Eighteen sets.
Four vertical lines. One diagonal through. Over and over.
Then four more, standing alone—no fifth to cross them out.
Ninety-four tallies, carved sloppily into the wall by the back corner, just above where the cot leg scraped tile. The first few sets were shallow. Almost neat.
A little over three months. Elara had been in this cramped cell for a little over three months.
No window. No clock. Just a flickering ceiling light and a stiff, cheap cot.
The door hissed and made a quiet hydraulic sounding slide across the seldom washed tile.
Rowan stepped in as unimportant as he could. One hand buried in his coat pocket, the other cradling a chipped porcelain mug. He didn't speak right away. Just sipped whatever was inside, glanced at the scratch-marks on the wall, and gave a hard, near comedic whistle.
"Rowan." She watched him with narrow eyes. "What now?"
Rowan let the silence stretch as long as it wanted. He finally took a seat on the edge of the cot like it was a couch, one leg over the other, mug balanced on his knee.
"You're lucky, y'know," he said, half a yawn in his tone. "Most people don't survive pissing off Callum."
He tilted the cup to her in mock salute. "Says a lot about your potential. Or maybe just how little he wants to deal with this."
Still, she didn't respond. Her pulse hadn't slowed.
Rowan sighed, stretching his neck like he'd just woken up. "I'm here to deliver a message," he said, finally. "You get to look for the kid. Chances are they will strike again next month. That said, you better not fail us. Because if you do…"
He paused but it obviously wasn't for drama. He sounded so disinterested, as if the sentence itself didn't matter.
"Look, I really don't wanna deal with Osei."
That name had a way of coming in alot of conversation, not that she was included in many. But around the small jailing system tied directly to celaris, he came up a lot without context. She didn't know it—but she understood he likely had more authority than she could fathom.
Rowan stood, finished his drink, and headed back toward the door.
"Rest up," he said. "They'll be calling you soon."
The hiss of the door closing behind him was the only thing that moved faster than he did.
––––—
Kamo sat still, spine upright, legs folded beneath him. His palms rested on his knees, fingers relaxed—not pressed together, not clenched. Breath in. Held. Out.
He breathed in. Held. Out. Again.
The air in the old vault didn't move. It tasted like eucalyptus and limestone—dry, mineral, almost antiseptic. Not like the rot and mold that had settled into the mountain a long time ago and never fully dried. Even now, the place still remembered death. That didn't bother him.
He remained still.
The sound of the new recruits outside barely touched him. Voices echoed against damp stone. Metal struck metal—sloppy, uneven. They were learning. They were loud about it. Kamo wasn't listening.
Somewhere beyond the vault, crickets chirped and frogs leapt through the brush by the waterfall. Kamo sat with his eyes closed, watching in his own way.
His focus stayed inward.
Far away from conscious thought. In absence. Deeper than breath. Deeper than silence.
Sometimes, a second voice rose from within—a whisper, regretful and soft. Sometimes a subtler third, clawing up through bone and blood. His awareness stretched inward, settling on the constellation of minds within his own.
One glowed with restrained sorrow. A presence barely conscious—soft, hesitant, almost human. It didn't speak. It only lingered, like a memory that hurt to keep but refused to leave.
There was also a presence similar to the sun—hot and righteous. A sun alive with fury, not just burning but yearning to fall, to crash into the world and reduce it to ash. Once, Kamo might have followed that voice.
The third was distant and cold. A moon. Its hatred matched the sun's, but it didn't burn. It circled endlessly, indifferent but constant, its gravity was subtle.
Beneath them all was Kamo. The earth. Rooted in the center, absorbing their pull but resisting them outright.
Kamo felt the judgement of each entity. But this was nothing abnormal, he ignored them. As he did not care how he was perceived. He found himself within this void of souls often. If his understanding was correct, he had dominion over everything it housed. But he didn't clearly know how to command it.
Outside the chamber, the new recruits echoed—blades clashed, orders repeated, names shouted he didn't care to remember. Seventy-five, maybe more. Few mattered yet.
A few exceptions existed. Ren was one of them. The first man to beat Kamo in a fight—even with Nagitsu's help.
According to the bidders and the ones who oversee the eclipse, that alone would put him on the high end of awakened rank if not low ascended rank.
That bothered Kamo by itself. But Ren's easy smile, his eagerness to fight, the way he enjoyed it—that irritated Kamo more.
There weren't many publicly known factions left to recruit from. Not anymore. Every Foundation had fallen. All five. Three months ago, they were fortresses. Now, they were graves.
Kamo had led every attack. Dozens dead by his hands. And yet—he still hadn't summoned the boy.
Hikari.
He knew the name now. Takairo had said it days ago, arguing with another recruit—Kaen—claiming Kaen was too weak, that he had failed him. Kamo didn't disagree. Most of these new recruits were too weak. That wasn't what confused him.
Takairo was right. But he, too, was too weak. He wouldn't have been able to help Hikari either.
It was inevitable. Every Kynenn would end up in one of two places: the afterlife, or here. And if Ketsuen ever gave them reason to believe there was a third option—that would mean Kamo had failed. And Kamo was not a failure.
A shadow shifted behind him. Nagitsu's voice cut through the silence, dry as always.
"You planning to sit here brooding for the rest of your life? You were the one who said we needed more recruits. Yet you don't speak to any of them."
Kamo didn't open his eyes. "Yes. We need them. That doesn't make any of them a peer of mine."
Nagitsu shook his head, the movement edged with disappointment. "Why do you act like that? When did the whole world become your enemy?"
Kamo ignored him.
Nagitsu didn't let it go. "But lately… you've been even quieter than usual. Since that last raid."
"There's nothing to say," Kamo replied.
Nagitsu's brows rose, skeptical. "Were you ever able to summon him?"
Kamo opened his eyes at last. "No."
"Figure out why?"
"Because I can't."
Nagitsu sounded genuinely surprised. "Can't? What do you mean?"
"He's not responding. Feels like something's in the way."
Nagitsu pressed further, voice lower. "I'm sure you know your own intentions—so give me grace for this—but how do we know you really claimed him? How do we know you didn't just kill him like the rest?"
Kamo offered no reply.
Nagitsu's tone sharpened, less accusation than genuine doubt. "Because if this 'bond' is real—if he's part of you now—how much would someone have to hate you to ignore a command written into their instinct?"
Kamo's answer was quiet. "He does hate me. I'm what he fights not to become. In his mind—I'm a monster."
Nagitsu shook his head. "You don't know him."
Kamo shrugged. "So? He could've killed me. He didn't. He burned the whole room—cut off every shadow I had. Stood over me, only to hesitate. If anything, he pitied me."
He wasn't really talking to Nagitsu anymore—just working through the memory aloud.
"You should've seen his face. He was debating it—one life for many. But by standing over me, he gave me the shadow I needed. I reached through it—through him. And when my hand went through his chest… He looked at me like I betrayed him."
Nagitsu's voice was softer, almost reflective. "So he gave you mercy, and you turned it into a weapon."
Kamo didn't hesitate. "That's what mercy is. I won't let someone's feelings interrupt my mission."
Nagitsu pressed. "Then maybe he's right. Don't lie to yourself—You are a monster."
Kamo was quiet. Then, a short, humorless smirk. "Did you come here for a reason?"
Nagitsu's answer was clipped. "Fūre's asking for us. Both of us."
Kamo stood. Walked past him without another word. Didn't look back.
Nagitsu watched him leave. He didn't follow right away. The silence felt heavy, Nagitsu missed the person Kamo had been years ago, his personality development gave Nagitsu a sense of disappointment.
The war room glowed with the cold flicker of news feeds off the 3 maps hung against the wall.
Fūre stood in front of the screen, cycling through images: crowded ballrooms, lavish decor, bright faces grinning at staged spectacle. He barely glanced over as Kamo and Nagitsu entered.
Nagitsu was the first to break the silence, wary but blunt. "What exactly are we looking at?"
Fūre's eyes stayed on the screen. "The Eclipse Fundraiser is scheduled next month. Publicly, it's a lavish ceremony—spectacle, entertainment, the finalizing of bids on the upcoming Eclipse. A celebration, basically."
Nagitsu's expression tightened, openly skeptical. "With what kynenn, exactly? Every Foundation they had is rubble."
Fūre nodded slowly, conceding the point. "The Foundations are gone, yes. But Celaris doesn't lack candidates. They'll use prisoners, volunteers hungry for fame, violent criminals chasing freedom or redemption. It's not ideal for them—but there's still plenty to feed the machine."
Nagitsu frowned. "So, what's the real issue here? Why bring this up?"
Fūre finally turned slightly, his voice measured but firm. "I'm split between choices. Personally, I believe hitting this event could force Celaris to delay the Eclipse—by a few years, maybe all four. But it's obviously bait. We've hurt their pride badly, Nagitsu. Now they have to prove they still hold control. Frankly, they're counting on us showing up. Banking on it."
Nagitsu's jaw set, defensive as ever. "Then walking in would be suicidal. We've already done enough. Foundations destroyed, their system bleeding out. Why step into their trap now?"
Fūre met his gaze, clear and unwavering. "Because, despite the maniacs who volunteer for the Eclipse willingly, our goal was always to stop those who were forced in—by any means necessary. We've minimized it, yes. But we haven't ended it. And that's why I'm still deciding."
"So you want our opinions, then? I'm immediately against it. I can tell you outright."
Fūre's eyes drifted to Kamo, voice careful. "Kamo?"
Kamo met his gaze evenly. "We should do whatever you think is necessary."
Nagitsu visibly restrained a flash of irritation. "That's not an answer."
"It's mine," Kamo said, calm and final.
"You refuse to have any opinion of your own?"
Kamo's expression didn't change. "Do you need to interrogate every choice I make? I made my decision years ago. And with that decision, I accepted that some opinions are simply more valuable than mine."
"Even if his choice leads every one of us to our deaths? You'd follow blindly?"
"If that's what Fūre decides—yes."
Nagitsu turned to Fūre, openly exasperated. "You hear him? He'd march off a cliff if you told him to."
Fūre nodded slowly, thoughtful rather than pleased. "I hear him clearly."
He let the silence settle. After a long pause, Fūre finally stepped toward the door. "I'll give it careful thought. And if we go, it won't be for appearances. Don't think your opinion is ignored, Nagitsu."
Nagitsu shook his head slightly, tension clear in his shoulders. "I get it. You'd think three voices would be enough to weigh a decision. But the boy's indecisive. That's not your fault, Furegen."
Nagitsu left quietly.
Kamo lingered a moment, voice soft but clear. "You know I'm anything but indecisive. If my choice to follow you proves wrong, I'll bear that responsibility fully. I trust your judgment more than my own."
Fūre's voice softened, almost honest. "I know that. I even appreciate it. But I ask because I need different perspectives. I don't doubt my judgment, Kamo—but we all see the world through different lenses."
Kamo hesitated, looking down, voice quiet but certain. "And as far as I'm concerned, mine's already warped beyond repair."
"Well, here's the thing. If you're with me, then be with me at full strength."
He nodded at Kamo to make sure he was still following.
"I understand."
"If you could summon the kid, you alone would be on the edge of high ascension. If my understanding is correct he is stronger than you, so if he remained with his power level through that transformation you could be nearly as strong as I am. But you can't, and you're not. Not yet. So whatever that shadow thing is becoming, you need to push it. Hard. Find the edges and break them. Start tonight."
Kamo moved to leave, he wouldn't argue with what Fure was saying. And after all he trusted his opinion fully.
Fure didn't stop him, but he left him with a simple reassurance.
"You're not broken, Kamo. You just see things different. That's not a flaw—it's part of why I trust you."
In an effort to maintain his common demeanor, Kamo rushed out the door. There was a small part of him that had room for tears, but the biggest spot in his mind was in agreeance. Fure himself said Kamo isn't reaching his potential.
This lit something in him.
Kamo had been training already—obsessively even. Pushing himself mostly toward summoning the boy, toward control, toward something resembling mastery. But if Fūre, of all people, thought there were stones being left unturned? That wasn't just a request. That was a correction.
He walked back through the stone corridors, thinking—not about what he was doing, but what he wasn't. He trained alone. Always had. But maybe that was the issue. Progress needed friction. Pressure. Weight.
Iron sharpens iron.
His path curved toward the east hall—back where he came before Fure's original summons. Only this time he stopped short of the room he previously occupied.
Kamo looked around the hall. Of everywhere in the building, this was were most kynenn congregate.
Dozens of eyes shifted his way. Conversations cut short. Movements stalled. Some froze entirely. The fear wasn't subtle.
He didn't waste time.
"I need one of you to spar me."
No one moved or replied. In all his expeditions, Kamo made sure to give an intimidating show of strength. To put it simply, they were afraid.
That was fine.
Kamo hadn't asked all of them—he'd just asked.
Because he already knew who he wanted.
Ren jumped forward, hand raised cheesing ear to ear. Not with a smirk. Not with showmanship. Just a quiet confidence and the same unbothered eyes he always had.
"Finally," Ren said, "I'll spar with you, c'mon let's go!"
What a child. Kamo thought after he nodded once.
Ren dropped into a balanced stance on the balls of his feet. His left hand extended forward, his right held closer to his jaw, angled slightly sideways. He moved toward Kamo deliberately, testing distance with a slow jab.
Kamo faced him squarely, expression blank. He made no motion until Ren stepped within striking range.
Kamo unfolded sharply, driving his heel down and inward at an angle into the side of Ren's knee. It wasn't a glancing blow; it was a precise attempt to collapse the joint inward.
Ren staggered briefly, face tightening. Pain shot up his thigh, but he caught himself quickly, stepping back to recover balance.
"Bro, what the fuck? I thought we were just sparring." His face still held a goofy cheesy expression, general excitement had yet to wash off Ren's face.
Kamo ignored the comment. As he was deep in thought, only concerned with breaking the man down as he would for his enemies.
Ren moved back in range, more cautious than he'd originally been. Ren unfolded in a deceptively quick movement that left the heel of his palm against Kamo's core, just below the navel. He'd used hardly any force, it was more of a push than an attack, probing the space Kamo was trying to occupy. Ren stretched first one arm, then the other. Moving at a controlled speed, stepping forward into something like half a hook, dropping across at the end like an overhand. He steps a few times, working something out in his head.
Ren was moving in a way that seemed to prepare a slashing motion, as if to cut through a man with his bare fists. As predictable as the movements were though, and all the while dodging Kamo's counter strikes consistently, by the 3rd or so attempt it had become nearly unavoidable
Kamo took the hits without visible reaction. He closed distance steadily until they stood within arm's reach again. Ren swung in the same slashing motion as before
Ren pivoted sideways, cocking his shoulder slightly for a hook. Kamo read the shift immediately. He waited for another, accepted it, then hooked Ren's arm inside his range. Kamo pivoted through, and drove the back of his elbow sharply into Ren's jaw.
Ren stumbled, head snapping sideways. He spat blood, eyes narrowing.
"Seriously? What's your problem? Aren't we supposed to be on the same side?"
Kamo continued forward, quiet and cold.
Stop whining. Why wouldn't I use the same effort as I would against a real enemy?
Though he couldn't hear Kamo's thoughts, Ren had an idea of the logic. Ren's posture tightened further, he sighed hard and briefly shook his head.
Ren shot forward as much a clean advance as he could from his previously relaxed posture, the speed itself slightly startled Kamo, so the following feint jerked Kamo's guard up entirely too early. Forcing Kamo's hands up toward his face, Ren planted mid-step and drove a hook into Kamo's side. Kamo's breath hitched. Kamo knew better than to drop his elbow and block a completed movement, Ren twisted at the waist and drove his shin towards Kamo's opposite ribcage.
Kamo tracked and deflected the kick, but that froze his already lacking momentum.
So when Ren jerked his upper body, his heel whipping around to catch Kamo across the jaw. Kamo's hand was too slow—his fingers caught the impact, but not enough to absorb it.
Kamo stumbled but didn't fall. He planted his foot awkwardly. Ren replied again with that awkward slicing hook.
The hits slowed Kamo briefly, and Ren pressed, moving quickly to follow up. Kamo threw a powerful cross aimed at Ren's jaw. Ren pivoted sideways smoothly, redirecting the blow by guiding Kamo's wrist across his own body.
In the same fluid movement, Ren stepped into Kamo's space, placing himself between Kamo and his forward momentum. Ren's arm hooked around Kamo's neck as he turned his hip sharply inward.
He pulled Kamo over his hip and threw him to the ground.
Kamo hit the earth hard on his back, breath exploding from his lungs in a rush. He stared straight up, unmoving.
Ren straightened, looking down for a brief moment.
"You lose," Ren said curtly.
Kamo lay flat on his back, the pressure of the toss left a sharp pain surrounding his spine. He didn't leave himself much time to pass the event. Almost immediately he forced his brain to fire on the route of what he could possibly take from that fight, that'd ended entirely too soon.
Tch. I can't see myself as strong if I'm getting embarrassed like this. How can I let myself stand beneath one of my own pawns?
Kamo reflected intently on the awkward punch Ren kept using.
For all intents and purposes, he was trying new things on me—impractical, inefficient, borderline useless attacks that any competent fighter should've easily countered. But it took me four swings to even do that. He even landed another at the end.
Unacceptable. I truly am pathetic. But that is changeable. The fault would be in me remaining this way. I'll grow. I'll surpass him.
Kamo began to let his emotions carry his thoughts, opposite of his usual logical approach. I'll grow stronger, in a short time. Screw Ren. Always so proud of himself, glorifying fighting as a sport. A battle is to defeat, and grant death. And soon enough, I will show him that fact.
[You really are evil all the way to your soul, aren't you. Even standing before a man who respects you, admires you, and supports your goals—no matter how horrible your methods. Still, your desires are so narrow and selfish that you only see him as a stepping stone. Something to kill just to test yourself.]
Who…? He knew. But the reflex was to push back. No. That would be foolish to ask. Why do you care now? Why the opinion all of a sudden?
[I've watched you justify every bruise, every corpse, every scar you've left in just these last months. The way you think—moving through people like they're scenery—it actually makes me shudder. How do you live so focused on yourself? Do you even notice anyone else exists? You talk about purpose and necessity, but what's the difference between you and a wild animal? Or a weapon in someone else's hand?]
I don't owe you explanations. But "blind" is the wrong word. I'm aware—vividly. I keep track of everyone and everything. But every person needs a role. No one's so important that their life outweighs the greater goal. In that sense, yes—anyone could be a stepping stone.
I know what needs to be done. You never did.
[That's just how you excuse it to yourself, isn't it? That all this is for something greater, that nobody's life really matters except as a piece of your mission. You're like a dog trained to bite—so eager to please your master, never questioning who that master is or what they really want from you. I understand how you got this way, Kamo. I do. But understanding is not the same as permission.]
I'll remember that when I come to seek your permission. But last I checked, you are my slave—not the other way around. I serve one man. I'm eager to fulfill his will, yes. But I am no mutt. I know exactly who I am.
[You can call yourself anything you want. It doesn't change what you are.
You're not above anyone just because you chose your master. At the end of the day, you're still living on someone else's command—snapping at whoever they point at. You can dress it up as pride, call it loyalty, but it's still a leash.]
Don't pretend to know me. I saw through your optimism that day we met, it was you trying to play hero on the street, right? And now look. That optimism got you nowhere then and it won't favor you now. Know this—my priorities have always been clear. Purpose above emotion, long before Fūre, even before I met you.
You're not my strategic aide. If you have a problem with my methods, solve my issues yourself—on the battlefield. As commanded.
But somehow, you've found a way around even that. So do me a favor: be as silent in my mind as you are in real life.
Silence lingered and Kamo's heart pounded. Hikari's voice faded, but his judgment didn't. It hung in the air.
Kamo felt a weird shift in his mind. One that said the conversation had ended. And Kamo couldn't find a way back into that exchange. Even though he'd silenced the co-resident voice in his mind intentionally, he wasn't actually prepared to end the back and forth.
But he knew that ship had sailed—at least until Hikari decided to open it back up. Kamo left a final thought in the air, spoken aloud to make sure there was no chance of Hikari missing it.
"Still, I want you to fight."