Kairos stood at the entrance and looked straight at the throne.
Wapol was exactly as he remembered—bloated, greasy, chewing loudly like nothing in the world could touch him.
Kairos stepped forward.
"I'm here to spar," he said. "And while I'm at it… I'll borrow your seat for a day."
Like it was nothing.
Like he'd just walked into a shop.
His hand moved.
Sandai Kitetsu slid free with a dry rasp.
A thin line of killing intent spread across the hall.
Not loud. Not explosive.
Just sharp enough that the air itself seemed to tighten.
Wapol's chewing stopped.
Then the plate in front of him flipped over.
"Guards! Get him out of here!!"
Shouting helped. It always did.
At least, it usually did.
Boots hammered across the floor. Steel flashed. Soldiers flooded in from every side, surrounding Kairos in seconds.
Spears leveled.
Swords drawn.
Dalton stood at the front.
"Drop the weapon," he said, steady but tense. "You don't need to die here."
Kairos glanced at him.
Held it a moment longer than necessary.
"…Dalton."
Recognition.
That was enough.
Then he looked away.
"Dalton! Move already!" Wapol barked from the throne. "What are you waiting for?!"
Dalton's grip tightened.
"…Everyone—"
He was about to give the order—
Kairos moved.
Just one step.
That was all.
BOOM.
The sound didn't come from his sword.
It came from the ground.
The marble floor cracked outward from his foot, lines racing in every direction.
The air slammed down.
Not a slash.
Not a strike.
Just weight.
The soldiers lifted off their feet like they'd been kicked by something invisible.
Spears flew from their hands. Bodies hit the walls. Armor rang against stone.
One after another.
No resistance. No exchange.
Just gone.
Dalton felt it too.
His chest tightened, breath crushed out of him as he was thrown back into a pillar.
His vision blurred.
He hadn't even seen an attack.
Just… pressure.
He forced his eyes open.
Kairos was still standing there.
Exactly where he'd been.
Sword in hand.
Unmoved.
"…What are you…?"
No answer.
Dalton pushed himself up, instinct kicking back in.
"Your Majesty—!"
He turned toward the throne.
Empty.
The window behind it was gone.
Shattered outward.
Cold air poured in.
Wapol had already run.
—
Wapol didn't look back.
He jumped from roof to roof, slipping, stumbling, scrambling forward with everything he had.
"Why him… why now…?!"
His breath came out in short bursts.
His heart hammered too fast.
He knew that face.
Everyone did.
Kairos.
The man who beat an Admiral.
The man who knocked Shiki out of the sky.
This wasn't a fight.
This was death catching up.
So he ran.
The valley was close.
If he got there—
narrow paths, hidden turns, snow cover—
he could disappear.
He knew the terrain.
Kairos didn't.
Just a little more.
A little more—
Something cold hit his head.
Wapol flinched and wiped it off.
Snow.
Probably from the trees.
He didn't slow down.
One more step—
"Where are you going?"
The voice came from above.
Right behind him.
Wapol stopped.
Not slowly.
Not carefully.
His body just… locked.
Every muscle froze.
Cold ran down his spine.
He turned.
On the branch above him—
a figure stood.
White against white.
Almost invisible against the snow.
Except for the eyes.
Red.
Too clear.
Too close.
Kairos looked down at him.
Quiet.
Like he'd been there the whole time.
Waiting.
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