Ten years later.
The White-Clad stronghold had changed.
Or maybe it had not changed at all, and only the people inside it had.
The halls were still draped in pale firelight and long shadows. The walls still felt too still. Too cold. Too devoted. The same sterile reverence lingered in the air, as if every corridor had been built for prayer and war in equal measure.
But one room—
One room looked nothing like the rest.
A game console was hooked up to a large screen.
Controllers were scattered over a low table.
An open bag of snacks sat half-finished beside a stack of plates Ritsu had clearly set down and replaced several times already.
And sprawled across a long sofa as though he owned the entire fortress—
Was Kidan.
Now fifteen years old.
Longer-limbed. Sharper-faced. Beautiful in the same eerie way he had always been, but no longer remotely childlike in presence. His white hair fell loosely around his face, and the familiar marks beneath his eyes only made his expression stand out more.
He wore a custom outfit modeled after his old Asakusa clothes.
Loose, layered, elegant.
Only now the colors had been altered to match the White-Clad, white, ash-black, pale silver, muted violet and the White-Clad symbol had been incorporated into the design with deliberate pride.
The sleeves were long enough to swallow his hands.
The silhouette was regal.
And yet—
He was slouched on a sofa with a controller in hand.
"Almost there..."
His eyes stayed fixed on the screen.
Fast. Focused. Completely unbothered.
Behind him stood Ritsu, hands folded, posture immaculate, expression trying and failing to remain calm.
"Kidan-sama," she said gently, "the meeting is important."
No answer.
Kidan leaned forward slightly.
On the screen, the final boss of whatever game he was playing was clearly on its last legs.
Ritsu tried again.
"This concerns the future plans of the Evangelist."
Kidan spoke at last, but his eyes never left the game.
"I know."
Ritsu blinked.
"...Then perhaps—"
"I'll go after I finish."
His tone was casual and absolute.
Ritsu paused.
She knew that tone.
There was no moving him once it appeared.
Still, she tried.
"Kidan-sama, Lady Haumea has called every concerned member. They are all waiting."
Kidan pressed another string of buttons with flawless timing.
"Then they can wait a little longer."
Ritsu's lips parted slightly.
Then closed.
She looked to the others in the room for support.
Orochi stood with arms crossed near the wall, silent and severe-looking.
Iron sat upright, every bit the picture of discipline.
Sasori leaned near the doorway, watching with quiet intensity.
All three were members of the Knights of Purple Smoke.
All three answered directly to Kidan.
All three should have helped.
Instead—
Orochi said, with complete seriousness, "Commander Kidan must have a reason."
Iron nodded once. "If he says the meeting can wait, then it can wait."
Sasori lowered his head in open reverence. "Whatever Kidan-sama chooses is correct."
Ritsu stared at them.
For a second, she almost looked offended on behalf of common sense itself.
"You are not helping," she said.
None of them appeared bothered.
Because in their eyes, Kidan was not merely their commander.
He was Kidan.
Commander of the Knights of Purple Smoke.
A Pillar.
An Adolla-touched existence.
Whatever he did, whatever he chose, whatever ridiculous thing he delayed in order to beat a game—
To them, it had to be right.
The screen flashed.
Kidan's thumbs moved faster.
Then—
"Yes!"
He sat up with a grin as the final boss exploded into victory effects.
"I beat it."
The room went silent for a heartbeat.
Then Orochi bowed his head.
"As expected of Commander Kidan."
Iron actually put a fist to his chest. "Magnificent."
Sasori looked openly moved. "Flawless."
Ritsu closed her eyes briefly.
Then opened them again and stepped forward.
"Kidan-sama. Please. The meeting."
Kidan leaned back into the sofa, satisfied now, and tossed the controller onto the table.
"Alright."
Ritsu exhaled in relief so quietly only someone paying close attention would have caught it.
Kidan stood.
At fifteen, he was still not towering, but there was a strange effortless weight to him now. A lazy elegance. The kind of presence that made rooms rearrange themselves around him.
He slipped his hands into his sleeves.
Then looked toward the far wall where 10 tall matoi poles had been set aside.
He raised one hand.
Five points of flame lit at once.
Controlled. Beautiful. Precise.
Each matoi answered his will as the flames wound around them, lifting them smoothly up off the ground.
Orochi's eyes widened in admiration.
Iron bowed his head even lower.
Sasori looked ready to worship.
Ritsu, for all her familiarity with him, still looked awed.
Kidan tilted his head.
"Get on."
No one questioned it.
In seconds, the five mounted poles rose through the chamber's open upper archway, flames supporting and guiding them through the air as if Kidan were conducting a private procession through the sky.
And at the front—
Kidan flew.
---
Elsewhere, inside the designated meeting hall, tension had already reached the edge of snapping.
A wide chamber.
High ceiling.
Long stone floor.
White fire bowls lined the walls, their pale light washing over every figure gathered there.
They were all present.
Haumea stood near the front, one foot tapping once against the floor, irritation radiating off her in waves.
Shō stood nearby, posture composed but visibly annoyed in the colder, quieter way that suited him. The commander of the Knights of the Ashen Flame looked less furious than Haumea—
But somehow more irritated.
Dragon was there too.
Massive. Overbearing. Seated like a calamity in human shape, his presence alone making the room feel smaller.
Charon stood in his usual silent place.
Others lingered at the edges.
All of them were waiting for one person.
And that person was late.
Haumea's smile had long since vanished.
"...Unbelievable."
Shō glanced toward the doors with narrowed eyes.
"He was told the time."
Haumea folded her arms.
"I know he was told the time."
Dragon let out a low, bored exhale.
"If this turns into pointless noise, I'm leaving."
Haumea shot him a glare.
"It already is pointless noise because he isn't here."
Shō's patience thinned another fraction.
"He treats this place like a playground."
Haumea's eye twitched.
"Because everyone indulges him."
Charon said nothing.
Which, in Haumea's current mood, somehow made his silence more irritating than speech would have.
A full hour had passed.
An entire hour.
Haumea's anger now sat just beneath the surface, ready to tear through the room.
Then—
The doors swung open.
Iron stood there, holding one side of the great entrance as calmly as though nothing unusual had happened at all.
And through the open doors walked Kidan.
Unbothered.
Hands tucked in his sleeves.
Expression calm.
Like he had merely stepped out for air and returned exactly when he pleased.
Behind him, his people stopped at the threshold.
Kidan continued forward alone.
The room watched him in silence.
Haumea smiled.
That was never a good sign.
"Thank you," she said, voice dripping with poisonously sweet politeness, "for gracing us with your presence, Kidan."
Kidan stopped where he intended to stand and gave a faint nod.
"You're welcome."
A vein popped on Haumea's forehead.
Shō's gaze sharpened.
The room got colder.
For a moment, it looked as though Haumea herself might lunge first.
Instead, Shō stepped forward half a pace.
"You're late."
Kidan glanced at him.
"Yes."
Shō's expression did not change.
"This meeting concerns the Evangelist's plan."
Kidan looked back at the front of the room.
"And now I'm here."
The answer was dismissive enough that even Dragon's eyes shifted with mild interest.
Shō's irritation finally tipped.
"You think that excuses it?"
Kidan looked at him again.
This time his gaze was flat.
"I think," he said, "that if you have something to say, you should say it properly instead of standing there trying to act superior."
The room went still.
Haumea's lips curled. Now this was at least entertaining.
Shō's eyes narrowed.
In the next instant—
The air changed.
"Severed Universe."
The heat around Shō collapsed into unnatural cold and the flow of time itself fractured around him. The room froze into stillness, all motion severed from its ordinary order as Shō stepped forward through a world that no longer moved.
His sword remained sheathed.
Only discipline.
He drew near Kidan and swung with the blunt of the blade toward Kidan's side.
And Kidan moved.
Shō's eyes widened.
Kidan tilted away from the strike.
Then his sleeve shifted and his arm came out, parrying the next blow cleanly.
Shō struck again.
And again.
Every hit was met.
Deflected.
Avoided.
Inside stopped time.
Inside Severed Universe.
The impossible made real.
Shō's expression changed from irritation to true focus.
'He's moving?'
Kidan's own face remained almost serene.
His body flowed with small, precise adjustments. The floor beneath his feet did not shatter. He did not blast outward with obvious force.
He simply moved.
As though some deeper fire in him refused to fully obey the rules Shō imposed on the world.
The parries came faster now.
Sleeve.
Palm.
Forearm.
A turning pivot.
A near-silent strike that forced Shō's blade off-line.
The clash remained brief, but real.
A short, private battle in stolen time.
Then the frost creeping along Shō's body deepened and his limit approached.
Time resumed.
The hall snapped back into motion.
To everyone else, it looked like Shō had vanished and reappeared in a different place with Kidan now turned half-sideways, one arm out from his sleeve.
Haumea's eyes widened.
Charon looked on in silence.
Dragon sat forward slightly.
Shō stepped back one pace as the remains of cold rolled off him.
Kidan lowered his arm.
The hall was quiet.
Then Dragon's voice crashed through it.
"Do not fight here."
Everyone looked at him.
Dragon's eyes were hard now, dangerous in a way only Dragon could be.
"If you want to tear something apart, do it elsewhere."
The meaning underneath the words was obvious.
Cause real trouble here—
And you deal with him.
Kidan turned his head and looked straight at Dragon.
Then he said, "Don't try to tell us what to do."
The room seemed to constrict.
Because it was one thing to be late.
One thing to answer Haumea back.
One thing to clash with Shō.
But to answer Dragon that way—
Without even a hint of hesitation—
That was something else.
Dragon stared at him.
Kidan stared right back.
He did not blink.
Did not lower his eyes.
Did not care.
Dragon, for his part, did not smile.
Did not snarl.
He simply held the gaze, measuring.
And what he found there—
Whatever it was—
Made him remain exactly where he was.
The room stayed tense.
Haumea slowly lifted a hand to her forehead.
"Wonderful," she muttered. "Just wonderful."
But beneath the irritation, beneath the anger, beneath the chaos of personalities and power packed into one room—
There was also something else.
A recognition.
Kidan had not merely arrived late.
He had arrived like a force of nature reminding everyone that he would move when he pleased.
And even among monsters.
---
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