kicked his feet up, before returning his attention to Tsuki.
"Because right now, Tsuki, that's where he thinks he belongs."
"Why're you letting him do this? Letting him hunt APC squads until he burns out?"
"I'm not letting him do anything. Once Tona has made up his mind, there's no stopping him. You know that."
Her hands curled into fists at her sides. The helplessness and inability to reach someone who had been there for her, tore into her heart.
Danzo's expression softened. "I've fought alongside that man long enough to know this—when Tona's in this state, you can't pull him back by force. The more you push, the further he'll go. The thing we can do is hold the line here. So there's something to come back to."
Tsuki sighed, her eyes falling back down to the floor. Danzo's soft gaze shifted at his next sip, as though it was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.
"If you hear anything… anything at all, please let me know."
He gave a short nod in response. "You'll be the first to know, Tsuki."
With that, she turned to leave, her boots hitting the floor heavier than usual. She didn't like that there wasn't an answer—and hated that she'd accepted it. But for now, it was all she had.
Her steps led her outside where the cold midnight air had shifted into place. The moon had shown itself from beneath the blanket, leaving a day-long slumber.
She found herself on a bench—the same bench she had seen Tona from just a night ago.
She waited—but he never came. The closer she tried to reach, the further he went.