The sky, once choked with storm clouds and thick with thunder, began to crack open with streaks of soft gold and orange. Morning light spilled like ink over the ruins of Nagazora, painting fractured windows and shattered steel with the illusion of peace.
But peace had not yet come.
Sunlight touched roads still littered with debris—twisted metal, shattered glass, scorched rebar. The remains of buildings stood like broken ribs of a dying beast. Sirens no longer cried. Only the slow crawl of wind stirred the ash that coated the city in a colorless frost.
Honkai beasts roamed with sluggish persistence, remnants of a chaos not yet cleansed. Templars, chariots, and the twisted silhouettes of the corrupted dragged their feet across bloodstained stone, drawn only by instinct and the lingering trace of humanity left hiding.
And in the heart of that nightmare walked a boy who no longer knew what he was.
Yuzuki's blazer—what little remained of it—trailed behind him, torn and heavy with soot. His blade hung low in his hand, dragging through the dirt, its edge flickering faintly as if reluctant to fight for him. Every footstep left behind a fading echo of guilt.
He was silent as he moved, carving through the Honkai with dead-eyed efficiency. Strike. Step. Swing. His movements were mechanical.
Disconnected. Less a man fighting monsters—more a ghost fighting to disappear.
"...Not enough," he muttered.
His arms were scraped and red, the blood long dried and ignored. But none of it hurt. That was the worst part. His body had grown numb. The pain had stopped meaning anything.
So he let them hit him. Let them bite, scratch, claw. He welcomed the weight of their fury, begging silently to be torn apart if only for the comfort of punishment. Atonement. Justification.
"More," he whispered, stepping into another wave of beasts, too tired to dodge, too bitter to care.
But no matter how deep he pushed into the city, no matter how many monsters he felled, the guilt only grew heavier. His betrayal—unforgivable. His failure—colossal. The lives lost, the trust broken... how could he live like this?
He didn't want to.
And then—
Tap.
A finger pressed firmly against his forehead.
"Can you get even more stupid, Yuzu!?"
The voice cut through his haze like a blade.
Yuzuki blinked.
Standing before him, arms crossed and forehead furrowed, was Kiana Kaslana. Dirt streaked her face. Her ponytail was frizzed. Her shirt was torn in three places. But her eyes—blazing blue—burned clearer than any lightning strike he'd seen last night.
"...Kiana?" he muttered, confused, almost dazed.
"What the hell do you think you're doing!?" she shouted, shoving a Honkai beast away with one hand like it was a particularly annoying cat before stomping up to him.
"...Owning up to my mist—"
"You think this makes things better!?" she snapped, grabbing his collar and yanking him forward so hard their noses nearly touched. "You think you can just throw yourself into danger and everything's suddenly okay!?"
Her voice cracked.
"Where's the Yuzu I know, huh!? No way she's this dumb to think reckless heroism and public indecency is how we handle mistakes!"
"Wha—hey, I'm not flashing anyone!"
"Your chest was out."
"It was a scratch!"
"You have cleavage, Yuzu!"
"I'm a guy!"
A pause.
Kiana froze. Blinked once. Then:
"WHAT!?"
Yuzuki sighed, a helpless laugh bubbling up from somewhere deep in his chest. It came out light, quiet, but real. He smiled for the first time in what felt like hours.
"Thanks," he murmured, gently peeling her hand off his forehead, his voice steadier now. "Really. But, you know... I'm a man, right?"
Kiana's face turned ten shades of red. "YOU COULD'VE TOLD ME THAT EARLIER, YOU JERK!"
He just laughed harder.
___________________________________
The soft morning breeze danced along the edges of the rooftop, tugging at loose strands of violet hair and brushing away yesterday's ash. The sun had climbed higher now, gold spilling across Chiba Academy's scarred rooftop—the birthplace of broken friendships, stubborn bonds, and reluctant beginnings.
Raiden Mei stood at the edge.
Her arms clung tightly to herself—not out of cold, but as a desperate attempt to keep the pieces of her from falling apart. Her breath trembled, her shoulders more so. The tears on her cheeks shimmered in the morning light, catching like dew on shattered glass.
Below them, the city lay in ruins. Steel twisted. Glass lay in sheets. Smoke coiled in alleys where laughter once lived.
And within her chest, something splintered.
"…I'm a monster," she whispered.
The wind carried the words like a confession, fragile and trembling.
Beside her, Victor said nothing at first. His silhouette was steady, but his hands were clenched at his sides. He looked up—not at her, but at the sky, like it might have an answer. But there were no answers left in the clouds. Only silence. Only sunlight.
"…So what if you are?" he said finally, and it was the gentlest thing he'd said all morning.
Mei didn't respond. Not right away. Her gaze never left the ruin below, as though if she looked long enough, the truth would make itself clear.
"...A lot of people died because of me," she said, and each syllable cracked in her throat like breaking glass.
Victor took a breath.
"Do you really blame yourself?"
"I don't even know who I am anymore," she whispered.
"You're Raiden Me—"
"You don't know that!" she shouted, spinning on him, her voice high and raw. Her eyes burned—not at him, but through him. "How can you know that?"
She was breaking. And for once, she wasn't hiding it.
"I don't want to hurt anyone else," she said, the words almost childish in their desperation. "I don't want to be hated… I don't want them to leave me."
Her voice shook, soft and shaking and too small for a rooftop this high.
Victor didn't move. Didn't reach for her. He just listened.
"I don't want to lose myself," Mei said, quieter now. "I don't want to become that monster again…"
Slowly, painfully, she turned back to the ledge. Her legs trembled. But she stood.
Her eyes locked onto the horizon—the place where the sky kissed the broken city.
Victor stepped forward beside her, gaze following hers.
"…Whatever happens," he said, voice lower than the wind, "Whatever the future holds… you'll always be Raiden Mei to me."
The words lingered. Hung like a promise.
And then—
Mei smiled. Just a little.
And leaned forward.
The world tilted. Her hair fluttered behind her like wings of the night. Her body slipped from the edge in perfect silence, falling with the serenity of someone who'd finally let go.
And yet—
There was no crash.
Elysia, who was hiding behind the rooftop entrance, smiled. "... So that's your answer," She giggled as she glanced back to the spot where she jumped, seeing nobody.
Because the wind was joined by another sound—boots against stone, a leap with no hesitation. Victor didn't pause. He didn't think. He jumped.
Down, down, into the void with her.
He caught her mid-air, arms wrapping tightly around her body, shielding her from the world. And her arms—shaking, afraid—wrapped back around him.
There was no scream.
There was no panic.
Only the rush of wind and the sound of a heartbeat against another.
They fell together—faster, faster—until Victor shifted. His foot found the face of a lower building, and then another. His boots skidded, slid, screamed against crumbling concrete as he ran down the wall like a comet, momentum burning off with every stride.
Then—impact.
The street cracked beneath his final landing, dust blooming outward in a cloud of silence.
But they didn't fall.
Because Victor never let her go.
Mei clung to him, her face buried in his chest. Her tears stained the front of his uniform. Her sobs quieted against his heartbeat.
Victor stood tall in the center of the street, broken and battered but still standing.
His eyes lifted, tracing the sky above.
There were no words.
There didn't need to be.
High above, hidden just beyond sight, Eden watched from a nearby rooftop.
She pressed a hand to her chest, relief softening the tension in her brow. For the first time in hours, her breath came easier. Her golden eyes shimmered with something unspoken.
"...He's still here," she whispered. "He's still himself."
Behind her, the great silhouette of St. Freya's battleship loomed against the morning light—an omen of what was to come.