Alistare sauntered toward them as Rivulet followed from behind.
“Not a bad showing, I must say.” He turned his gaze to Astafa, hands resting on his hips.
“What’s the verdict, Astafa?
Are they fit for the Team?
To be honest, we’d originally intended for you to be the bare minimum.
Might as well set the bar a bit closer to the floor.”
“They both have potential,” Astafa murmured, glancing toward Kisatsu, who was wiping away the persistent bloodstains on his skin.
“…Though, I’m not entirely sure if they’ll both survive long enough to see the end of it.”
“Any chance of them surpassing you?”
Astafa didn’t answer.
His gaze remained ahead, but his eyes hooded, flat, unreadable.
“Well, you’re already a bit of a monster for someone your age,” Alistare added, looking him up and down.
“With what you’ve got inside you, not even someone exceptionally skilled could best you easily.”
Astafa stayed quiet, expression remaining an unimpressed veneer.
“Ah—I should’ve worded that better.” Alistare looked away, hand finding the back of his neck, posture slumping into a weary slouch.
“You’re not a monster, lad.
But you’re certainly someone people would regard as one.”
“No, it’s quite alright.” Astafa’s voice was clipped, clinical.
“I’m…
actually glad you compare me to one.” He finally turned to face Alistare, a newfound curiosity creeping across his countenance.
“What about the other two we’ve yet to see?
How do I stack up against them?”
Alistare turned his gaze past him, toward the distant grey where the sky met the silhouette of buildings.
“Hm.
I’d say they’re still in a class of their own—though they’re older.” He turned back to Astafa, voice lowering.
“You lot still have time to catch up.
No need rush it.”
Rivulet trotted over to where Kisatsu stood, still staring intently at his elbows as if he could still feel the phantom depth of the missing cut.
“How was it, Kisatsu?” Rivulet asked.
“Brilliant that you were actually able to pull it off, mate.”
“N…
No.
I still don’t get it.” Kisatsu’s brows knit, gaze absent, unfocused.
How?
Rivulet’s head tilted in slight confusion.
“Hm?
Something up?
If you still haven’t got a clue, you’ll learn how to manage it eventually, I’m sure.”
Kisatsu’s eyes lingered on his skin, the corners creasing with a lingering perplexity.
I have a feeling the next time I do it will be another life-and-death situation.
I have no control at all—I never felt anything when it happened.
The next thing I knew, the pain was gone and forgotten.
It’s like trying to move a muscle that doesn’t even exist.
Alistare approached them.
“Congratulations, Kisatsu, Rivulet, on finally securing your spots in the Team.” His voice came firm yet casual.
“The reason I gave Astafa the discretion to choose is simply that none of you would’ve passed had we gone by my standards.”
Rivulet cast his gaze down as Kisatsu turned to him, eyes widening with a flicker of surprise.
The name was unfamiliar to him.
“You see what I’m getting at?” Alistare added.
“To make it into the Reco Team, you’ve got to be a fair bit stronger than you are now.
But you’ll reach that level in due course, regardless.”
His silver eyes flicked between them.
“As for your first major training—we’ll start tomorrow.
I’ll have Astafa lead you to the department.” He waved a hand gently in a supportive gesture.
“No need to fret—I’ll file the paperwork to permanently excuse you from the regulars, as you’re now to train under the Reco Team’s regime.”
After giving a knowing, final nod, he turned and walked away.
Before Rivulet could take a step forward, Kisatsu called out, “Rivulet?
Have I been…
calling you the wrong name this whole time?”
Rivulet froze for a beat, then turned to face him, slow, deliberate.
“It’s alright.
I’m the one who told you to call me that anyway, so you can still keep calling me by that name.”
“But Rivulet is your real name, right?”
“Yes.” His voice was no louder than a murmur.
sorry for not telling you sooner.” He hauled his gaze back forward, unable to look Kisatsu in the eye.
“No, no—it’s okay.” Kisatsu’s voice softened, devoid of any judgement.
“Then from now on, I’ll call you by your real name…
if it’s fine with you.”
Rivulet didn’t look back, but a faint smile ghosted over his lips.
Before he could muster the confidence to meet his eyes, he began walking, and Kisatsu followed after.
I won’t pry.
It just seems awkward to call him Delvey in public when everybody else knows him as Rivulet.
Kisatsu recalled the time Rivulet had been so observant about his name, finally connecting the dots.
So that’s why you paid extra attention to my name, eh?
Though, I didn’t suspect anything of you because of it.
***
148th Day of the Year 1016 — 61 Days to the Present
A backdrop of absolute darkness, followed by a persistent throb with every movement.
Ryurei lay on his back, his canary eyes opening, yet the world felt no different than when they were closed.
He pitched his gaze down—toward the source of the insistent pulse of a swelling, phantom pain.
His eyes caught the light emitted by his own silhouette—the only source of color against the lifeless abyss.
His severed hand rested at his side, numb, pulsating, real.
Towering over him loomed the priest, perched upon an invisible platform, seemingly waiting for Ryurei to awaken.
Strangely enough, they were the only ones visible, animated against the backdrop of pure pitch-black.
The priest stared down at Ryurei, a butcher gazing at a guinea pig.
“Ah.
Observe the one who has finally chosen to return to the world of the living.” The priest’s voice echoed through the void.
Ryurei flinched instantly at the sight and tried to crawl away, body sliding against the phantom ground with desperate, frantic movements.
“Whither do you travel, child?” the priest sneered, watching every hopeless squirm Ryurei made.
“Surely you understand that there is no path of egress here, do you not?”
Ryurei’s gaze darted around, frantically searching for a way out.
The moment his eyes returned to the priest, he found himself back in the same spot, as if the distance he’d tried to create had been reset.
“Ryurei Ashira, if memory serves?” The priest’s voice came again, a persistent, aural torture.
“It is a distinct pleasure to encounter you once more—though I must confess, this setting is…
no more favorable than that of our previous discourse.”
Ryurei shot him an antagonistic, cold glare, eyes filled with sheer, unadulterated hostility.
“Ohoho, stay your anger—I find myself quite relishing such a gaze.” The priest leaned forward, Ryurei’s frown only seeming to fuel his amusement.
“I see the very spirit of your father within it.”
Ryurei’s eyes dimmed, lips pulling back as if baring his fangs, sharp, frosty.
The ache from his torn wrist suddenly ceased to exist, yielding beneath the fierce weight of his focus.
“What…
have you done to my father?” His voice scraped against the silence, a dangerous, low sound that seemed to mimic the frayed edges of his wrist.
The priest simply stared down at him, a predatory, venomous smirk curling across his visage.
“Are you truly in the proper state to demand such things?
Are you…
quite certain that your condition is superior to his?”
“I don’t care—just answer my goddamn question!”
The man’s sneer deepened, eyes thinning into raptorial, dark slits.
“We slew him.
And his wife with him.”
Ryurei didn’t lash out—but his features had darkened.
It wasn’t burning—it wasn’t the cowardly, hopeless look Kisatsu had worn.
The silence that followed was more deafening than any sound that had been made in the vacuum space.
Ryurei lifted his hand, slow, steady, and leveled it at the priest, expression shadowing into an entirely unreadable, hollow facade.
Then came a quiet swish—a quick, sharp snap through the vacuity that usually signaled something had lost its wholeness.
But the priest remained whole.
Only when his eyes drifted down did he see the exposed, untouched skin peeking through the diagonally, neatly sliced black fabric on his chest.
His gaze flicked back to the boy, genuine amusement flashing across his champagne eyes.
“Cleaving, is it?
What a murderous grace.” He straightened his posture slowly, elbows resting on his lap.
“So that is how you were able to sever my chains and liberate your younger brother?” His chuckle slithered across the space between them like a mephitic snake.
“I find such talent…
quite exquisite.”
Ryurei’s eyes snapped wide at the mention of his younger brother as he leaned forward so aggressively that it rattled his joints.
“W—What have you done to him?” His voice tore through the oblivion.
“Have you killed him also?” Enjoying the story? Read on at novelping.com.
“Oh, no, no.
We have no intent to kill children of your sort, even were they spawn of our bitterest foes.” The priest raised his hands slightly, a theatrical, mockingly placating gesture.
“There is no necessity.
We allowed him to depart—in exchange for your presence, naturally.”
Ryurei’s brows tightened, etched with pure skepticism.
“And what is it that you want from me?”
The priest’s smirk flattened into an inscrutable, thin line.
“In your eyes, what was this man, your father Xavior?”
“I’ve already told you—he’s our guardian who loves and protects us.” Ryurei’s voice rose like a chainsaw revving.
“Is that the sum of your devotion?
Has he…
perhaps indoctrinated you into believing the current state of your nation is righteous?” The priest let out another sharp, vitriolic chuckle.
“Regale me further with tales of the ‘legacy’ he has bestowed upon Eukeia.
I have heard no fresh revelations from that man since the days I gazed upon him as a most troublesome, delinquent imp.”
He angled his chin upward, brow arched as he stared up into the dark emptiness, searching his memory.
“Ah.
How many seasons have passed since that day—when he laid waste to one of our archdioceses?
It draws near to thirty years ago, does it not?”
He gazed back down at Ryurei, comparing the boy to the image of young Xavior, a correspondence that was undeniably striking.
“He was of even fewer years than you at that time.
My, how swiftly the mortal flame flickers—how beautiful.
I find I almost envy you.”
Ryurei wrenched a crooked, smug smirk that couldn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Hah.
Y—Your kind…
you probably deserved it.
You just raided us for revenge, yes?
Fine.
That makes it fair.”
He leaned back slightly, adjusting his position into a less vulnerable half-stance, knees bent toward his chest.
“If you’re not going to kill me now, I’ll make sure to cut your head off the next time we meet—after I get out from here.”
The priest stared back, lips curved into a contented, quiet simper.
He pulled out a serum from the slit of his pocket and showed it to the boy.
Ryurei scowled at the sudden glimmer of vial as it reflected a twisted, small image of him against the black haze.
“Have you ever beheld one of these?” the priest asked, trapping the serum firmly but carefully between his thumb and forefinger.
“It was taken from your father’s own pockets—surely, it piques your curiosity.”
Ryurei studied it briefly, then looked at him, expression flat, uninterested.
“…No.” His voice had become quieter, more drained, the fatigue from the blood loss setting in as the adrenaline began to slip, breath coming in ragged, heavy pants.
The priest noticed the shift in the boy’s vitality, glancing at Ryurei’s wrist where blood had begun to dry, then back to his exhausted, pale face.
“Are you turning frail, my child?”
“Don’t call me that.” Ryurei tried to snap, but he could only muster a clipped, sharp tone.
“Do you possess the desire to remain among the living?”
“Not if it’s under your control.” His eyes clouded, the memory of Kisatsu resurfacing—the only anchor he had left.
“There’s…
nothing else left for me, even if I were to escape.
Mother and Father…
they’re both gone now.
I can’t stay angry forever also…”
He heaved a defeated, dry snort, the Autocrats finally drifting into his mind.
“I’m not even fond of the Autocrats.
I don’t…
need help from them.
Not when I’ve nothing left to protect.”
That’s right—Father had done almost everything for them.
I owe them nothing, and they owe us everything.
His eyes narrowed, locking the memory of Kisatsu back into place—the only image he allowed himself to hold before losing consciousness.
Kisatsu…
I’m sorry.
I’m leaving you alone.
I can’t take you with me, not when it leads to death.
In his stupor, he cast one last glance at the priest, catching the faint glint of his own reflection in the phial.
The priest’s eyes gleamed a bright champagne hue against the wash of black—and then Ryurei’s consciousness faded.