The transition was not smooth.
It felt like being swallowed by light and spat out into silence. When Seko and Kiyomi stumbled out of the rift, the first thing they noticed was the complete absence of a sun—no blue sky, no heat, no wind.
Only glowing terrain.
They were on a ridge overlooking a vast stretch of crystalline landscape—jagged cliffs and mountain-like structures, all made of semi-transparent light crystals that pulsed with dim luminescence. The entire planet was cast in a surreal twilight, with colors shifting between soft violets, ghostly whites, and deep reds. Every surface hummed with quiet energy, but no sound—not even their own footsteps—echoed.
Planet Kutol.
A land with no sun… only crystals mimicking the light, absorbing and emitting it in ways human science never understood. And most importantly, a place where a vampire like Seko could walk without fear of the morning.
Kiyomi staggered and nearly collapsed from exhaustion. Seko caught her, easing her down to sit against a crystal spire. Her skin was pale, her breath shallow. She had pushed herself far beyond her limits.
Seko stood, scanning the horizon. His eyes adjusted quickly to the glowing dark, and then he saw him.
The kid.
Sitting atop a tall crystal jutting out of the ground like a throne, the boy looked like he had been waiting for them for hours. Or maybe days. It was hard to tell in a place where time didn't seem to pass the same way.
"You're late," the kid said calmly, swinging his legs like a child... but his eyes were timeless. "Took the scenic route, huh?"
Seko narrowed his eyes. "You already knew we were coming."
The kid tilted his head, amused. "Of course. I was in Atama's head, remember? I watched the whole thing... popcorn and all."
Seko grunted, walking slowly toward the boy. "Why are you here?"
"Because this is the only place you wouldn't burn. And because... he wanted you to understand."
"Understand what?"
The kid hopped down effortlessly. "That even monsters need shelter. That sometimes, the best place for rebirth... is in the dark."
Seko didn't respond. He looked up at the sky—or what little of it there was. Black, starless, void. The light here came from below. Everything flipped. Upside down. Alien. Safe.
Kiyomi stirred behind him, mumbling something incoherent. Seko turned toward her, kneeling to place a hand on her shoulder.
"She needs rest," the boy said, stepping beside him. "These crystals can help. They radiate not just light, but memory."
Seko blinked. "Memory?"
"Every soul that touched this planet left an echo. It's not just safe here. It's alive."
He stepped aside and guided Seko to place Kiyomi's hand against a glowing crystal. It flickered, brightened slightly, and Kiyomi's breath steadied. Her fingers twitched. Her pain began to ease.
Seko stood again, confused and disturbed by the power of the place. He hated not knowing. Hated not understanding.
"She'll be okay," the kid assured him. "But you... you've got questions. And this planet won't answer them. Only you can."
Seko turned away from the glow, fists clenched. "I don't trust Atama."
The kid gave a quiet laugh. "Neither does he."
Silence followed. Then the kid added, "But maybe... that's the point."
And for a moment, standing on that silent glowing world, with the weight of blood still on his hands and the taste of rebellion in his throat, Seko allowed himself to stop thinking.
Just for a moment.
He looked up at the void sky, feeling no sun, no heat… but for the first time in a long while—
He didn't feel like he was burning.
"I've made an artificial source of light," came Atama's voice, sudden and sharp—echoing through the crystalline valley like it had been waiting for the perfect moment to interrupt.
He wasn't standing. He wasn't floating. He just was—perched casually on a ledge of refracting glass-like stone, chewing on something—probably another cursed sulfur snack. The faint glint of mischief lived in his eye, but this time, it carried a weight beyond sarcasm.
"Made these light frequencies collide with this sphere of crystals... Had to check all the angles," he continued, waving his hand dismissively as if he hadn't just reshaped the physics of an entire solar spectrum. "Phew! Took some trial and error, but I might've actually done it."
Seko turned to him, arms crossed, face unreadable—but his body was taut. Ready. Suspicious.
Atama pointed at the crystal dome above them—a new structure, layered over what looked like an experimental light core suspended in the air. "Maybe, just maybe, I can turn you harmless around the Sun and UV stars, boy. Imagine that. A vampire immune to his greatest weakness. Not by magic. Not by curses or divine loopholes... but by pure, raw science."
He let that sink in for a moment before shifting his tone—lower, more grounded.
"But I need trust first," Atama said, his voice now stripped of jokes. "And I know you won't do that."
Seko didn't respond at first. The silence between them was full of unfinished thoughts, unfinished lives, unfinished versions of who they could have been. Trust? That wasn't a luxury Seko had ever afforded anyone. Especially not to a man like Atama—who knew everything and yet told nothing. Who wore idiocy like armor and hid brilliance like a dagger in his coat.
Atama gave a small smile. It wasn't cocky. It wasn't smug. It was tired.
"You don't have to like me," he added, finally standing and brushing imaginary dust from his pants. "But maybe—just maybe—this world needs people who don't burn in sunlight anymore."
Then, with a lazy stretch and another obnoxious yawn, he turned and began to walk away, muttering under his breath, "Now if only someone could get the damn popcorn recipe right on this planet…"
Seko didn't say a word. But for the first time, his eyes didn't glare.They calculated.
Seko's eyes narrowed as the fading crystalline glow reflected off his pale skin, scars and resolve etched into his very stance.
"I have to avenge my monk family…" he said, voice low, rough like cracked stone."…and I can do that with my weaknesses doubled as well."There was no bravado. Just absolute certainty. That kind of pain doesn't bluff.
Atama paused, half-turned, the wind from the crystal plains brushing through his coat. He looked over his shoulder, eyes sharper than any blade forged by man or god. And then, with a calm that froze the breath in the air, he said:
"People there treat you like a God… You speak with the vibe of a Devil…Are you the Devil?Or are you the God?"
For a moment, even the artificial sun above seemed to dim—caught between the light and the shadow of what Seko truly was… or what he might become.
Kiyomi stirred slowly, her fingers twitching against the cold crystalline ground of Kutol. The artificial light flickered briefly above her like a memory trying to reassemble itself. She blinked, once, twice—her vision sharpening into focus, her breathing steadying. The air was different here… quieter, but not enough to silence the roaring storm inside her.
Her body ached—gravity, wounds, exhaustion—but her spirit burned hotter than ever.
Then, without warning, she pushed herself upright, her hair messy, her eyes sharper than steel. A twisted aura began to radiate around her—a dark red shimmer of raw, repressed wrath. Even Seko turned to glance. And then came her voice.
Low. Controlled. Terrifying."I have to kill Black Dragon."
It wasn't a request. It wasn't even a vow.It was a declaration—pure, undiluted killing intent that thickened the air around her like the scent of fresh blood.
Her gaze didn't shift. Not to Seko. Not to Atama. She was speaking into the void, directly to the memory of the monster who outclassed her, humiliated her, spared her.
And that was the worst part.
Atama, biting softly into a light crystal candy, only raised a brow."Oh? Someone woke up grumpier than usual."But beneath the sarcasm, even he could feel it:
Seko, seated nearby, turned his head sharply toward her. But when he looked at her—her gaze was calm, brows slightly furrowed in confusion.
"…What?" she asked, more to herself than to anyone else. "Did I say something?"
There was no malice in her tone, no intensity behind her voice—only a strange hollowness, like the words had escaped on their own.
Seko narrowed his eyes. He stood and walked over slowly. She looked up at him, searching his face for a clue.
He gently patted her back. "It's nothing," he said flatly, though his eyes lingered longer than necessary. He sensed it—the echo of a buried wrath, something she herself hadn't caught up to yet.
Kiyomi just blinked, then looked away, uneasy. Something had surfaced... and it wasn't entirely hers.
The Kid's voice echoed from outside the crystalline chamber, urgent but filled with a strange, quiet excitement."Hey… come look at this."
Seko and Kiyomi exchanged a brief glance—hers still weighed by the fog of waking, his unreadable as always—then stepped outside.
The view before them was surreal.
Beneath the faint, fractured glow of Kutol's suspended light crystals, an entire civilization stretched along the uneven terrain. Makeshift structures, cobbled together from crystal debris, rusted metals, and remnants of technologies long abandoned, formed an organic sprawl of what could only be described as slums.
The people who lived there looked up at them. Scarred faces, worn hands, eyes shadowed with fatigue—but behind all that: resilience. A shared weight. These weren't ordinary settlers.
"These are criminals?" Kiyomi muttered.
The Kid nodded solemnly. "Yeah. All of them. Every last one." He looked over the horizon, his tone softening. "But not for the reasons you'd think."
As they watched, a gaunt woman offered stale bread to a crying child. A limping old man fixed a broken wheel for a stranger. Two ragged teens laughed, chasing each other around crystal pillars like they didn't know the world had ended.
Depressed, yes. But not broken. Not cruel. Not monsters.
Seko squinted into the distance, arms crossed. Kiyomi's expression softened into something thoughtful. The Kid simply stood between them, eyes reflecting the low glimmer of a place forgotten by stars.
This was Kutol—the last light in exile.
And so the chapter closed… not with fire or death, but with the quiet revelation of life still breathing in the shadows.