Silence enveloped the room again after Griselda left. The morning sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtain created thin lines on the wooden floor, moving slowly as time continued its course.
Outside, the usual sounds of the village—roosters, birds, occasionally the voices of villagers greeting each other—could be heard faintly, like a different world at a distance.
Tobio sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes still closed. His body was still weak, but he was used to this weakness. What bothered him wasn't physical—but the silence hanging between him and the blond-haired angel sitting in the chair by the window.
Dulio didn't rush to break the silence. He sat casually, one leg crossed over the other, his eyes occasionally observing Tobio from behind half-closed lashes. He knew this child had questions. He also knew that those questions might not be answerable—at least not now.
Tobio finally spoke. His tone was flat, like asking about the weather.
"So, what's the name of my Sacred Gear? I just want to know its name."
Dulio was silent.
Not because he didn't know. He knew exactly. Telos Karma. A Sacred Gear recorded in Heaven's system as one of the most unstable, hardest to predict. A name carrying weight—weight that didn't suit a child Tobio's age.
'Telos Karma. The End of Karma. Or perhaps... Karma that reaches its goal. Hard to translate, but easy to feel its weight.'
He could tell. There was no prohibition against it. But Dulio also knew that words have power. Giving something a name meant giving shape to fear.
And Tobio, with his eyes that never stopped seeing, with his cracked soul, might not need to be burdened with a name too heavy to carry.
Especially since Griselda hadn't returned. Reporting to Heaven might take time. No one knew how Michael and the Seraphs would respond.
Dulio took a short breath, then answered with a tone he deliberately made casual—not too serious, not too dismissive.
"The name isn't the most important thing right now."
He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. His eyes looked at Tobio, searching for a reaction. Nothing. The child's face remained flat, eyes tightly shut.
"What's clear..." Dulio continued, choosing his words carefully, "is that it's something we've never seen before."
A safe answer. An answer that didn't lie, but also didn't give too much. Enough to make Tobio understand that his situation was unusual—even by Heaven's standards.
Tobio heard that answer.
He observed Dulio in his perception—a stable golden-white aura, relaxed hand movements, energy pulses that didn't change even as he withheld information. 'He's deliberately not telling me,' Tobio thought. There was a reason behind it.
He could push. Could ask again with a firmer tone. But there was no point. If Dulio had decided not to tell, pushing would only create awkwardness—and Tobio didn't have the energy for that.
Besides, he had been pushing himself too much lately. His body, his soul, even his brain were at their limits.
He needed rest. But rest was something he couldn't easily obtain.
"Alright." Tobio's voice was soft, trembling slightly at the end of the sentence—not from emotion, but from the fatigue that kept gnawing at him. "It's okay."
He let the words hang in the air. It's okay. Even though many things were not okay. His eyes that never stopped seeing. His cracked soul. His body growing weaker each time he forced his perception.
But he was used to saying "it's okay" to others. To his grandmother before. To Sae now. Even to himself.
Silence returned. This time heavier. Not an empty silence, but a silence full of unspoken words.
Dulio could feel it—the burden carried by the boy before him. He wanted to say something, wanted to offer comfort, but the words stuck in his throat. What could be said to a child whose eyes kept seeing even when closed?
The bedroom door opened with a soft creak.
"Tobio, I'm coming in."
Sae's voice. Tobio could see the silvery aura with golden-yellow edges entering the room, moving quickly toward him. In his perception, he saw the vibrations of that aura—unstable, pulsing quickly, with small sparks indicating emotions being held back.
Sae knelt beside the bed. She couldn't hold back the tears that had been pooling in her eyes any longer.
"Why..." Her voice was hoarse, like someone who had been holding back tears for too long. "You did that again? Pushed yourself?"
Tobio didn't answer immediately. He felt Sae's hand grip his arm, warm, trembling slightly.
Dulio closed his eyes. He chose not to interfere. There were times an angel should speak, and times he should remain silent.
This was a time to be silent. He let his breathing be soft, trying to make his presence unnoticeable—like a shadow in the corner of the room.
"I..." Tobio began, his voice soft, "pushed myself too far again. And made you worry."
The words felt bland on his tongue. He knew it wasn't enough. But what else could he say? That he was searching for the greatest enemy in this world, Trihexa? That he saw Heaven and the Dimensional Gap? That his eyes burned because he forced them to see too far? Sae wouldn't understand. Not yet.
Sae gripped tighter. "You still can't tell me the reason? When your condition is this bad?"
Tobio was silent.
He could imagine Sae's face now. red eyes from crying, lips biting back frustration, brows furrowed between anger and worry.
But he couldn't truly see it. All he saw was aura, light, vibration. The face of Sae from before—cheerful black eyes, round cheeks that flushed when he teased her, he hadn't seen that in a long time.
'Too early,' he thought. She's still human. She can still live normally. I have no right to drag her into this world.
"No." His voice was soft, but firm. "Too early."
He felt Sae's grip loosen slightly. There was disappointment there. But Tobio couldn't care about that. He had to protect Sae in his own way—by keeping her away from truths too heavy for a child her age.
He needed time. They both needed time. High school later, he promised. But could he keep that promise? With his condition now, with his cracked soul, with his eyes that never stopped seeing... would he still be alive by high school?
He pushed that thought away.
"I want one thing," he said suddenly.
Sae lifted her face, still wet. "What?"
"I need to eat. I'm hungry."
Sae was silent. Her face changed from sad to surprised, then a little annoyed, but at the corner of her lips was a small smile she was trying to hide. A normal conversation. Sudden. As if he hadn't just been unconscious for days with blood on his face.
"I'll get you food." Sae stood up, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "Don't suddenly faint again."
She stepped out, leaving the room with hurried steps—perhaps to hide her still-red face.
Tobio let his breath out slowly. In the corner of the room, Dulio, who had been silent all this time, finally opened his eyes. There was a small smile on his face, a smile that didn't judge.
"Will you tell her later?" asked Dulio, his tone calm.
"Yes." Tobio nodded. "When we're in high school. Not now. She still doesn't understand... about the state of this world."
Dulio looked at Tobio longer. There was something in the angel's eyes—not pity, more than that. Respect? Or perhaps admiration for the maturity forced too quickly upon this child.
"Everything?" asked Dulio.
Tobio shook his head slowly. "Not everything. But enough for her to understand why my condition forces me to be like this."
Enough so Sae wouldn't keep worrying. Enough so Sae understood he wasn't hurting himself on purpose. Enough so Sae wouldn't feel abandoned.
But no more than that. Sae didn't need to know about Trihexa, about the war between races, about the price he had to pay for his vision. That world was too dark for someone who should only be thinking about school exams and arcade games.
Not long after, Sae returned with a bowl of warm porridge. Thin steam still rose from its surface, carrying the aroma of broth and green onions. Tobio could see it in his perception—the shape of the bowl, the soft texture of the porridge, the puffs of steam swirling slowly in the air.
"Can you eat by yourself?" asked Sae, her tone still slightly pouty but not as stern as before.
Tobio nodded. His hand reached out, groping briefly before his fingers touched the warm bowl. "I can do it myself. Thank you."
He blew on the porridge slowly, then brought it to his mouth. Warm. Savory. Sae's mother's porridge was always better than anything he could cook himself. He ate slowly, savoring each spoonful.
For a few minutes, he focused only on the food—not on his ever-seeing eyes, not on his cracked soul, not on Trihexa lurking in another dimension.
Dulio watched from a distance, smiling faintly. This child was still human. Still could enjoy warm porridge made by his friend's mother. Still could joke even though his eyes were blind to the normal world.
After the last spoonful, Tobio placed the bowl beside the bed. He sighed—relieved, but also tired.
"I want to rest," he said.
Sae nodded, even though Tobio couldn't see it. "I'll stay here."
Tobio turned towards Sae's voice. "Not bored?"
Sae shook her head. "No. I just want to be here."
There was warmth in those words. Warmth that made Tobio want to smile.
And for a moment, he let himself be an ordinary child—a child with a friend who cared, who would sit beside him for no reason.
But old habits were hard to break.
"You like being near me?" he teased, his voice slightly playful.
Silence. Then—the rustle of fabric, quick footsteps, and a hand pushing his shoulder gently until he lay down on the bed.
"JUST SLEEP!" Sae's voice rose, and Tobio could see her aura—golden yellow suddenly intensifying to red. "I'll take the dishes home and come back here!"
Sae's footsteps retreated, the door closed a little hard, and Tobio heard a sigh of relief from Dulio's direction.
"You still like to tease, huh?" Dulio chuckled softly.
Tobio didn't answer. He only smiled faintly, then let his body sink into the bed.
But his eyes still saw. The whole room, the whole house, the whole village. He tried to close his eyelids tighter, but it changed nothing. The world remained spread out in his perception, 360 degrees, without pause.
How do you rest when your eyes can never close?
He didn't know. What he knew was he had to try. Because if he didn't, this body would break faster than he thought.
In the corner of the room, Dulio watched. He could feel the restlessness in Tobio's aura—not ordinary restlessness, but the restlessness of a being that couldn't stop, that kept processing information without pause.
'He really can't stop seeing,' Dulio thought. Even now, while trying to sleep.
He didn't know what that felt like. But he could imagine—a brain working nonstop, a mind never truly quieting, exhaustion piling up without ever being repaid. And this child was only thirteen years old.
'Big Sister Griselda, come back quickly. This child needs help.'
---
In Heaven, the Seraphs' meeting room felt quieter than usual.
Michael sat at the end of the long white marble table, his fingers steepled before his face. To his right, Gabriel in a light blue robe sat with her hands folded in her lap, her usually bright face now clouded with worry.
To his left, Uriel with his usual stern expression, his jaw hardening as he heard the report. And at the other end, Raphael in a pale green robe sat with one hand supporting his chin, his analytical eyes alight as he heard the technical details.
Griselda stood in the center, her voice firm even as the report she delivered grew heavier.
"We found Tobio in Hanyu Village. The strange thing is, we couldn't sense the presence of his Sacred Gear. Sacred Gear users can usually be tracked easily. But not with this child."
Michael nodded slightly, not interrupting.
"When we arrived, a girl was running with an expression of holding back tears. At first I thought it was just another situation, but it turned out that girl knew Tobio. I immediately went to the location."
Griselda paused for a moment, taking a breath. "His condition when I found him—unconscious. Many traces of blood, especially on the face. Blood came from his eyes. And the worst part..." She looked directly at Michael. "His soul was cracked. He's survived this far, but the cracks are real."
Gabriel covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes glistening. So that's why I felt watched. He saw here, all the way to Heaven, with a vision that damaged his own soul.
Uriel showed no emotion, but his jaw hardened. Cracked. A thirteen-year-old child's soul cracked because he forced himself to see too far. This was no longer an ordinary Sacred Gear issue.
"After I healed him and he woke up," Griselda continued, "the first thing he did was ask. Not 'where am I' or 'what happened', but 'why are you here? Do I have a Sacred Gear?'"
Several eyebrows rose.
"He immediately said we were angels. That we were too bright if he opened his eyes. And he knew who Azazel was."
This time Uriel spoke, his voice low. "A village child that age wouldn't know the name of the Grigori Leader without an unusual source of information."
"His attitude was also strange," Griselda added. "Calm. Not the calm of not understanding, but the calm of... someone who had already processed everything. No panic, no confusion. Like an adult long accustomed to things beyond reason."
Uriel responded quickly. "Telos Karma, combined with perception abilities beyond limits, could become a dangerous combination. If he loses control, he himself could become a threat."
Gabriel turned towards Uriel with a sharp look, but said nothing. Michael raised his hand slightly, a signal to continue.
Griselda nodded. "He asked for one thing—a limiter artifact for his perception. Because even when he closes his eyes, he still sees continuously. Without rest."
The room fell silent. Raphael, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, his analytical tone cold but not without sympathy.
"A limiter artifact isn't an option... it's a necessity. If not handled immediately, he will collapse from within. Not just physically—mentally, spiritually, existentially. Unending vision is a burden no living being can bear, let alone a child his age."
Michael didn't respond immediately. His gaze lowered slightly, his clear green eyes tracing through each piece of information he had just heard.
Excessive vision. Cracked soul. Telos Karma that couldn't be detected. A child who saw all the way to Heaven without fear.
He remembered the anomaly data from a few days ago—a 700 percent Sacred Gear output increase, unstable synchronization, soul activity showing cracks. And in the midst of all that, that child still had the presence of mind to send regards.
Not afraid. Not hostile. Only... asking for help.
"If he continues like that," Gabriel finally spoke, her voice soft but heavy, "his soul won't survive."
Uriel turned to Michael. "Your decision, Michael. Will we intervene further?"
Michael raised his face. When he spoke, his voice was calm—the calm of one accustomed to heavy decisions.
"He asked for help. Not power."
He stood from his chair. The other Seraphs stood as well, waiting.
"I will search for the artifact here. Among Heaven's storehouses, there must be something that can limit perception."
He looked at Griselda. "Return there. Watch over that child. Don't pressure him too much. Let him recover in his own way, but make sure he doesn't push himself further."
Griselda nodded. "Yes, Michael-sama."
Before she turned, Gabriel approached. The curly-haired angel's hand reached for Griselda's, gripping it gently. Her clear blue eyes looked directly into Griselda's, and for the first time in this report, there was something other than professionalism there.
"Please take care of that child." Gabriel's voice was soft, but there was a tremor in it—a tremor of genuine concern. "Don't let him break. This is my personal request. Not a mission."
Griselda was startled for a moment. Gabriel—the Seraph who was always cheerful, always smiling, who rarely showed her serious side—now stood before her with moist eyes and a tight grip.
She nodded slowly. "I will take care of him. I will watch over him, Gabriel-sama. Don't worry."
Gabriel smiled—a smile that didn't fully reach her eyes, but enough to show that she trusted. She released her grip, and Griselda turned to leave the room.