The living room of the lodge was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fireplace.
Four people occupied the space—a rather odd combination: Tsubasa Yura, Noel Shinra, Akeno Himejima, and Momo Hanakai.
Outside, the festival lights flickered in the distance, but none of them had chosen to attend.
Tsubasa stretched her arms over her head, then turned toward Noel.
"Hey, let's spar."
Noel, sitting comfortably on the couch, let out a small sigh.
"I've had enough today."
He leaned back, closing his eyes for a brief moment.
"Since it's the last day, can't I just rest?"
Tsubasa clicked her tongue, then turned to Momo, who was seated beside her, balancing a book in one hand while practicing magic with the other.
"What about you?"
"No."
Momo barely looked up.
"I haven't completed my magic training today."
Tsubasa slumped slightly, then glanced at Akeno, who simply smiled at her.
It was the kind of smile that meant nothing good for the person on the receiving end.
With an exaggerated sigh, Tsubasa deflated like a balloon, only to straighten up immediately after.
"Ah! I'm going to grill the leftover meat."
Without waiting for an answer, she left.
At that moment, Noel took note of Akeno, clad in a loose loungewear set that hung effortlessly on her frame.
It wasn't something remarkable—just a simple outfit that looked incredibly comfortable.
Her presence, however, carried its usual elegance, something natural rather than intentional.
"I believe this is the first time we've had a talk like this," Akeno said, her voice smooth as ever.
Noel nodded.
"It's hard with the schedule we've been training."
He glanced at her, then added, "I thought Akeno-san was the type to enjoy festivals. Are you sure it's fine to miss out?"
Akeno tilted her head slightly, a teasing glint in her eyes.
"Ara~, did you perhaps stay after knowing I was staying?"
Noel blinked. "No? I'm really just curious."
Akeno let out a small hum before shaking her head.
"Noel-kun is no fun to tease. Do you perhaps not have an interest in women?"
Noel didn't react much, but beside him, Momo's fingers twitched slightly, the pages of her book pausing mid-turn.
The magic she had been controlling flickered, becoming slightly unstable before she quickly regained control.
Noel smiled wryly. "I'm perfectly straight, thank you."
In his mind, he sighed.
Why do conversations with Akeno always take this kind of turn?
Akeno's not bad, in fact she's gorgeous.
Just not my type.
They say the world needs balance—mountains and plains, highs and lows.
But true elegance lies in minimalism, for even the most legendary swords rest best on the flattest of—
A sudden, thunderous crack shattered the silence.
The three of us locked eyes, an unspoken agreement passing between us.
Without hesitation, we sprinted toward the source of the sound, our breaths quick and uneven.
The ground trembled beneath our feet, loose rocks tumbling down the slopes as if the mountain itself was groaning.
Then, we saw it—a crater, fresh and jagged, as if something had slammed into the earth with immense force.
At its center lay Tsubasa Yura, motionless.
"Tsuba-chan!" Momo's voice broke, raw with panic, as she rushed forward.
We rushed toward Tsubasa—but I stopped short.
Death.
A cold pulse throbbed inside me, the death factor stirring as if it had found something… familiar.
Then, I saw it.
A shadow, cloaked in darkness, a glinting scythe raised—aimed directly at Momo and Akeno as they sprinted toward Tsubasa.
"Akeno!" I shouted.
She sensed it before I could say more.
With a flick of her wrist, lightning crackled to life, splitting the air with a deafening roar.
Bolts of electric blue arced forward, striking the figure in a blinding flash.
The air smelled of ozone. The shadow jerked, spasmed—then froze.
I exhaled, tension draining from my body.
"A reaper?" Akeno muttered, her brow furrowed as she eyed the smoldering figure.
The feeling lingered.
Still pulling.
Still throbbing.
A relentless warning—there were more of them.
I took a steadying breath and spoke.
"Come out."
Akeno and Momo exchanged confused glances.
Tsubasa, her voice strained, managed to say, "There are a lot of them."
In an instant, Momo and Akeno tensed, their senses sharpening.
"Are you okay?" Momo asked, worry etched in her voice.
Tsubasa let out a weak chuckle. "They just knocked me down, no big deal."
Hooded figures emerged from the shadows, surrounding us.
One, dressed more elaborately than the rest, stepped forward—clearly their leader.
He was an old man, his gaunt face and piercing eyes giving him the perfect look of a necromancer.
His tattered robe, worn and frayed, looked as ancient as he was.
In his hands, he clutched a plain wooden staff, unadorned yet imposing.
Akeno didn't hesitate.
With a flick of her wrist, arcs of lightning crackled to life, illuminating the darkness.
She unleashed them in a blinding wave, tearing through one side of the encirclement.
"Run!" she shouted.
That was all we needed.
Without hesitation, we bolted, sprinting toward the festival—toward the others.
The surprise attack bought us some distance.
But it wasn't enough.
The reapers were faster—much faster.
They were closing in.
I clenched my jaw, frustration boiling over.
Just my luck.
Why were reapers even here?
Butterfly effect?
No.
That would imply some kind of logic, and there was none of that—
Then it hit me.
A pulse.
deep, relentless thrum inside me.
You've got to be kidding.
It was me.
A weight settled over me—not just exhaustion, but something heavier.
A directionless pull, a suffocating truth.
I never asked for this power.
I never wanted it.
Yet, the pulse inside me refused to be ignored.
I exhaled, teeth gritted.
Enough.
My steps faltered, then slowed—this time, deliberately.
Then, I stopped.
My gaze locked onto the three ahead, their figures growing smaller as they ran.
As long as they reached Rias and Sona, they'd be safe.
I didn't know if those two were stronger than the reapers chasing us.
But with their status, the reapers wouldn't act carelessly.
That was enough.
I raised a hand.
Bind.
Dark threads unraveled from my hands, twisting and writhing like living creatures.
They shot out, latching onto trees, weaving an intricate web between the branches.
The first reapers surged forward—and were caught instantly.
Before they could even struggle, the threads constricted, slicing through them like unseen blades.
Screams ripped through the night.
Bodies collapsed.
Lifeless.
I flicked my fingers, and more threads spiraled outward, ensnaring those who tried to escape.
One reaper managed to sever a few strands and lunged at me.
I sidestepped.
A flick of my wrist—one thread shot forward, piercing his throat.
His body crumpled.
The others hesitated.
Feast.
The threads pulsed.
Then, as if awakened to a deeper purpose, they writhed.
The dark strands coiled tighter around the fallen reapers, shuddering before burrowing into their flesh.
A sickening sound—wet, hollow, like something being drained—filled the air.
The reapers convulsed.
Their bodies shriveled, their cloaks collapsing inward as if their very essence was being wrung from them.
A wail rose from the tangle of threads—haunting, hollow, final.
Then, one by one, they crumbled to dust.
The remaining reapers hesitated.
The old man—their leader—watched in silence.
"Enough of this."
The words carried no anger, no frustration—just inevitability.
He raised his staff.
A heartbeat later, a crushing force slammed into my side.
It wasn't a spell.
No ominous chant.
No surge of power.
Just the weight of that gnarled wooden staff—swung with terrifying precision.
Bone cracked.
Pain flared, sharp and merciless.
Before I could even react, I was airborne.
The world spun.
By the time I crashed to the ground, the impact barely registered.
My mind reeled, trying to process what had just happened.
The old man.
He had been twenty meters away.
Now, he stood over me, expression unreadable, his staff resting lazily at his side—like he hadn't just shattered my ribs with a single, effortless strike.
He exhaled, slow and deliberate, eyes gleaming with something far worse than simple malice.
"Hmm… You're coming with me."
Darkness swallowed my vision before I could even think to resist.