Archive of Our Own

The moment the wooden sword sliced through the morning mist, a golden light leaked from its tip.

Akito froze, lowering his gaze to his hands. In that instant just now, something had clearly surged from his fingertips, only to quickly dissipate into the cool air. He tried swinging the wooden sword again, but nothing happened.

"Hey, Akito! Spacing out again!"

A child from the same village charged at him with a wooden sword. Akito dodged to the side, his movements far more agile than those of his peers. He reversed his grip and lightly tapped the other child's wrist; the wooden sword clattered to the ground. The child pouted, picked up the sword, and ran off, muttering something Akito didn't catch, nor did he care.

He continued repeating his sword-swinging motions.

Whenever he held a sword, something inside his body would quiet down, while simultaneously growing restless. He didn't yet know what word to use to describe that feeling.

Akito tucked the wooden sword into his belt and headed toward home. The village wasn't large—a few dozen households scattered across the gentle slope, chimney smoke mixing with the morning mist. Passing by the stream, he crouched down to splash water on his face; the cold made him shrink his neck back. On the water's surface was reflected the face of a ten-year-old child, cheeks smudged with a bit of mud, bangs soaked with sweat and clinging to his forehead in strands.

"Akito!"

It was his mother calling. She stood beneath the eaves, waving at him: "Come eat. I made pancakes today."

Pancakes. Akito's eyes lit up, and he ran home quickly.

The house was filled with the smell of butter and honey. His father and older sister were already seated at the table. His father was a painter, his hands always stained with pigments, and today was no exception—a bit of cobalt blue still lodged between his fingers. His sister was one year older than Akito, currently braiding a piece of straw rope; when she saw him come in, she flicked the end of the rope lightly at him.

"Off practicing with your sword again?" Mother set the plate on the table. "Hold up your hands, let me see."

Akito obediently held out his hands. There were several blisters on his palms, one or two of which had burst, oozing blood. Mother frowned, took out ointment from the cabinet, dabbed a bit, and applied it to his palm. A cool sensation seeped into his skin along with the herbal scent; Akito drew in a breath.

"Rest for the day after you eat."

"No." Akito said immediately. "Practice continues in the afternoon."

"You child." Mother placed the cup of milk before him. "Why practice in such a rush? It's not like anyone's competing with you."

Akito bit into a pancake without answering. The sweetness of honey melted on his tongue—he liked that taste. But that restless feeling came again, as if something were anxious to get out, eager to do something. He clenched his fist; the feeling was so close, right beneath his skin, yet he couldn't grasp it.

He didn't know what it was. He only knew that when he held a sword, he felt complete.

The next morning, several strangers arrived in the village.

Akito had been chopping firewood in the yard when he heard the sound of horse hooves and voices outside. He set down the axe and peered through a gap in the fence. Three white horses stood at the village entrance, and upon their backs sat several people wearing matching white robes, their chests embroidered with golden crests. He had seen that pattern before—a small chapel in the village where the pastor always carried a book bearing that same emblem.

They were messengers from the Church.

Everyone in the village came out, whispering among themselves. Akito tried to squeeze in to see what was happening, but his mother grabbed his wrist. Akito looked up at her and found her staring at the messengers with an expression he had never seen before—grave and somber.

"Shinonome Akito." The lead messenger spoke, his voice not loud yet clearly reaching everyone's ears. "The Goddess has delivered an oracle. You have been chosen as the new Hero."

Akito blinked, his first instinct being to look behind him. Besides his sister and father in the yard, there was no one else. He pointed at his own nose: "Me?"

"You." The messenger dismounted and walked up to him. "The oracle says that in this village, there is a child with orange hair and green eyes who shall become the one to defeat the Demon King."

"Demon King?" Akito repeated the word. He had heard it in stories—that monster dwelling in the distant north, said to have many eyes, whose breath could freeze an entire city. But that was just a story, and he was just a child from a remote village.

"You've got the wrong person. I'm only ten years old; I've never even held a real sword."

The messengers exchanged a glance. The lead messenger was about to speak when a voice came from the back of the group.

"There is no mistake."

Akito followed the sound.

A person walked out from the end of the procession. He wore the same white robe as the other messengers, his hood covering most of his face. But unlike the others, there was something protruding from his hood. As he drew closer, Akito finally saw clearly.

Long ears, two of different colors, fluffy and soft, their tips gently swiveling toward his direction.

Those were not human ears.

The person removed his hood, revealing a young face. His eyes were silver-gray, the slightly upturned outer corners giving them a somewhat aloof appearance, and beneath his left eye was a very small mole. His hair was tied back with a white ribbon, hanging down to his waist.

"My name is Aoyagi Touya." The person said, his voice not loud but sufficient for everyone present to hear. "As you can all see, I am a Nightmare, and also a priest of the Temple."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Nightmare—Akito had heard that name before. A creature that fed on nightmares. Yet the youth before him appeared neither fierce nor terrifying; he simply stood there, posture proper and refined, looking like nobility one might only encounter in a royal court.

Touya turned toward Akito, his gaze falling upon him in a way that made Akito feel as though he were being scrutinized.

"You possess very strong fire and light element affinities. When you practiced with your sword earlier, you must have felt it."

Akito subconsciously tightened his fist. This person had been observing him before without him ever noticing.

"Fire and light have a natural suppressive effect against demons." Touya continued, his steady tone restoring a sliver of calm to Akito. "The Demon King's power originates from darkness and fear, and your power is precisely its opposite."

"But I'm only ten years old."

"That is why the journey will be long. I will accompany you."

Akito furrowed his brow; he didn't like having his life arranged by others. But just as he was about to refuse, Touya preemptively crouched down.

Akito was startled. Touya had originally been much taller than him, but now their eyes were level. Touya looked at him closely, the upturned corners of his eyes appearing somewhat distant, yet his gentle tone dissolved some of that distance.

"I am not asking you to agree immediately; you may take your time to think. But I have been observing you for a long time, Akito. Every morning you practice by the stream, never missing a day even when it rains. You are far stronger than your peers, and even more promising than older Hero candidates."

Akito lowered his head embarrassedly and kicked at a pebble by his foot. Being evaluated so directly to his face made him somewhat uncomfortable.

"The Demon King's power is growing." Touya's voice dropped to a level only Akito could hear. "If left unchecked, within three years, the northern barrier will collapse. When that happens, many villages will vanish—including this one."

"What?! Then why me?"

"Because you are the most suitable candidate." Touya paused. "And because I believe you are the one most likely to succeed."

Akito looked at him. Those metallic-colored eyes held no ripples, no pity, no manipulation—he was simply stating a fact.

The yard was quiet for a long time. His family stood in the doorway, no one speaking.

Akito lowered his head, looking at his palm. The blisters had already scabbed over. He clenched his fist, feeling that restless power beneath his skin. He remembered the light that had leaked out when he swung his sword yesterday.

"Can I come back afterward?"

"You can. Once the journey ends, you may return here."

Akito raised his head, looking at his parents standing in the doorway. Father set down his paintbrush and nodded at him. Mother's eyes were red, but she was nodding too. Sister bit her lip and mouthed "Go for it" at him.

"Then I'll go with you."

When he made this decision, he didn't fully understand what it meant. He only felt that the power inside him had finally found an outlet, and the alien youth before him was the one who had opened that door for him.

Packing took the entire morning. Mother prepared changes of clothes; sister stuffed a large bag of snacks into his pack; father hung a real iron sword at his waist. Akito thought the messengers would rush him, but Touya simply stood outside the yard waiting, never once looking inward.

Akito shouldered his pack and walked up to Touya. Touya said nothing more, only nodding respectfully toward Akito's family. Then he took Akito's hand and led him onto the journey.

Akito glanced back. Mother, Father, and Sister were still standing at the yard gate, waving at him. Mother wiped her eyes with a handkerchief; Father had his arm around her shoulders.

He walked along the road, turning back every so often, until the village became a small dot on the hillside and then vanished beyond the horizon.

Wind blew past his ears, carrying the coolness of early autumn. Akito took a deep breath, smelling the scent of leaves and earth, and a hint of an unfamiliar fragrance coming from the figure ahead of him. That was Touya's scent—like old books and burnt-out candles, somewhat bitter, somewhat cold.

"Where are we going?"

"First to the Royal Capital." Touya's voice came from above his head. "Then northward."

"How long will it take?"

"About ten years."

Akito raised his head, trying to see Touya's expression, but could only make out the outline of his chin. Ten years—that meant he would be twenty when he returned. He was only ten now; ten years felt as distant as a lifetime.

"Will you stay with me the whole time?"

Touya was silent for a long time. Akito didn't understand why he was silent—did he not want to make that promise? Or was this vow weightier than he had imagined?

"Yes. Until the journey ends."

Akito looked ahead. The road stretched northward, passing through forests and hills, disappearing into an unseen destination. He didn't know what awaited him, nor did he know the true origins of the youth behind him. But Touya's presence put him somewhat at ease.

He touched the iron sword at his waist; the hilt was engraved with patterns his father had carved by hand.

"Then it's a promise."

Touya didn't answer. He only lightly twitched his ears. The wind grew stronger, gusting into his ears, stretching all sounds out. Akito closed his eyes, feeling his chest grow warm.

That was the first time he left home.

He didn't cry. He simply held his sword and, together with a traveling companion who was still a stranger, headed toward a place he knew nothing about.

This was only the beginning.

————————————————————

The first rainy night came without warning.

Akito curled up in the corner of the tent, listening to the rain beat against the canvas. This was already his seventh day away from the village. They had crossed two forests and a river larger than Akito had ever seen. During the day, while busy traveling, he could keep his attention on the scenery, but once night fell, darkness amplified every emotion.

He couldn't sleep; it felt like there was an empty space in his chest. He thought of his bed at home, the blanket his mother had knitted, the way his father painted under the lamplight, even the times his sister fought with him over pancakes. He buried his face in his knees, not wanting Touya to notice.

From the other end of the tent came the sound of turning pages. Touya leaned against the luggage, a thick book spread across his knees, his slender fingers tracing slowly along the lines of text. The embers of the campfire still glowed, illuminating half of his face in warm color while the other half sank into shadow. His long ears swiveled gently in the firelight, catching every subtle sound within the tent.

"You're not asleep."

Akito buried his face deeper and didn't answer. He heard the sound of pages closing, then the rustle of fabric. Touya moved to his side, maintaining just the right distance—not so close as to make him feel his territory invaded.

"Homesick?"

"Not at all."

Touya was quiet for a moment. Raindrops pounded densely against the tent roof, yet the atmosphere didn't cool.

"Let me tell you a story."

Akito raised his head. Touya had already taken out another book from his pack—dark blue cover, its corners somewhat worn. He opened it across his knees, his finger stopping at a certain page.

"Once there was a traveler," Touya's voice was soft, like raindrops falling upon water, completely different from the heavy rain outside the tent, "who crossed a desert in search of a legendary city. He walked for so long that he forgot why he had set out."

Akito rested his chin on his knees and listened intently.

"Later, he finally found that city. Its walls were golden, its gates wide open, and inside, there was everything—feasts, warm beds, and the person he had been searching for." Touya paused. "He decided to stay and never leave again."

"Then what happened?"

"Then he fell asleep. When he awoke the next day, he discovered that the city had been abandoned for a hundred years. Everything he had seen was an illusion. He could no longer find his way out, and eventually died of old age within the city."

Akito furrowed his brow: "What kind of story is this? How can the ending be like that?"

"Stories don't always have happy endings." Touya said, turning to another page. "Want to hear more?"

Akito should have refused. But he found himself nodding.

Touya continued reading. In that story, the little mermaid turned to sea foam. In the next, the little match girl froze to death on the street. The more Akito listened, the more awake he became; the endings of these stories made his chest feel tight.

"Don't you have any stories with good endings in your book?"

"No." Touya said, his fingers brushing across the book's spine. "I only collect stories with bad endings."

"Why?"

Touya didn't answer immediately. The embers dimmed further; his silver-gray eyes seemed almost to glow in the darkness.

"I believe bad endings are more real. Happy endings are merely what people wish to believe."

Akito didn't quite understand those words. He was still too young to comprehend what was real versus what one wished to believe. But the way Touya spoke made his chest feel even tighter, and he unconsciously inched a little closer to Touya.

"I can't sleep." He admitted softly.

Touya glanced at him and closed the book.

"Then don't force it. Look at me."

Akito raised his head, meeting his eyes. Touya's eyes were brighter than he had expected in the dark, like moons sunken beneath water. Akito stared at those two points of light, feeling his eyelids grow heavy. Touya's voice came from somewhere far away, like bubbles rising from the bottom of a lake.

"You are now in a very soft meadow; there are no clouds in the sky. You may lie there as long as you wish, thinking of nothing."

Akito blinked. He found himself truly standing in a meadow. It was a sunlit meadow, the sound of a stream flowing in the distance. Touya stood beside him, yet it wasn't entirely him—this "Touya's" body was somewhat translucent, like a thin layer of mist.

"This is a dream." The translucent Touya said. "I am in your dream. Here, I am in control, so you need not be afraid."

Akito looked down at his hands—ten fingers, all complete. He stepped on the grass, feeling the damp texture beneath his feet.

"You can appear in other people's dreams?"

"I am a Nightmare." Touya's voice came from all directions. "This is my innate ability."

Akito sat down on the meadow. The soft sensation spread from his palms, so real it didn't feel like a dream. The translucent Touya also sat down, his ears twitching gently in the breeze.

"Will you always be like this? Helping me dream?"

"Once you grow accustomed to the journey, you will no longer need it."

"Then do you think I need it now?"

Touya looked at him, a faint expression surfacing on his translucent face—softer than usual.

"You need it, so I will be here."

Akito fell asleep on that meadow. That was the first peaceful sleep he had since leaving home.

——————————————————

One dusk three years later, Akito lost control of his flames for the first time.

He was thirteen now, having grown quite a bit taller, and his sword-bearing hand was steadier than before. In the third year of Touya teaching him magic, he could already summon fire at will and concentrate light into fine beams. But that day, while practicing on the wasteland, when he tried to compress the fire element more tightly, the flame in his palm suddenly exploded.

The heat wave threw him to the ground. He tumbled several times, heard Touya call his name with a rare urgency in his voice. Then he saw a white figure block him from view, hands spreading open to conjure a semi-transparent barrier. The out-of-control flames crashed against the barrier, shattering into countless golden sparks that drifted down like snow.

After the sparks dispersed, Touya collapsed before him. His white priestly robes were scorched in several places, the left sleeve nearly entirely turned black. His long ears pressed backward, his breathing faster than usual.

"Touya!" Akito scrambled up, his knees still weak. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." Touya said, though his voice was unsteady. He tried to stand but swayed; Akito immediately caught him.

Akito's hand touched Touya's arm. Through the scorched fabric, he could feel the high temperature of his skin. Only now did he realize that Touya had blocked all the flames for him. Had that fireball struck him directly, the consequences would have been unimaginable.

"Why did you rush over?" Akito asked, his tone sharper than he had intended. "I could have dodged myself."

"You couldn't have dodged it yet." Touya said, his voice returning to its usual calm. "Compared to me, you are the one who must not be injured."

Akito opened his mouth but couldn't argue. He was right—Akito's evasion skills were indeed still immature. But he didn't like this feeling, didn't like being treated as someone who needed protection.

"Don't do that next time. Your safety matters too."

Touya glanced at him; there was no particular emotion in his eyes. He simply nodded and said: "Let's set up camp. It's getting dark."

That night, Akito lay in his sleeping bag, listening to Touya turning pages at the other end of the tent. The lingering fear from losing control of the flames only now surged through him; his palms were still sweating. But stronger than the fear was another feeling.

He remembered the sight of Touya blocking him from the flames. That figure was thinner than he had imagined, white robes billowing in the wind like a fragile flag. Akito suddenly realized that Touya wasn't invincible. He could be injured; he could grow tired.

He rolled over, his gaze falling on Touya. The youth sat leaning against the luggage, the remaining firelight dancing on his face. His normally neatly tied hair was scattered over his shoulders, a few strands hanging down to cover his eyes.

Akito wanted to walk over and check whether he had any burns. But in the end, he only tightened his grip on the edge of the sleeping bag and did nothing.

He didn't understand what this feeling pounding in his chest was.

——————————————————

In the winter of his sixteenth year, Akito first discovered that he cared about Touya's gaze.

They had already traversed a third of the continent, crossed three kingdoms, and defeated countless demons. Akito's swordsmanship had been honed sharper and sharper through real combat, and the height difference between him and Touya had narrowed considerably. He was no longer the child who had to look up at others.

But the way Touya looked at him hadn't changed.

That day, they were resting at a hot spring inn in the mountains. Akito soaked in the hot water, his shoulders exposed above the surface, the warm spring water relaxing his muscles. Touya sat on a rock by the pool, brows furrowed as he read a book, his feet dipped in the water. His pant legs were rolled up to his knees, revealing calves that were pale and slender, like the rest of him.

"What are you reading?"

"A book."

Touya's fingers paused on the page. He raised his eyes, his gaze landing on Akito's face—exactly the same as it had been six years ago. Akito suddenly felt irritated.

"I'm not a child anymore."

"I know. You've grown taller."

"It's not about height."

"Then what is it?"

Akito was speechless. He couldn't say. He simply didn't like the way Touya treated him, as if he were still that kid curled up in the tent corner, unable to fall asleep.

Steam rose from the water's surface between them, blurring each other's outlines. Akito looked at Touya's profile and suddenly noticed that his jawline was softer than he remembered, his lashes appearing moist in the steam. Touya's ears drooped slightly, the fine fur at their tips dotted with water droplets.

Akito abruptly lowered his head, submerging his face in the hot water. His heartbeat drummed in his ears; he couldn't tell whether it was from the heat or something else.

"Akito." Touya's voice came from above the water's surface. "You should get out. Soaking too long will make you dizzy."

Akito surfaced and shook the water from his hair. He stood up, stepped out of the spring, and wiped himself with a towel. He could feel Touya's gaze on his back—just as before, devoid of excess emotion, simply confirming his safety.

That gaze made him feel both reassured and restless.

"Touya."

"Mm?"

"Why have you always stayed with me?"

Silence stretched behind him for so long that Akito thought he wouldn't answer. He turned around and saw Touya closing his book, his gaze falling upon the water's surface, lost in thought.

"Because I promised you."

"Is that the only reason?"

Touya raised his eyes to look at him. Those eyes still held no ripples.

"Isn't that enough?"

Akito didn't answer. He put on his clothes and walked out of the spring. The night wind was piercingly cold, yet his face was still burning.

In that moment, he finally understood what that feeling constantly beating inside him was.

He had fallen in love with Touya.

Akito stood in the corridor, listening to the water sounds behind him, his heartbeat gradually calming. He felt no panic, no shame. This feeling had always been there; he had only just discovered it.

He looked up at the night sky, his thoughts twinkling along with the stars. Six years of the ten-year journey had passed; four remained.

Akito made a decision.

When everything was over—when the Demon King fell, when their journey was complete—he would tell Touya his feelings. He would first become strong enough, strong enough to stand by Touya's side and protect him, strong enough to earn Touya's trusting gaze.

He returned to the room. Touya was already lying in bed, eyes closed, breathing steadily. Akito carefully lay down beside him, listening to that nearby breathing. Touya's scent was the same as six years ago—like old books and burnt-out candles, somewhat bitter, somewhat cold.

Akito closed his eyes and silently clenched his hand in the darkness.

Wait a little longer. He told himself. Wait until everything is over.

He rolled over, watching Touya's sleeping face in the moonlight. That face was thinner than he remembered, brows lightly furrowed even in sleep. Akito wanted to reach out and smooth that crease, but in the end, he only withdrew his fingers back under the covers.

Outside the window, winter stars shone blindingly bright. Four years remained until the journey's end.

He could wait.

————————————————————

The Demon King's castle stood at the end of the northern wasteland—the final destination of their journey.

Akito stood on the last ridge, wind whipping his cloak. The ten-year journey had transformed a boy into a young man—broader shoulders, palms covered in calluses, sword grip evolved from imitation into instinct. He looked back; behind him lay a path nearly erased from sight. Village, forest, river, canyon—all the places they had walked together now compressed into blurred patches on the horizon.

Touya stood at his side, maintaining the same distance as day one—not too close, not too far. His hair was blown disheveled by the wind, the two-toned strands tangling together. His long ears swiveled in the wind, their tips reddened by the cold. His priestly robes were still white, though the edges had frayed from washing and the golden-threaded crest on his chest had faded.

"That is the end."

"Mm."

Akito turned his head to look at him. Touya's profile appeared exceptionally pale in the gray daylight, his expression as placid as ever, but Akito noticed his fingers tightening, knuckles whitening.

Akito withdrew his gaze.

Touya had been like this these past few days. Speaking less than usual, the sound of turning pages at night lasting longer than normal, yet never actually turning to the next page. Akito had woken several times in the middle of the night to find Touya staring at the tent ceiling, his silver-gray eyes like two dust-covered crystals in the darkness.

He didn't ask; if he asked, Touya wouldn't say. He simply laid his sword across his knees and wiped the blade again and again with a cloth. This sword had accompanied him for ten years; its edge was covered in tiny nicks, the leather grip softened from sweat. Like him, it had traveled too long, worn beyond recognition, yet remained steadfast.

The two found a sheltered spot at the mountain's base to make camp. Dead branches were hard to find in the frozen soil; Akito spent the better part of an hour gathering a small pile. When Touya lit the fire, the flames danced on his face, cutting his features into halves of light and shadow. Akito suddenly noticed that Touya's eye sockets were deeper than he remembered, the shadows cast by his lashes in the firelight longer.

"We enter the city tomorrow."

Touya's hand, which had been poking the fire, paused for an instant: "Mm."

"Don't you have anything to say to me?" Akito took out dry rations from his pack—hard bread purchased from the last town before their departure. "Something like 'be careful,' or 'don't be reckless'?"

"You know what to do. You don't need me to remind you."

Akito's hands, breaking the bread, paused. Those words sounded like trust, yet he sensed something else in Touya's tone.

He didn't like that.

Akito handed over half a loaf. Touya accepted it; his fingers brushed Akito's palm, the chill making Akito flinch. Touya's body temperature had always been lower than a human's, but today it was abnormally cold.

"Are you cold?"

"No."

"Your hands are very cold."

"They've always been like this."

Akito said nothing more. He took a bite of bread; the dry, hard texture crumbled in his mouth, tasteless. A distant wind sound passed through gaps in the rocks, producing a low wail.

After eating, Touya took out that book from his pack. Dark blue cover, its corners completely worn white. He opened it, his finger stopping at a certain page, yet he didn't immediately begin to read.

"No story tonight."

Akito, who had been wiping his sword, raised his head. This was the first time in ten years that Touya had voluntarily proposed not telling a story. He set the book down, pulled over his pack, and began checking its contents. Bandages, ointment, dry rations, flint—he laid them out one by one, methodical and orderly, as if making final preparations for something inevitable.

Akito watched his movements; the tension in his chest returned. Over these ten years, he had grown too familiar with Touya, and so he knew.

Touya was hiding something. He always had been.

Akito sheathed his sword; the sound of metal scraping against metal was especially harsh in the silence.

"Touya."

"Mm?"

"Why did you help me in the first place?"

Touya's finger froze mid-air. A piece of flint slipped from his palm, falling into the dry grass with a soft sound.

Akito stared at his profile. This question had been buried in his heart for many years, germinating from the very beginning of the journey. He had been waiting—waiting to become strong enough, waiting for the journey to end, waiting for the right moment. But now, seeing Touya's uncharacteristic behavior, he suddenly couldn't wait any longer.

"Ten years. You never speak of yourself, never say where you came from, why you were at the Temple, why it was specifically you who came to accompany me. I asked you once, and you said it was because you promised. But I know that's not the whole story."

Touya didn't move. His face was turned toward the fire, the flames dancing in his silver-gray eyes, yet those eyes had no focus.

"You always tell stories with only bad endings, always acting so pessimistic." Akito continued, yet unable to maintain a hard tone. "These past few nights you haven't been sleeping, trembling from time to time. Touya, what are you afraid of?"

The wind stopped. The fire crackled softly, as if responding to this silence.

Touya finally turned his head. His expression hadn't changed; it was still that calm, nearly detached look. But Akito saw his jaw tighten, his Adam's apple slide slightly.

"You asked me once."

"I didn't ask deeply enough."

"Now is not the time to ask."

"But I asked." Akito leaned forward; the fire swayed between them. "Tell me. No matter what you say, I'll believe it."

The atmosphere cooled. Time crawled by—so slowly that Akito could count every spark bursting from the fire, could hear the rhythm of his own heartbeat striking against his ribs.

Touya opened his mouth, then closed it. He lowered his head, fingers gripping the hem of his priestly robes, knuckles whitening from the force.

"Atonement."

That word fell into the fire, nearly dissolving the moment it left his lips.

Akito was stunned. He didn't immediately press further; he only watched Touya. Touya's ears were swiveling rapidly and frequently—Akito had seen him react this way when facing powerful enemies. Yet now, before them there was only the fire and the night.

"Atonement?" Akito repeated.

Touya didn't explain. He released the hem of his robe and turned back to the fire, as if he had said nothing at all. His profile regained its calm in the firelight, but Akito noticed his ears drooping powerlessly.

Akito wanted to ask—what lay behind that word, what had Touya done to require such long years of repayment. These questions danced on the tip of his tongue. But looking at Touya's shoulders pulled into a straight line, breathing so carefully, he swallowed those words back down.

Ten years. This person had accompanied him for ten years, standing within reach at every stage of his growth. And all of it, everything, now condensed into that single word.

Atonement.

Akito didn't know what it meant, but he knew how much it hurt Touya to speak that word. It was a stone Touya had held beneath his tongue for ten years, finally spat out. Akito looked at Touya's profile and suddenly recalled many small things: Touya never letting him walk on the outer side of a cliff, Touya always looking at him one extra time after finishing a story. Those details he had always thought were merely habits suddenly carried weight.

He chose to believe him.

"Alright."

Touya turned to look at him.

"When everything is over." Akito's voice was steady. "When the Demon King is dead, when we emerge from that city. Then you can tell me."

Touya's lashes trembled. It was a very subtle movement, but Akito saw it.

"If you don't want to speak of it then, that's fine too." Akito added. "But that will be after it's over."

Touya looked at him for a long time. So long that the fire dimmed, night closing in from all directions. Something rippled in his silver-gray eyes; the reflections within were shattered by the waves.

"You've changed."

"Changed how?"

"When you were little, you would keep asking until I answered."

Akito smiled, the corners of his mouth pulling into a shallow arc: "I was naive back then. Always thought that if I was persistent enough, I could ask everything clear."

"And now?"

"Now I know that some things must wait for the right time." Akito stared directly into Touya's eyes. "But that doesn't mean I'll forget."

Touya lowered his lashes; his fingers unconsciously caressed the book's spine, the movement slow and gentle.

"Sleep. Tomorrow will be exhausting."

Akito didn't move. He watched Touya put the book back into his pack, wrap his cloak tighter, and then lie down on the other side of the fire, his back to him. His body's outline shrank into a small shape in the firelight.

Akito looked up at the sky. The northern wasteland's stars were sparser than those of his homeland; the moon was half-hidden behind clouds, leaving only a blurry outline. The air was thick with the scent of frozen soil and dry grass, and Touya's scent of old books and burnt-out candles—fainter than usual. Akito gazed at that half-moon and suddenly remembered a night from when he was fourteen. He had been burning with fever by the campfire; Touya hadn't slept the entire night, wiping his forehead again and again with a damp cloth. Back then, Touya's scent had been much stronger than now, reassuring.

He lay in his sleeping bag, listening to Touya's breathing. That breathing was shallower and faster than usual, not like someone asleep. Akito wanted to say something, but in the end, he only closed his eyes.

Tomorrow they would face the Demon King. The ten-year journey had reached its end; all questions would have their answers. Akito gripped the sword hilt, feeling the familiar texture of the leather grip. He promised himself in the darkness that when everything was over, he would press Touya for the meaning of that word, and also speak the words he had kept buried in his heart for ten years.

The wind rose again, blowing from beyond the ridge, carrying distant cold. Akito didn't open his eyes, but he felt Touya roll over, felt a gaze fall upon his face—light and fleeting, like a winter snowflake.

He pretended not to notice.

The fire slowly died in the night; the last spark jumped once and fell into silence.

————————————————————

The interior of the Demon King's castle was more spacious than he had imagined.

Akito gripped his sword, his palms covered in sweat. The leather on the hilt was soaked and soft, yet he dared not loosen his grip. In ten years of journey, he had faced countless demons, but had never set foot in a place like this. The walls were built from black stone blocks, their surfaces smooth as mirrors, reflecting their figures yet distorting them beyond recognition. The air carried a stale odor, mixed with rust and a hint of sweetness.

No footsteps. Their boots struck the floor, producing a damp, soft sound—like stepping on the skin of a living thing.

Touya walked half a step ahead of him, his priestly robes blindingly white in the dimness. His ears stood stiffly—one forward, one back—their tips trembling slightly.

The great hall opened up ahead.

The space was far larger than it appeared from the outside; the dome vanished into darkness overhead, like a sky with its upper half gouged away. In the center of the hall was a raised platform; its steps were white and bone-like. Tens of thousands of bones had been split and polished flat, assembled into those steps. Akito's stomach contracted, but he forced himself to look at the figure seated upon the platform.

The Demon King.

Unlike his childhood imagination, the Demon King's form was not terribly different from a human's. A thin, tall frame, a face so young it seemed false, skin white and bloodless. The only non-human feature was his eyes—vertically slit pupils, golden, like those of a reptile.

"I have waited a long time." The Demon King spoke, his voice echoing through the spacious hall, surging from all directions at once. "Ten years. Long for you, merely a brief rest for me."

Akito raised his sword. The fire and light elements upon the blade ignited simultaneously; golden flames climbed along the edge, tearing a gash in the darkness. Touya stood at his side, hands spreading open as a barrier unfolded before them.

"Shinonome Akito." The Demon King spoke his name, his golden vertical pupils falling upon him with scrutiny. "The Hero chosen by the Goddess. Do you know who this person beside you is?"

"I don't need you to tell me." Akito charged forward.

The blade sliced through the air, tracing a golden arc. The Demon King didn't move, only raising one hand. Akito's sword struck something invisible mid-air; sparks scattered, the impact numbing the web of his hand. He stepped back and swung again, with the same result.

"Why the haste." The Demon King smiled, though the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Before you kill me, wouldn't you like to hear your companion's story?"

"Akito, don't listen!" Touya's voice came from behind him, more urgent than usual.

Akito didn't turn back. He didn't know what the Demon King wanted to say, but Touya's reaction told him this was something he shouldn't hear.

But he had already heard it.

"Aoyagi Touya." The Demon King slowly rose to his feet, his purple robe dragging across the bone steps with a rustling sound. "My one hundred and eighth war weapon, crafted by my own hand. A Nightmare as the base, infused with dark elements and fear crystals. His very existence was to gather intelligence for me, to manipulate the minds of enemies. You think he is your companion? He is my creation; every inch of his form, every ounce of his power, bears my mark."

Akito's sword drooped. The flames still burned, but his arms had lost their strength.

"Do you know who was feeding him information throughout your ten-year journey?" The Demon King descended the steps, his footsteps echoing through the spacious hall. "Every enemy you faced, every breakthrough you made—all meticulously planned in advance."

"Shut up!"

"Akito..." Touya called his name from behind, his voice light as a wisp of smoke.

Akito turned his head. Touya's lips moved slightly, as if wanting to say something, yet nothing came out.

"Is it true?"

Touya didn't answer.

"He didn't tell you?" The Demon King's voice carried a smile. "Of course, how could he bring himself to. 'Hello, I am a Demon King Army officer, sent to lurk by your side and betray you at the final moment'?"

"That's not true! I never betrayed Akito!" Touya suddenly spoke, the emotion in his voice more intense than ever before.

"Then what?" The Demon King retorted, his golden vertical pupils turning toward him. "You wish to say you betrayed me? For a child who hasn't even spent a fraction of your past life with you, you would abandon the creator who gave you life?"

Touya's face grew paler than paper. His fingers gripped the corner of his robe, knuckles whitening.

"When I was created, you said the Demon King Army's frequent wars were to secure living space for demons." Touya's voice trembled; every word was spoken through gritted teeth. "You said humans were driving us out, said we must fight for our kin. I believed you."

The Demon King tilted his head, as if merely listening to an amusing story.

"But I was wrong. You only wanted more territory. You treated us as cannon fodder; the only purpose for creating me was to kill. When I saw you abandon an injured subordinate by the roadside, I knew I had placed my faith in the wrong person."

"So I went to the Temple." Touya continued, his gaze fixed on the Demon King, his eyes filled with fury. "I told them everything, begged for a chance at atonement. They had me accompany the Hero to defeat the Demon King. Ten years—to repay the wrongs I had committed."

"Atonement." Akito repeated.

He finally understood. Every gentle look Touya had given him, every instance of unconditional protection—it was all for this. Not for him, but to fill the invisible void within Touya's own heart.

"Hero, there is one more thing he hasn't told you." The Demon King's voice cut in, carrying a cruelty bordering on delight. "As an artificially born demon, he cannot survive independently on his own. My power is what maintains his form. I die, he ceases to exist. You think he has been doing his utmost for you? He has merely been arranging a dignified funeral for himself."

Akito's fingers loosened from the sword hilt, then immediately tightened again.

"Hero." The Demon King looked at him, his golden vertical pupils glowing in the darkness. "You wish to kill me? You may. But the person beside you will vanish along with me. He never intended to go anywhere with you. His ending was written by himself long before you knew."

Akito looked at Touya. Touya did not deny it.

The great hall was quiet for a long time. Akito could hear his own heartbeat. He looked into Touya's eyes; those eyes didn't avoid his gaze, quietly returning his look, having long given up on defending himself.

Everything the Demon King said was true.

Ten years of companionship—the stories told for him, the attacks blocked for him, the dreams woven for him—all were the countdown of a dying man. Touya had long predetermined a bad ending for himself. He had told over three thousand six hundred bad-ending stories because that was his prophecy for himself.

Akito's arms trembled. The flames on his sword flickered, threatening to extinguish at any moment. Should he be angry? Should he feel used? Yet the only thought occupying his entire mind right now was:

Touya was going to die. No—Touya had never intended to live. And he was the executioner Touya had chosen for himself.

The Demon King moved.

The purple figure was like a bolt of lightning. Bone steps shattered beneath his feet; his golden vertical pupils traced an afterimage through the dimness. By the time Akito reacted, the Demon King's claws were already before him, less than a foot from his throat.

He had been prepared to raise his sword in defense. Ten years of training made his body faster than his mind; his arm was already raised, blade held horizontally before him.

But his body suddenly lost control.

He was intimately familiar with this power—it was Touya's magic. Touya's magic covered his control over his own body with an almost tender touch. Like hands gently grasping his from behind, carrying an undeniable warmth. Akito watched helplessly as his arm deviated from its trajectory, the sword blade withdrawing from its defensive posture and instead raising overhead.

The magic within his body continuously gathered onto the sword.

The golden flames upon the sword surged violently, transforming from faint sparks into a blazing pillar of light. Akito tried to make his body stop, but he couldn't move a single finger. He could only watch as his body performed an action he had never made before.

The Demon King's foreclaw was already before him.

But Akito's sword was faster.

That golden pillar of light descended, bypassing the Demon King's foreclaw and piercing his chest at an impossible angle. The timing was terrifyingly precise—the exact moment the Demon King exposed a weakness during his attack.

Golden flames penetrated skin, muscle, and bone. The Demon King's golden vertical pupils dilated abruptly; his mouth opened, emitting a beastly, mournful howl. Black blood gushed from the wound, yet evaporated into white smoke the instant it touched the golden flames.

Akito regained control of his body.

He staggered, nearly falling. His arm was still numb. He had no time for that; he turned his head.

Touya.

Touya knelt behind him, his long ears drooping powerlessly, his silver-gray eyes half-open, his body gradually turning transparent—his entire existence slowly being erased from this world.

"Touya!"

Akito lunged forward, his knees striking the steps. He reached out to grab Touya's shoulders, but his fingers passed through, piercing Touya's body entirely. Only a thin outline remained there, its touch hazy and cold, like mist, like dust, like a shadow about to dissipate in sunlight.

"No..." Akito's voice choked, as if squeezed out from somewhere deep. "I don't want this ending...!"

Touya raised his eyes to look at him; the light within those eyes was extinguishing bit by bit. His lips moved, making no sound, but Akito read the shape.

I'm sorry.

"I don't want your sorry!" Akito's hands flailed in the air, trying to grasp something, yet catching nothing. "You promised me... you said you'd stay with me until the journey ended, you promised!"

Touya looked at him; the corners of his mouth curved slightly. It was a smile, or perhaps not. There was too much in those eyes for Akito to read in time. His face had already blurred beyond recognition, leaving only a faint human shape, gently swaying in the afterglow of the golden flames.

Then, he vanished.

Without a sound. Water seeping into sand, white vapor dispersing in the depths of winter—all the same. Where Touya had knelt, there was only empty ground and a book lying on the floor.

Dark blue cover, its corners worn white.

Akito knelt on the steps, both hands suspended mid-air, maintaining a reaching posture. His fingers trembled. Only he remained in the great hall, along with the Demon King's cooling corpse in the distance.

Akito reached out; his fingertips touched the book's cover. The leather texture was rough and real, completely different from the final touch Touya had left behind. He picked up the book and opened the first page.

It was a storybook—the same one Touya had read to him every night.

But Akito had never truly looked at its contents. He had only listened, closing his eyes and letting Touya's voice carry him into those sad stories. Now, looking at the words upon the pages, he discovered that every story's ending had been crossed out, with a new line of small writing added beside it.

"The traveler died in the abandoned city, but before his death, he saw the true stars."

"The little mermaid turned to foam, but her voice remained in the sea breeze forever."

"The little match girl froze to death on the street, but the last match illuminated the dawn of the entire city."

Akito turned the pages one by one. Every bad ending had a note written by Touya beside it. The handwriting was light, the ink faint, the trembling of the hand clearly visible.

His hand stopped at the last page. There was no story there, only a line in Touya's handwriting.

"All bad endings are preparations for a better future. But I hope you will never turn to this page."

Akito closed the book and held it to his chest. The cold of the Demon King's castle seeped into his bones, yet he felt no chill. He only knelt there, listening to his heartbeat echoing alone in the empty hall.

A distant sound of collapse came; black stones fell from the dome. The Demon King's castle began to crumble, but Akito didn't move.

So those bad-ending stories were the only farewell Touya could give him. He had long written his own ending, telling it again and again, so that when Akito faced loss, it wouldn't hurt too much.

But it still hurt.

He buried his face in the pages and took a deep breath. The paper carried Touya's scent, a scent that was fading; soon this book would hold only the smell of ink.

"Liar..." Akito's voice was muffled in the pages, trembling. "You promised you'd stay with me until the journey ended..."

No one answered.

The dome of the Demon King's castle finally gave way; stones fell from overhead. Akito stood up, tucked the book into his chest, and took one last look at where Touya had vanished. There was nothing there—only a faint trace.

He turned and ran toward the exit.

He ran through the great hall, through corridors, past those black walls. The book held tightly against his chest—the only evidence that Touya had ever existed.

The moment he burst out of the Demon King's castle, the light stung his eyes.

Akito stood on the wasteland, a collapsing black fortress behind him. Wind blew from all directions, carrying the scent of frozen soil and dry grass. He pressed the book against his chest, gripping so hard his knuckles whitened.

The journey was over. The Demon King was dead. But the person he wanted to celebrate with was also dead, without leaving him a single word of farewell.

The wind was strong, whipping his cloak. He looked down at the book in his hands and felt a faint magical fluctuation.

He turned to the last page. A line of writing was slowly appearing there.

"I'm sorry, Akito. I lied to you. But I hope you can remember me."

Akito raised his head, gazing at the gray sky at the wasteland's end. There were no tears on his face; only his eyes were terribly red.

"I will remember you..." he said to the air, his voice so light it was more like a murmur than speech. "I will remember you, Aoyagi Touya."

The wind scattered his voice, carrying it into the distance. No one answered him, yet he still stood there, watching over someone who no longer existed.

On the distant horizon, the first snowflake fell.

————————————————————

When Akito returned to his hometown, it was dusk.

The village's outline appeared especially soft in the twilight; chimney smoke rose from rooftops, dyed pale gold by the sunset. Someone was finishing work in the fields, a hoe over their shoulder, their shadow stretched long. Several dogs ran about the road at the village entrance; when they saw Akito they stopped and barked twice, then wagged their tails and came over to sniff his boots—he sidestepped them.

Akito stood at the familiar yet unfamiliar crossroads, clutching that dark blue storybook in his hand. He clutched it too tightly; his nails pressed crescent-shaped dents into the leather.

Without the Demon King Army's obstruction, it had taken him only seven days to traverse the ten-year journey. Along the way he had barely rested, barely spoken. Innkeepers asked if he wanted a hot meal; he shook his head. Travelers on the road asked if he wished to travel together; he shook his head too. He simply walked, step by step, holding the only thing Touya had left pressed to his chest, like clutching a lifeline.

Even after ten years, everything in the village remained as it was. But Akito felt something was off. He couldn't say what; only that the hollow in his chest had grown larger than when he was on the road.

The first to see him was the village head's son. The youth was carrying a sack of wheat back from the fields, paused in surprise, then dropped the sack and ran over.

"The Hero! The Hero from our village has returned!"

The youth's shout brought people out of their houses, running back from the fields, rushing over from the river. Akito was surrounded in the center, countless faces swaying before him—some familiar, some unfamiliar—all bearing the same expression.

Excitement.

"The Demon King is dead! The Hero defeated the Demon King!"

"The Church messengers delivered the oracle yesterday!"

"Akito! Shinonome Akito has returned!"

Someone raised his sword, someone placed a wreath upon his head, someone pressed homemade fruit wine into his hands. Akito was jostled forward, his feet barely touching the ground. He wanted to stop and say something, but his voice was drowned in the clamor.

A feast was laid out in the village square. Long tables were joined one after another, covered with tablecloths pooled from every household. Roasted chicken, stewed meat, freshly baked bread, aged wine brought up from cellars—the fragrance drifted far in the night wind.

Akito was seated in the place of honor; the village head sat to his left, a Church messenger to his right. The messenger was a middle-aged woman who raised her wine glass and spoke many words—something about "the Goddess's blessing," "humanity's hero," "the victory of light." Akito didn't hear a single word.

He looked at the food before him. The roasted chicken's skin was golden and crispy, glistening with oil in the candlelight. If this were before, Touya would peel the skin off for him; he always said the skin was too greasy and would upset his stomach if eaten alone. Touya would shred the chicken thigh meat into fine strips, dip it in a bit of sauce, and place it on his plate.

Akito stared at that roasted chicken, and a sudden question arose in his mind.

"Hero, what's wrong? Are you unwell?" the messenger asked with concern.

Akito turned to look at her. He opened his mouth; his voice was so hoarse it didn't sound like his own.

"Why is no one asking why I came back alone?"

The messenger was taken aback, exchanging a glance with the village head.

"What?"

"The person who set out on this journey with me," Akito raised his voice, "Aoyagi Touya. He traveled with me for ten years. Why is no one asking about him?"

The commotion in the square quieted somewhat. The people around stopped their chopsticks and turned to look at him. Akito's heart beat rapidly; he didn't know why he was asking this question, nor what answer he wanted. He simply couldn't bear that everyone was celebrating while no one spoke Touya's name.

The messenger's expression shifted from confusion to concern.

"Hero," she said softly, "you have always been alone on this journey. The Goddess's oracle never mentioned any companion."

Akito felt as if something had exploded in his mind.

He jerked to his feet; the chair fell behind him with a dull thud. Everyone around was looking at him, their gazes carrying surprise, worry, and incomprehension.

"Impossible!" Akito said, no longer able to suppress the emotion in his voice. "He traveled with me for ten years. Throughout these ten years, he was the one teaching me magic, caring for me. His name is Aoyagi Touya. Two-toned hair, silver-gray eyes, a tear mole beneath his left eye. He is a Nightmare, and also a priest. How could you not remember him?!"

The square fell silent. Night wind stirred the torches, producing crackling sounds.

The village head slowly stood up, one hand on Akito's shoulder. The old man's palm was rough and warm, thickened from years of holding farming tools.

"Akito," the village head said, as carefully as speaking to an invalid, "we watched you grow up. When the Church messengers announced the oracle ten years ago, you mounted your horse and left this village alone. For these ten years, you have been traveling by yourself."

Akito stepped back, knocking over a plate behind him. The sound of shattering porcelain was especially jarring in the quiet square.

He was lying. They were all lying.

Akito turned and ran. Behind him came the messenger calling his name, the village head telling the villagers not to follow. He didn't look back; he just ran, through every street of the village where he had played as a child.

He ran to his own door and pushed it open. Mother was in the kitchen, Sister upstairs, Father painting in the yard. When they saw him, they all showed expressions of pleasant surprise—just like everyone else in the village.

"Akito! You're back!"

Mother rushed over to embrace him, tears falling on his shoulder. Sister ran down from upstairs, grabbing his hand and asking all sorts of questions. Father stood to the side, paintbrush still in hand, his eyes rimmed red.

Akito let them surround him. When the commotion subsided slightly, he spoke.

"Mom, do you remember Touya?"

Mother's expression froze for an instant, then turned to concern.

"Who is Touya?"

"Aoyagi Touya. He traveled with me for ten years. Ten years ago he came to our house; the night before I departed, he was waiting at the door."

Mother and Sister exchanged a glance filled with fear—the fear of a parent worrying their child might be ill.

"Akito..." Mother's voice trembled. "The night you left, you were standing at the door alone. Your father, your sister, and I all came out. We watched you mount your horse and leave. There was no Aoyagi Touya."

Akito looked into his mother's eyes. Those eyes were the same as in his memory—gentle, loving, with fine lines etched by the years. The worry and confusion in them now were genuine. She wasn't lying. She truly... didn't remember.

Akito looked at Sister. Sister shook her head. Father walked over, placed his hand on his shoulder, and sighed heavily.

"Akito, you walked alone for ten years, defeated the Demon King alone. We understand the hardships you endured along the way. You're just too tired."

Akito didn't respond. He turned and walked out of the house, leaving his family's calls behind him.

He ran frantically through the village. He ran to the inn and asked the owner if a tall, two-toned-blue-haired priest had ever stayed there. The owner said never. He ran to the blacksmith and asked if he had ever repaired a staff for a slender young man. The blacksmith said no. He ran to the chapel and asked the pastor if a Nightmare had ever come to pray. The pastor shook his head, his eyes full of pity.

He asked everyone. Elderly, children, merchants, travelers. No one remembered Aoyagi Touya. No one had heard that name. No one had seen that long-eared priest.

Akito ran to the waterwheel at the village's edge and stopped, bending over and gasping for breath. His lungs burned; his heart pounded wildly in his chest. The waterwheel turned slowly in the night, producing its familiar creaking sound—just as it had ten years ago.

He slowly crouched down and buried his face in his knees.

All traces of Touya in this world had vanished. No one remembered him. Everyone in this world—the very people Touya had given everything for—had forgotten him. Touya had sacrificed himself to kill the Demon King, saving everyone, yet hadn't received so much as a word of thanks. No one knew he had existed, no one knew his name, no one knew that a priest born of demon origins had accompanied the Hero through a ten-year journey.

Except for Akito.

Coming to this realization felt like a dull knife slowly cutting into his chest. Fear, loneliness—a sadness deeper than the moment Touya vanished in the Demon King's castle—gripped him tightly.

Akito began to doubt himself.

If everyone had forgotten Touya, had Touya truly existed at all? Or was he merely a phantom Akito had conjured during his long journey—a fantasy companion created to combat loneliness, fear, and the unknown darkness ahead?

Akito raised his hand and looked at his palm. This hand had held Touya's staff, felt the texture of wood and ribbon upon it. It had been warmed by Touya's hand in winter. It had lost control of magic countless times during training, and each time Touya had blocked the blast for him.

If those memories were false, what was real?

Akito looked down at his other hand. That hand was still clutching the storybook, never loosening since they left the Demon King's castle.

He slowly uncurled his fingers and held the book up before his eyes.

This wasn't his book. He had never bought such a book. He never read stories with only bad endings; he hated tragedies. This book was Touya's; Touya had read stories to him every night, never missing a single one in ten years.

If Touya was a figment of his imagination, where did this book come from?

Akito opened the pages. The paper was a faint yellow in the moonlight, the edges of each page slightly curled from being turned countless times. He also saw those words—that handwriting he had read before, the words Touya had left for him.

"The traveler died in the abandoned city, but before his death, he saw the true stars."

"The little mermaid turned to foam, but her voice remained in the sea breeze forever."

"The little match girl froze to death on the street, but the last match illuminated the dawn of the entire city."

"All bad endings are preparations for a better future. But I hope you will never turn to this page."

"I'm sorry, Akito. I lied to you. But I hope you can remember me."

Akito's fingers traced those words. The ink had long dried; the paper surface was somewhat rough. These words were not written by him; he never spent time on unnecessary writing. These were written by Touya, in the deep of night after night, even in the final days before defeating the Demon King.

Touya was real. This book was the proof.

Akito pressed the book against his chest and closed his eyes. The waterwheel's creak echoed in his ears; in the distance, the remnants of celebration still lingered. Those sounds were far away, as distant as another world.

He was the only person who remembered Touya. Everyone in this world—all those for whom Touya had given everything—had forgotten him. Touya had sacrificed himself to kill the Demon King, saving everyone, yet hadn't even received a word of gratitude. No one knew he had existed, no one knew his name, no one knew that a priest born of a demon had accompanied the Hero on a ten-year journey.

Except for Akito.

Akito opened his eyes. He slowly stood up, looking at the flickering lights of the village in the distance. Those lights twinkled on and off in the night—warm, lively, yet having nothing to do with him.

He raised his hand and slapped himself.

The crisp sound echoed by the waterwheel. His cheek burned with pain—not a dream.

"Idiot." Akito said to himself, forcing back tears.

Touya had given everything for this world; now only Akito could remember him. If even Akito doubted whether Touya existed, then Touya would truly vanish from this world completely.

Akito could never accept that.

He carefully tucked the storybook into his chest, against his left side. His heartbeat transmitted through flesh and bone to that book, beat by beat, lonely yet resolute.

"I will remember you." Akito said to the air. No one could respond to these words, yet he spoke them with unwavering certainty.

Only the wind blew past the waterwheel, carrying the scent of fields and rivers. No answer. Akito no longer needed one.

He turned and walked toward the village. He would return to face that feast, and those people who regarded him as a hero. He would smile and toast, give thanks for the Goddess's blessing, play the part of a triumphant Hero before everyone.

And then he would go on living. Carrying Touya's memory, carrying this book, carrying the proof that a Nightmare born as a weapon of war had struggled against his own destiny.

That was the only thing he could still do for Touya.

————————————————————

Akito didn't cry.

Weeks passed, and he hadn't shed a single tear. Whenever his eyes grew hot, he would blink forcefully, pressing that wetness back. He feared tears, as if once he cried, the memories of Touya would flow out with them and be lost forever.

He lived in a daze. Rising in the morning, eating, morning practice, helping with housework, walking the fields in the afternoon, returning to his room in the evening. He did the same things as before, yet they felt foreign, as if the life before setting out on the journey with Touya belonged to a past life.

The villagers were too polite to him—they would stop from afar, bow, and call him "Hero." Children were held back by their parents, kept from approaching him. Akito found it amusing; he had killed the Demon King, but he was still just Shinonome Akito, an ordinary person with his own likes and dislikes.

It was just that the person who indulged those likes and dislikes was no longer there.

That afternoon, to keep his skills from growing rusty, Akito practiced magic in the yard. He raised his hand and concentrated fire element. A cluster of flame rose in his palm, flickering unsteadily, reflecting in his bronze-green eyes. He watched that flame and remembered the first time he had successfully conjured a fireball at age ten.

Touya stood behind him, both hands covering the back of his hand, guiding his movements. Touya's fingers were long, his knuckles defined, their touch cool yet clearing. Touya's breathing was right behind his ear, gentle and steady, carrying his unique scent of old books and candles.

"Feel the temperature of the flame," Touya's voice came from memory, "try to control it, make it listen to you."

Akito looked down at his palm. The flame was still flickering, but there were no longer those guiding hands behind it, nor that voice which would sigh lightly when he made a mistake.

The flame went out. Akito stood in the empty yard, only a lingering warmth remaining in his hand.

Dinner was stew and bread. Akito sat at the table, head lowered as he stuffed food into his mouth. Mother sat across from him saying something about the village planning to erect a statue for him, about messengers from the Royal Capital coming next month to grant him a noble title. Akito responded with absent-minded mm's and ah's, his mind elsewhere entirely.

He picked up a piece of stewed meat with his chopsticks and put it in his mouth. The seasoning was balanced, the meat tender—it was Mother's cooking. But at that moment, Akito remembered Touya's stew.

Touya hadn't known how to cook at first. In the first year of the journey, what he cooked was either too salty or too bland. Akito had complained; Touya simply lowered his head and said he would improve. Then in the days that followed, he truly tried again and again, adjusted over and over, slowly learning to master heat and seasoning.

Touya's stew was always on the salty side, because Akito preferred stronger flavors. He would add a bit more herbs to the soup, because Akito liked that fragrance. He never added carrots to the stew, because Akito hated carrots.

Akito looked down at the stew in his bowl; there were several pieces of carrot in it. He suddenly felt his chopsticks become so heavy he couldn't even lift them.

"Akito? Why aren't you eating?"

"Nothing." Akito set down his chopsticks. "I'm full."

He got up and left the table without meeting Mother's eyes.

That night, Akito drew water and returned to his room to wash his hair. He submerged his hair in the basin; the water was a bit cold, but he was too lazy to change it. He squeezed a bit of soap solution into his palm, rubbed it haphazardly, and applied it to his hair.

The lather wasn't much and quickly dispersed in the cold water. Akito's fingers plunged into his hair and scrubbed forcefully. His hair had grown to his shoulders during the journey, with many knots. His finger caught on a knot and yanked; a sharp pain shot through his scalp.

He froze.

When Touya washed his hair, he had never pulled painfully.

Akito closed his eyes. Memories surged uncontrollably. Touya's fingers in his hair, gently working up lather. The fragrance of soap solution filling the tent, mixed with Touya's unique scent. Touya's fingertips gently circling his scalp, the pressure just right, so comfortable it made one sleepy.

When encountering a knot, Touya would stop and use his fingers to patiently work it loose. His fingers were long, his movements delicate. Sometimes he would say "tell me if it hurts," but Akito never felt pain.

Akito stood in his room; cold water dripped from his hair onto his shoulders, soaking his clothes. He opened his eyes and looked at the wavering reflection in the basin. His own finger was still caught in his hair; that knot was still there, tugging at his scalp with a dull ache.

A sensation different from memory—rough, clumsy... lonely.

Akito released his finger and lowered his head. The basin was right by his feet; a few orange hairs floated on the water's surface. The room was very quiet; only the sound of water droplets falling on wooden boards remained—one drop, then another.

——————————————————

Tonight was the same as usual. Akito sat on his bed, the book spread open on his lap. Every night he would flip through Touya's storybook like this, again and again tracing Touya's handwriting on the pages with his fingers. Each time he read that final line, his heart would ache in throbbing spasms, yet he never stopped reading this self-torturing ritual.

Akito buried his face in the pages and took a deep breath. The paper still carried Touya's scent, but that scent was growing fainter. He wanted to capture that scent, lock it in his lungs, yet it still slipped through his fingers, just like the final touch Touya had left behind.

He raised his head and looked at the moon outside the window. The silver-white moon hung in the deep blue sky; on countless nights during the journey, they had traveled beneath this same moon. Touya walked ahead, his long ears glowing softly in the moonlight, gently holding his hand.

Akito placed the book beside his pillow and lay down, staring at the ceiling. Longing fermented in his chest; he missed Touya, missed him so much his chest hurt faintly. He wanted to hear Touya's voice, even if only his name being called once.

What expression would Touya wear looking at him? Would it still be the same as before? A faint smile, then a soft "I'm here"?

Akito closed his eyes. He floated in the space between waking and sleeping, his mind full of fragments of Touya.

Touya. Touya. Touya.

This name turned over in his heart thousands of times, carving deeper with each revolution.

He didn't know when he had fallen asleep.

He had a dream. There was no concrete scene in the dream, only a sensation of being watched by someone, coming from very far away, gentle and persistent. Akito wanted to open his eyes, but his eyelids were as heavy as if weighted with stones.

Then, he heard a voice.

That was a real voice, coming from very close by.

"Akito."

Akito's heart suddenly skipped a beat.

He snapped his eyes open.

Moonlight shone in through the window, falling upon the floor before the bed; the room was quiet enough to hear a heartbeat. Akito slowly turned his head toward the direction of the voice.

A person stood by the bed.

Dark blue and light blue, two-toned hair, glowing softly in the moonlight. Silver-gray upturned eyes, a tear mole beneath the left eye. A tall, slender figure wearing white priestly robes with somewhat worn edges.

Touya.

He stood there, exactly as in memory. His outline was clear, his form substantial, casting a faint shadow in the moonlight. The moonlight could illuminate the wrinkles on his robes, the fine fur on his long ears. He simply stood in silence, gazing gently at Akito.

Akito didn't move. He feared that the slightest movement would make the person before him dissipate like last time.

"Touya...?" Akito's voice was so soft he could barely hear it himself.

That person nodded.

Akito reached out; his finger touched the corner of Touya's robe. Rough, real, carrying the dust of the journey and the chill of night dew. His finger moved upward, touching Touya's wrist—cold as always, but a pulse was beating there, one beat, then another.

Akito grabbed Touya's hand, gripping so hard his knuckles whitened. That wrist must have hurt from his grasp, yet Touya didn't pull away.

"You...!" Akito said, his voice trembling. "You liar."

Touya looked at him; something flickered in his eyes. He opened his mouth, his voice lighter and hoarser than Akito remembered.

"I'm sorry. I came back."

Akito didn't answer. He only gripped Touya's hand, clutching so tightly as if wanting to embed that hand into his own flesh and blood. Moonlight shone in through the window, casting the shadows of two people upon the wall, overlapping together, inseparable.

Outside the window, dawn was approaching. A faint fish-belly white glow spread across the eastern horizon—the color of dawn. This was real, belonging to the present, to the living—the dawn of those who exist.

Akito looked at Touya, at the tears glistening in those eyes. He finally released Touya's hand and instead grabbed Touya's shoulders.

"Don't go again..." Akito choked out, his tone carrying devout pleading. "This time, stay by my side."

Outside the window came the first birdsong—crisp and bright, heralding the end of night and the arrival of dawn.

Touya didn't speak, but he nodded.

Akito pulled him into his embrace.

————————————————————

When Akito opened his eyes again, daylight already filled the window.

Sunlight leaked through the gap in the curtains; birdsong rose and fell, bringing the unique bustle of morning. Akito blinked; consciousness slowly surfaced from sleep, carrying a rare, nearly unfamiliar languor.

He moved his fingers, touching a patch of soft skin.

Akito froze.

He slowly turned his head.

Touya was sleeping beside him, on the same pillow, his forehead nearly touching Akito's shoulder. His fine long hair was scattered across the pillowcase, glowing softly in the morning light. Touya's breathing was even, his cold breath brushing against Akito's neck again and again. His lashes were long, casting a small shadow beneath his eyelids. His long ears rested peacefully, and the long tail Akito had never seen before extended unguarded from his waist.

Akito didn't move.

Was it a dream? Or delusion? His reason gently tugged at him from behind, reminding him that all of this might merely be a hallucination fabricated by his mind after longing had grown too intense. Yet Touya's temperature was so real, right beside his hand, transmitted through the thin layer of underclothing—cold yet substantively tangible.

Even if it were delusion. Even if it were a dream.

Akito lay quietly, eyes unblinking as he watched Touya's face. How long had it been since he last looked like this? A few weeks? A few months? It felt like a lifetime ago. Touya's outline was even more gaunt than in his memory, yet that quiet air about him hadn't changed in the slightest. He furrowed his brows in his sleep, as if troubled by an uneasy dream.

Akito wanted to reach out and smooth that crease between Touya's brows, but his hand stopped halfway. What if, upon touching him, his finger passed through Touya's body, just like in the Demon King's castle, dispersing into ethereal light points—

He didn't dare gamble.

The sunlight moved an inch upon the curtains; the room grew a bit brighter. Touya's lashes fluttered a few times, then slowly opened.

Those eyes carried a thin layer of mist; the instant they saw Akito, they softened. Touya looked at Akito, his gaze shifting from confusion to clarity, then melting into tenderness.

"Good morning."

Akito opened his mouth but couldn't produce a sound. All words were blocked in his chest, unable to come out.

Touya didn't rush him. He raised his hand and reached toward Akito's hair. That hand moved slowly, giving Akito ample time to dodge. But Akito didn't dodge; he only watched that hand approach. Slender fingers, defined knuckles—a shape he had traced countless times in memory.

Touya's fingers slid into Akito's hair, gently combing through the sleep-tousled strands. His movements were gentle, carrying the patience and doting affection one shows a child, exactly as before. His fingertips slid across Akito's scalp, the pressure just right, from forehead to behind the ears, smoothing every strand that stuck up.

Real temperature, real force, real breathing within arm's reach. Touya's familiar scent drifted into his nostril strand by strand, identical to the scent in memory.

Akito's eyes grew hot. He didn't forcefully blink the wetness back as he had done before. He only looked at the tenderness in those silver-gray eyes, feeling the fingers touching his head again and again.

"It's real." Akito's voice shook beyond recognition.

Touya's fingers paused in his hair and nodded.

"It's real."

Akito suddenly lunged into Touya's embrace.

His movement was too abrupt, knocking Touya back half an inch, but Touya didn't push him away. Akito buried his face in the hollow of Touya's shoulder, both hands gripping Touya's clothes fiercely, his entire body trembling from head to toe. The emotions suppressed in his chest finally burst through the dam, surging forth.

He cried.

He cried like a child, all his grievances, fears, longing, and despair pouring out in this moment. How long had he endured? Days? Weeks? From the moment Touya vanished in the Demon King's castle, he had been enduring, and now he finally had a place where he could cry properly.

Akito cried until his whole body shook, tears soaking Touya's clothes. His fingers twisted desperately into Touya's fabric, refusing to let go no matter what.

Touya didn't speak. He only gently patted Akito's back, again and again, his palm pressing against Akito's spine in a steady, patient rhythm. His hand moved from Akito's back to the nape of his neck, gently stroking that taut cervical vertebra, as if soothing a frightened young beast.

"I'm back." Touya said beside his ear.

Akito didn't lift his head; his crying grew louder.

"I'm back." Touya said again.

"I'm back."

Touya repeated those words, tirelessly. His palm drew circles on Akito's back, soothing back and forth. Akito's crying gradually subsided into intermittent sobs, but he still wouldn't lift his head, his face remaining buried in the hollow of Touya's shoulder.

"Don't ever leave me again..." Akito's voice was muffled in the fabric, indistinct, carrying a thick nasal tone.

"I won't."

"Swear it."

"I swear."

Akito finally raised his head. His eyes were swollen red, his face covered in tear tracks, utterly disheveled. Touya looked at him and reached out to wipe away the tears on his cheeks.

Akito grabbed Touya's wrist, not letting him retract it. He stared into Touya's eyes, wanting to find any trace of a lie in those eyes that could lie with such righteous confidence. But all he found there was tenderness and heartache, and a hint of relief.

"You were lying to me before."

"Not this time, and never again."

Akito took a deep breath and slowly released Touya's sleeve. His fingers were marked red from his own force, his palm covered in sweat. He sat up, leaned against the headboard, and sat shoulder to shoulder with Touya.

Akito was silent for a long time, waiting for his breathing to steady. Then he asked: "How did you come back?"

Touya's gaze fell upon the sky outside the window, as if thinking about how to explain to Akito in less complicated terms.

"After defeating the Demon King, I truly did die." Touya's tone was no different from when he used to teach Akito the principles of magic, as if he had merely gone to take care of some necessary business rather than nearly leaving Akito forever. "The moment the Demon King died, all creations connected to him would perish; therefore, my body collapsed in that instant."

Akito's fingers gripped the bedsheet. He knew this; he had witnessed Touya's dissolution with his own eyes. But he didn't want to recall it.

"But as a Nightmare, I inherently exist on the level of consciousness." Touya continued. "When my physical form dissipated, my consciousness and power fragmented, scattering upon the person I was most reluctant to part with before my death."

Akito was startled. "Me?"

Touya turned his head, looked into Akito's eyes, and nodded.

"You are the only person in this world I cannot let go of. My fragments fell upon you, attaching to your mind, but fragments are fragments—they cannot aggregate on their own."

"Then what about now? Why are you now—"

"Because of you."

He reached out and covered the back of Akito's hand, his force a bit stronger than usual.

"Akito, your longing for me... is too strong, strong enough to anchor my existence." Touya paused, then carefully chose his words. "When you miss me, your consciousness is calling out to mine. You recall me again and again, describe me, call my name in your heart—these actions are equivalent to confirming my existence on my behalf."

Hearing his own longing for Touya being stated so unadornedly by Touya himself, even though Akito's focus wasn't on that right now, his face still quietly reddened a bit.

"Using your impression of me as a mold and your longing for me as an adhesive, my consciousness was reassembled." Touya's fingers gently tightened on the back of Akito's hand. "That is to say, Akito, it is your longing for me that brought me back to this world."

The room was quiet for a moment; only Akito's unsteady breathing echoed in the space.

Akito looked down at Touya's hand covering the back of his, slowly turning his palm over and interlocking their fingers. He asked: "What about others? Can they see you?"

Touya shook his head. "Apart from you, no one can see me. Memories of me have also vanished from their minds. My current existence is maintained by depending on your longing; therefore, only you can perceive me."

Akito's heart sank. He raised his eyes, looking at Touya's profile. When Touya said these words, his expression was faint, without a trace of self-pity.

"Aren't you sad? Being forgotten by everyone—"

"It doesn't matter."

He turned his head to look at Akito, the corners of his mouth curving lightly, his ears naturally drooping slightly to the sides.

"Akito, you still remember me. That is enough. To me, you are more important than this world."

Akito's eyes grew hot again. He turned his head away and blinked forcefully, not wanting to cry embarrassingly in front of Touya again.

Touya's long tail gently swept across Akito's leg, carrying a bit of intention to cheer him up. Akito turned back and saw a lightness in Touya's eyes that had never been there before.

"Moreover, I now completely depend on you for my existence. Your life is my life; you live, I live. If you are gone, I will also dissipate."

Akito was stunned. He processed the meaning of these words and slowly understood.

"Life and death together."

"Life and death together." Touya repeated, nodding.

Akito gripped Touya's hand tightly, so hard that Touya frowned slightly. Akito didn't relax his grip; he feared that the moment he loosened, all of this would vanish. He lowered his head, looking at their intertwined fingers—Touya's fingers were icy, while his were warm; this contrast in temperature became the most irrefutable proof of their present existence.

"Then I will live a very, very long time from now on." Akito said, his voice lowering as if speaking to himself, or as if making a vow to some invisible existence. "For you, and for myself."

Touya looked at him without speaking, only gently returning Akito's grip.

Akito looked back at Touya and suddenly noticed something. When Touya explained all this, his tone was too calm, as if taking Akito's feelings into consideration. His gaze fell upon Akito's face, carrying concern and tenderness, yet lacking that thing burning in Akito's chest right now.

Touya was still treating him as a child who needed comforting.

He recalled countless fragments from the journey: Touya helping him tidy his hair, Touya staying by his side when he had nightmares, Touya blocking danger for him. Back then Akito was ten, thirteen, sixteen—still an immature child who needed Touya to pull him out from predicament after predicament.

But he was twenty now.

He was no longer that child who couldn't sleep at night from homesickness. He had walked a ten-year journey, defeated the Demon King, endured the pain of losing Touya, and alone withstood the loneliness of being understood by no one. He had grown up, grown strong, enough to stand shoulder to shoulder with Touya rather than forever being protected behind him.

But Touya hadn't realized this yet.

Akito took a deep breath and slowly straightened his body. He turned his head and looked directly into Touya's eyes. Then, he solemnly took Touya's hands in his.

Touya's fingers trembled lightly in his palm, clearly somewhat surprised. He didn't withdraw his hand, only looked at Akito in confusion, his long ears curiously pricking forward.

"Touya." Akito called his name, firm and resolute.

"Mm?"

"I have something to tell you..."