Ray landed on the ancient, polished floor with the grace of a falling leaf. As he stood, the frantic hum of Hashi in his veins subsided, returning to its steady, rhythmic flow. He released a shaky breath, his eyes darting across the room.
The throne room was pristine. The copper stench of death, the dismembered limbs, and the "blood soup" had vanished as if they had never existed. The stone was clean, cold, and silent.
A sudden, sharp ripple in the air made Ray's instincts scream. He threw himself to the side just as a black streak hissed past his throat.
Thwack.
An obsidian dagger, crude and jagged, buried itself deep into the stone doors behind him. Ray turned toward the source.
Emerging from a shadowed corridor beside the throne was the silver-haired child. His ethereal face was a mask of cold indifference, his violet eyes tracking Ray with the predatory focus of an owl.
The boy didn't speak. He simply began a relaxed walk toward the white throne. Every step was silent, every movement deliberate.
Ray straightened his back, his hands open to show he carried no weapon. "Would you be so kind as to grace this old man with a moment of your time?" he asked cautiously.
The boy didn't stop. He kept walking, his gaze fixed on Ray, listening with a silence that felt heavier than words.
Back at the house.
Takahiro sat at the wooden table, his fingers moving absently as he attempted to knit with Selena. His mind, however, was miles away, trapped in the memory of the blade sinking into flesh.
"Taka? Are you okay?" Selena asked softly.
Takahiro looked up, meeting her kind, chocolate-brown eyes. He had long since grown used to the jagged claw scar that marring her face; to him, it was just a part of the woman who had helped raise him.
He hesitated, his voice barely a whisper. "Selena... do you think I can really be a swordsman?"
Selena's needles stilled. "Why would you ask that, Taka?"
Takahiro looked down at his hands. They were trembling—fine, rhythmic tremors he couldn't suppress. "Is it wrong to hurt people... even if it's to save others?"
Selena watched him for a long moment, a sad, knowing smile touching her lips. "No," she said gently. "It isn't wrong."
Takahiro's face fell, his shoulders slumping.
"Anna once told me," Selena continued, returning to her knitting without looking up, "that a mother sometimes has to do 'bad' things to protect her children. To hurt someone is bad—there's no changing that. But to hurt others to protect those you love is a different weight entirely. You're still causing pain, yes. But sometimes, it is the only path."
Takahiro's lips thinned into a tight line. "But... the blood..."
"Look at it this way," Selena said, her voice dropping into a low, cold register. "If you refuse to hurt those who hurt others for sport... if you don't at least leave a scar on them... then they will simply keep coming. They will hurt the people you are trying to protect because they know you won't stop them."
Takahiro's eyes widened. The logic was cold, but it struck a chord of realization deep within him. He resumed knitting, though his pace was slow and heavy.
Selena reached across the table, covering his trembling hand with hers. When he looked up, she gave him a radiant, motherly smile.
"You are a hero for what you did, Taka. It takes incredible courage to put your life on the line for someone else." She stood up, pulling his head into her chest in a protective embrace. "But you are still a child. I wish I could tell you that the world is kind, that you'll never have to draw blood again. But the world is dangerous and cruel. To protect what you care about, you will have to raise your sword. You will have to spill blood."
The dam finally broke.
Takahiro couldn't hold it back anymore. The "Perfect Prince" mask shattered into a thousand pieces. He clutched Selena, his fingers digging into her clothes as he began to sob—deep, racking wails of a boy who had seen too much, too soon.
Selena held him tight, stroking his golden hair as he wept. She looked down at him with a fragile, aching smile and began to sing. Her voice was a low, soothing lullaby that seemed to wrap around the room like a warm blanket.
Sleep tightly, sleep long,
Like the baby deep in the night sky.
With the stars and stories,
Untold, unknown...
The baby dreams,
Of fantasies and lives...
The weight of the past week finally pulled Takahiro under. Bathed in her scent and the rhythm of her song, he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
In the shadows of the hallway, Anna stood hidden, listening to the soft melody. She didn't move, she didn't speak; she simply let the lullaby wash over her, a rare moment of peace in a house haunted by shadows.