Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"In this world… do we guide our fate, or are we guided—by a will unseen, vast and cruel? Is freedom but a dream, dancing on strings pulled by silence? If so… then perhaps struggle is the only choice left to those who still remember how to feel."

The cold wind howled through the dark woods, biting at Sakurā's exposed skin as he moved like a shadow through the trees. The night seemed endless, thick with the oppressive silence only broken by the occasional snap of a twig underfoot or the distant howling of wolves. His black boots, heavy with the weight of his past, crunched against the frosty ground as he navigated through the forest, the dark outline of his colossal sword, Devil's Blade, strapped across his back.

Sakurā's heart was as cold as the wind, beating only with the echo of a single name: Kanon. The one reason he fought, the only reason he continued to exist—her. But tonight, his focus was elsewhere. Tonight, he was a hunter, the prey was the Sirens, and there would be no mercy.

His mind wandered briefly, memories flickering in and out like ghosts. The Ebonspire Genocide—his parents hanging dead on the Tree of Shadows, his grandparents brutally murdered in front of him. His earliest memories were blood, flames, and the sound of screams, sounds that would forever haunt him. The scar on his left eye was a permanent reminder of that night, of the woman who had come into his life only to rip away everything he had ever known. Kanon's mother. He would never forget her face.

As he neared the clearing ahead, the telltale signs of Siren activity became more obvious. The ground beneath his feet was soft with blood-soaked earth, the air thick with the scent of rot. A hissing sound echoed through the trees, followed by the unmistakable gurgling of a Siren's voice. He stepped forward, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his sword.

The Sirens, those parasitic demons, blended so seamlessly into human society, disguising themselves as loved ones, trusted figures—but not for him. Sakurā saw them for what they truly were. He was one of them. He knew their darkness better than anyone. But unlike the others of his kind, he fought for the light, Kanon.

He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, his mind sharpening. There were too many of them. The clearing was alive with their grotesque forms, their twisted, writhing bodies, their faces contorted in unnatural smiles as they seduced and lured the weak-willed into their grasp. But not tonight. Tonight, Sakurā would rid the world of them once more.

He drew Devil’s Blade with a fluid motion, the massive sword singing through the air as its jagged edge caught the moonlight. The blade gleamed with a sickly red hue as it reflected the light of the bloodstained clearing. Without a word, he charged, his movements swift and brutal. His every strike was precise, cutting through the Sirens with deadly efficiency.

Each slash of his blade was a testament to the rage he’d kept bottled inside for years—rage at his past, rage at the world that had abandoned him, rage at the very existence of the monsters that had made him a vagabond, forever isolated from the world. The Sirens hissed and screeched as their bodies were torn apart by the sharp edges of Devil’s Blade, their parasitic forms quickly disintegrating into dark ash. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t feel.

Sakurā didn’t know how long he had been fighting when the last Siren fell to the ground in a heap, dissolving into nothingness. His breathing was shallow, but there was no relief, no satisfaction in the kill.

The weight of his sword grew heavier with each passing second, the memories of his past—of his grandparents, his parents, of Kanon—pressing down on him like a mountain. He had nothing, no one, no future. He was a mere tool of destruction, a shadow of a person who had once had a life. But that was gone, lost to time, lost to the path he’d walked, the path of darkness he could never escape.

As he sheathed Devil’s Blade, the faintest sound caught his attention. A voice—soft, far away, almost drowned by the wind.

“Sakurā…”

The word, his name, was whispered on the wind, almost like a prayer. He froze, his heart suddenly stuttering in his chest. Kanon?

He turned sharply, scanning the woods, but there was no sign of her. His mind was playing tricks on him. It had to be. She wasn’t here. She wasn’t anywhere. She was far away, out of reach, lost to him, forever.

Yet the echo of her voice lingered in the air, haunting him.

Sakurā closed his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. His mission had always been clear. Protect Kanon. Keep her safe. But that mission came at a cost. Every step he took forward, every kill he made, only served to push him further away from any semblance of peace. The world he had been born into was nothing but darkness and violence.

He lifted his head, his eyes narrowing as he began to walk deeper into the woods. The path ahead was endless, like his past, like his future. But he would walk it, because there was nothing else left for him to do.

For Kanon. Always for Kanon.

And as he continued, the moonlight cast a faint glow on his path—not a savior, nor a hero. Just a solitary figure, walking in the shadows, with nothing left but his purpose.

The Vagabond.

Forever bound to the darkness. Forever alone.

Chapter Text

The silence of the woods was shattered by the crunch of leather boots and the slow, almost imperceptible hum of Devil’s Blade at rest.

Sakurā was already moving when the leaves behind him stirred. A soft rustle—barely audible to any normal ear—but he halted. His crimson-lensed goggles slid slightly forward as his jagged bangs fell across his scarred cheek, framing the emptiness of his expression.

And then—
“You're really going to walk off again?”

He turned.

There, in stark contrast to the darkness around her, stood Kanon Shiraishi—light grey uniform immaculate despite the forest underbrush, red tie knotted perfectly as if her world wasn’t falling apart inside. Her arms were crossed, white skirt crisp in the cold wind, long black hime-cut hair cascading down with defiance.

Her eyes—those deep red ones—burned with unspoken emotion.

Sakurā blinked once, slowly. “...You shouldn’t be here.”

She scoffed. “I go where I want.”

Sakurā said nothing. The wind spoke for him.

But Kanon wasn’t finished. Her voice cracked—just faintly. “You’re always running off. Alone. You never say goodbye. You never say anything. I hate that about you.”

He looked away, adjusting the strap of his blade. “Good. Hate keeps you alive.”

“No.” Her voice dropped. “It keeps me miserable.”

She stepped forward, her school shoes brushing against the frost-covered ground. “I’ve lost everything too, you know. My biological parents? Monsters. My foster parents? Gone. Everyone thinks I’m just a nasty spoiled brat, but I remember. I remember when you bled in that alleyway when we were kids. I remember how you never cried.”

He was silent.

Kanon’s voice trembled as she came to a stop beside him. “And now, you think you’re just going to walk into another army of those… things—and I’m just supposed to go back to school, pretend I care about makeup and Ruby’s dumb crushes?”

Sakurā’s jaw tightened. “You don’t understand.”

“Then make me understand,” she snapped.

Silence again.

Then—he looked at her.

And for the briefest moment, something flickered in those soulless eyes.

“You want to come?” he asked, his tone dead and unchanging. “You want to see what I see every night? What I smell? What I kill?”

“I already do.” Kanon’s voice trembled. “In my dreams. In the mirror.”

His eyes narrowed. “This isn’t a game, Kanon.”

“And I’m not your porcelain doll anymore, Sakurā. I’m not ten. I’m not someone you lock in a tower while you go slaughter monsters and come back broken. If you die out here, I won’t survive it.”

He stared at her. The jagged edge of his scar pulsed as his lips parted. “You won’t like what you see.”

“I don’t care,” she said, her voice steady now. “Let me go with you. Just this once. Only you. Only me.”

Sakurā turned slowly, walking forward into the cold and endless dark.

Kanon followed.

Behind them, the last light of Sunshine Academy flickered beyond the trees.

Ahead—nothing but blood, monsters, and silence.

But Kanon didn’t hesitate. She kept pace beside the vagabond.

And for the first time in a long time, Sakurā didn’t stop her.

They walked into the woods.

Together.

Chapter Text

The woods had fallen quiet—deathly quiet.

The only sounds were the low hum of green blood hissing as it touched the cold earth…
And screams—those inhuman screeches of things that were never meant to exist.
Childlike Sirens shrieked as their blackened flesh was torn apart.
Massive, grotesque beasts collapsed one after the other as the Devil’s Blade tore through them like paper.

Sakurā stood at the center of it all—his long, tattered black coat fluttering in the smoke, soaked in viscous green fluid that shimmered like oil in the moonlight. His shoulders rose and fell with mechanical rhythm, steam billowing from his mouth like smoke from a war machine.

And then came the crack of another Siren's neck—twisted by one black-gloved hand.

Behind him, Kanon fell to her knees.

Her hands trembled. Her whole body shook.

It was all too real.

The screams. The blood. The smell.

She clutched her chest. Her breath hitched violently. Tears streamed from her eyes, her heart pounding like it was trying to escape.
This wasn't a haunted house.
This wasn’t a dream.
This… this was war.

And the boy she once saw bloodied in the rain—quiet, distant, so terribly lonely—
He had become something far more terrifying.

“He’s not a hero,” she whispered through sobs. “He doesn’t want to be saved…”

Her mind was cracking.

“He doesn’t care about justice… or friendship… or any of the things people like to believe in…”

The memory of Fright Fest came back to her. The animatronics. The fake blood. The costumes. How she laughed it all off—how she told Ruby she wasn’t scared. That monsters were just stories.

But now—now she watched her childhood friend butcher an army of nightmares.

“He was born in blood,” she said softly, voice cracking. “On a cursed island… called Ebonspire… Halloween night, 1999…”

She remembered what the records said.
The night he was born… the massacre…
His parents—dead. Hanging from The Tree of Shadows.

Her hands covered her mouth as she began to break completely.

“He never cried when he was born… he couldn’t. There was nothing inside him to cry with…”

Her vision blurred.

“Covered in blood… skin black and red… marked by something ancient… something wrong…”

Her voice trembled, lower now, as the cold of the night bit into her.

“And when they saw what he was… they killed themselves. In front of him.”

She looked up.

Sakurā was walking back toward her now. His boots crushed the skull of a twitching Siren without pause.

Kanon’s voice was hollow.

“That was his first hour of life… No warmth. No name. No one. Just a monster in human skin, left to rot in a world that never wanted him…”

She sniffled, curling into herself, choking on the truth.

“He was raped. Beaten. Burned. Shot. Left to die. Again and again…”

A pause.

“…And he kept coming back.”

Sakurā stopped. Just a few steps from her now.
His sword glinted—its eye pulsing faintly, like it was breathing.

The blood dripped. The wind howled.
But he said nothing.

“He kills monsters,” she whispered, “not to save people—but because he is a monster. And monsters don’t get happy endings…”

She slowly raised her head to look at him.

“He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t laugh. He wears that black coat like armor, jagged like dragon scales…”

Her eyes met his—just one. The other was hidden, always hidden.

“…And his eyes,” she whispered. “They don’t look at you like you’re a person. Because… to him, people aren’t real…”

Her voice cracked again, but she forced the final words out.

“Only I am.”

Silence.

Sakurā stared at her—expression unreadable. His shoulders were stained in death, his breath fogging the air, his silhouette the very image of despair made flesh.

“…Yeah,” Kanon said, wiping a tear from her cheek with the back of her trembling hand. “That’s right.”

She stood—wobbly, weak—but defiant.

“I’m the only one he cares about. Not because I’m special. But because… I didn’t leave. I didn’t run.”

The silence between them hung like fog.

And then, in a low, gravelly voice, Sakurā finally spoke:

“…Then stop crying.”

Kanon looked up sharply.

He reached out and placed one hand—cold, bloodstained, trembling slightly—on her shoulder.

“You’re the only reason I don’t kill everything.”

Then he turned, without another word, back toward the shadows, back toward the path paved in monster bones.

Kanon stared after him, broken… but breathing.

And she followed.

Because he didn’t need a savior.

He needed a reason.

And tonight, that reason walked beside him.

Chapter Text

Sakurā’s boots crushed charred leaves as he stepped into the fog. His coat dragged behind him like a cloak of shadows, soaked and dripping green. The Devil’s Blade gleamed, freshly fed, the blood-red eye in the hilt pulsating like a beating heart.

And in front of him—Sirens. Dozens.
Some were the size of children, others towered above trees like eldritch giants with too many limbs and no recognizable faces. Their cries were a mix of mock laughter and monstrous sobbing—grotesque mimics of human suffering.

Kanon gripped her skirt tightly, standing behind a tree, breath shallow, body frozen.

“One.”

The first Siren—a child-sized mimic wearing the skin of a schoolgirl—rushed at Sakurā with jagged bone claws.
He split it vertically in one clean strike. Blood sprayed like a burst pipe.

“Two.”

He whirled the blade behind him without looking.
A crawling Siren was cut in half at the waist, its green guts slapping the ground.

“Three.”

A beast resembling a twisted horse shrieked as its head flew into the air.

Kanon gasped.
Her hands covered her ears, but it didn’t help. She could still hear it. The splattering. The tearing. The screams.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but her legs wouldn't move.

“Four. Five. Six.”

More Sirens rushed him.
He didn’t slow down. Didn’t hesitate.

Overkill.
The blade spun like a grim pendulum, carving through sinew and spirit. He stomped on one Siren’s back until its spine gave out a crack like snapping wood.

“Seven. Eight.”

Another Siren tried to crawl away.
Sakurā dragged it back by the leg and crushed its head underfoot.

“Nine.”

Kanon began to cry again—quiet, gasping sobs.

She couldn’t look away.

He was so calm.
So methodical.
Like this was just another day.

“Ten.”
He whispered it under his breath.

Another head rolled.

Kanon’s voice shook. “P-Please stop… You don’t have to…”

But he didn’t hear her. Or didn’t care.

Because when number eleven tried to use a child’s voice to beg, he didn’t flinch.

He just drove the Devil’s Blade straight through its gut and twisted.
The Siren wailed, green blood erupting from its mouth like vomit.

Kanon fell to her knees again, trembling.
The world spun. Her breath came in quick, choked gasps.

“Twelve. Thirteen.”

More Sirens.
He leapt into the air and brought the sword down like judgment itself, sending a shockwave that split the earth.

Flesh. Bone. Screams. Blood.
It was like Hell had vomited all its sins into this place.

Kanon’s mascara ran down her cheeks, mixing with tears. “Why… why are you doing this…?”

“Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.”

He answered her without turning around:

“Because they’re still breathing.”
Then he grinned—not from joy, but from the twisted satisfaction of knowing they wouldn’t be much longer.

“Seventeen.”

A Siren burst into chunks under the weight of his blade.

Kanon screamed.
She couldn’t take it anymore. “Sakurā, STOP!! Please!!”

Silence.

All the Sirens in the area were dead.

He stood in the carnage, drenched in green, his blade humming.

“…I told you not to follow me,” he muttered.

She sobbed quietly, unable to speak.

And then… for just a second… he turned.

His one visible eye locked with hers.
Dead. Empty. But focused—only on her.

“…This is what I am,” he said quietly. “And if you stay with me… this is what you’ll see. Every time.”

Kanon’s lip quivered.

“…You still wanna walk beside a monster, Kanon?”

He let the silence hang.

Then turned back toward the path ahead—one of fire, ash, and dead gods.

He didn’t wait for her answer.

But her steps behind him said enough.

Chapter Text

The forest had gone silent. Not peaceful—eerie.
Like the world was holding its breath.
Green mist from the Sirens’ blood hovered like a poisonous fog.

Kanon’s breathing slowed. She wiped at her face, her knees trembling. The horror still clung to her skin, to her mind.

But just as she began to take one shaky step toward Sakurā—

something slithered.

A slick, wet sound behind her.

Then—a whisper. In her own voice.

“You never belonged anywhere, Kanon… Not even to him.”
She turned—too late.

A Siren had taken form—its true shape grotesque and alien, but layered now in a mirage of her own reflection. Its eyes pulsed with hunger. Its hands reached for her throat.

Her scream was caught before it could rise.

She could feel it.
Its essence digging into her brain like a thousand needles, searching for a way in.
The possession had begun.

She staggered back, pupils dilating. Her body felt cold.

“You’re mine now.”
But then—

SHHHHHHRRRRRRRK!!!

A blinding streak of red and black.

The Devil’s Blade cleaved straight through the Siren mid-sentence, its spine torn in half before it could even react.
A burst of green slime erupted from its core like a grotesque fountain, splattering across the trees, soaking the soil… and drenching Kanon.

She gasped in pure shock—her arms raised too late as the thick, pungent, acidic blood of the Siren splashed across her white skirt, red tie, and pale cheeks.

Steam rose where the slime touched the grass.

Her legs gave out. She collapsed to the forest floor, shaking.

Sakurā stood in front of her, sword still drawn, dripping. His silhouette was monstrous in the mist—a living demon cloaked in black and rage.

The severed corpse of the Siren twitched behind him, still melting.

He turned to her slowly. His face blank. Eyes cold.

“You let your guard down,” he said flatly, his voice emotionless.

Kanon choked, gripping her own shoulders. “I-It—It tried to take me… it—was me—it looked like me…”

She stared down at her body, soaked in green.
Her own reflection twisted in the puddle beside her, warped by the ooze.

She started to sob.

Sakurā crouched beside her.

He didn’t offer comfort. No gentle words. No warmth.
Only the truth.

“This is what they are. Monsters wearing masks. They don’t care who you are. They only want to hollow you out and wear your skin.”
His gloved hand gently wiped a strand of blood-slicked hair from her face. His fingertips stained her cheek with green.

“You’re not safe,” he muttered. “Not even with me.”

Kanon looked up, her eyes trembling.
“But… y-you saved me.”

He said nothing.

But his silence was answer enough.

She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

This wasn’t a nightmare.
This wasn’t some haunted house scare at Fright Fest.
This was real.
And her childhood friend—the quiet boy she once saw bleeding in an alley—was now a demon cloaked in armor, slaying monsters in her name.

She wanted to run.
But she didn’t.

Because no matter how terrifying he was—

Sakurā was the only one who had ever looked at her… and stayed.

Even now.

Even after this.

Chapter Text

The blood on Kanon's uniform was still wet. Sticky. It clung to her skin like some living thing—a reminder of the truth she'd never wanted to know.

She stared at Sakurā.
His back was turned to her.

The forest was quiet now, but her thoughts screamed.

"He’s not human."
The words echoed in her skull like a hammer to glass.

Tears welled in her eyes—again—but these weren’t the tears of a spoiled girl who didn’t get her way.

These were the kind you cry when your world falls apart.

When everything you thought you knew was a lie.

And she ran.

Not away.

To him.

She crashed into Sakurā’s back, throwing her arms around him—crying, trembling, clutching him like he was the last piece of reality she had left.

“Sakurā…!”

He didn’t move.

She buried her face against his coat, sobbing into the jagged, cold scales that covered it.

“All this time—I thought you were just… just a boy… a stupid, cold boy who never smiled… who never laughed… who just showed up in that alley like some broken thing…”

Her voice cracked.

“I thought you ran away from home, like me… I thought you were just lost. A little boy who needed someone to talk to. But you—you're not even—”

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him through blurred, stinging eyes.

“You’re not even human, are you…?”

He turned. Slowly.

And Kanon saw it then—not just in his eyes, not in his scars, or the blood he wore like armor—

—but in the way he said nothing.

Because there was nothing to deny.

He let her see it.
The truth behind his silence.

“You’re one of them…”
“A Siren.”
“You were born from the womb of one of those things—weren’t you?”
Her lips trembled.

“And you… you’ve been slaughtering your own kind ever since… why? Why, Sakurā?!”

Sakurā looked down at her.

His voice, when it came, was not angry.

It was hollow. Quiet. Almost kind.

“Because they’re monsters.”
“And so am I.”
Her heart twisted. Her knees buckled.

“So you’re… a vagabond.”
He nodded once.

“I’ve never had a home. Never had a name that wasn’t given to me by someone else. I’ve lived on the run. Across cities, tunnels, ruins. They hunted me. Used me. Broke me.”

“And no matter how many times they tried to end me—I survived.”
His gaze was sharp, but empty. A void carved into a boy’s face.

“They raped me. Burned me. Shot me. Left me in ditches to rot.”

“I always came back.”
“Because I had to. Because there’s no place for monsters in this world. Unless they kill other monsters.”
Kanon dropped to her knees. Tears spilled freely.

“I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t ask for monsters—or magical animals—or spiral birthmarks or dead friends or… or loving someone I wasn’t allowed to love!”

“I thought my life was insane enough… but you… you’re—”

She looked up at him, sobbing:

“You’re the most broken person I’ve ever known.”
“And I still—can’t—stop—loving you.”
The words tore out of her chest.

Silence fell again. The green mist faded.

Sakurā didn’t kneel. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t say her name.

But the faintest flicker crossed his face. A twitch in the lip. A hesitation in the eyes.

The monster flinched.
And in that second—Kanon knew.

He was real.
Not just the killer. Not just the alien. Not just the cursed thing born from a nightmare.

He was Sakurā.

And he never wanted her to see him this way.

But she had.

And she stayed.

Chapter Text

The battlefield still stinks of green Siren blood. The Devil’s Blade drips in silence. Kanon trembles as the truth keeps unfolding, piece by bloody piece.

Kanon could barely keep her balance. Her knees buckled as she stared at Sakurā—her childhood friend, her protector, her living nightmare. The monster slayer who wasn’t supposed to exist.

“…You’re a Bioknight…?”

Her voice came out in a whisper, cracked and brittle.

Sakurā didn’t answer. He just kept wiping the blood from the edge of his blade, each motion calm—too calm—for someone who’d just ripped apart a dozen Sirens like paper dolls.

“I—I thought those were just stories,” she went on, shaking. “Ghost stories the government buried. I thought they were myths. Like vampires or kaiju or…” her voice trembled, “monsters.”

She stepped closer, barefoot in the blood-soaked grass.

“You… joined them? The Bioknight Corps…?”

Sakurā turned, his red eye gleaming under the blood-matted bangs. That same blank expression. That awful, calm silence.

“I didn’t join them.”

“I was forced.”

Kanon froze.

“…Forced?”

He nodded, slow. The memories were carved in him like scars.

“Thirteen years ago. My brother gave me a choice.”

“Kill. Or die.”

Kanon’s heart stopped. “Your brother…?”

Sakurā’s lips curled—not into a smile, but a twisted, bitter snarl.

“Tang Akayashi.”

“My so-called twin half-brother.”

Kanon’s eyes widened. “Tang? That… that smiling guy? The one who acts all innocent and goofy and—”

“He’s a liar.”
Sakurā’s voice came out like a blade being drawn.

“A predator wearing a clown’s face.”

“He blackmailed me. Destroyed me. Made sure I couldn’t not become a killer.”

“Tang’s not a hero. He’s a weapon of heaven with the soul of a tyrant.”

Kanon’s lips trembled.

“But why? Why does he hate you so much? You’re brothers—!”

“Different mothers. Different hells.”

“He saw me as weak… the day our island burned. The day our parents died.”

His gaze darkened. “He watched it all. The genocide at Ebonspire. Both of our families hanged from that tree…”

“And what made him hate me wasn’t the blood, or the screams.”
“It was my eyes. He saw fear.”
Kanon swallowed the scream trying to escape her throat.

“And in his mind,” Sakurā continued, “weakness is a crime.”

“He forged a contract with some celestial thing. A god-beast named Rougarou.”

“Gave him a new Angel’s Blade. Divine steel. Twin to mine.”

“And Rougarou gave him a mission.”

His eyes locked with hers, that cold crimson gaze.

“Kill me.”
Kanon took a step back. “But… why?”

“Because I’m cursed.”

“Because I’m born of a Siren.”

“Because someday I’ll become ‘The Veil’—some kind of monster the Terminal fears more than death.”
Kanon clutched her arms, trembling. “So that’s why he’s after you…”

“Tang hides it. Pretends to be the golden child. The White Sun. The Chosen One.”

“But I know the truth.”

“He doesn’t want justice. He wants a kingdom.”

“And I’m the only one who knows it.”
Kanon shook her head violently, tears spilling from her eyes.

“I didn’t know… I didn’t know any of this! When we met in that alley, during that rainstorm, I thought you were just… just a lost boy who ran from home…”

“I did run. But not from home.”

“From destiny. From everything.”
He took a slow step forward. Voice quiet. Almost… tired.

“But there’s no running from what we are.”

“He’s the blade of Heaven.”

“I’m the blade of Hell.”

“And we’re bound to collide.”
Kanon could barely breathe now. “So you’re saying…”

“I’m not the hero in your story, Kanon.”

“I’m the final boss.”
The wind blew softly.

She dropped to her knees, shaking.

Her childhood friend. The boy she cried for. The one she once laughed with. The only one who didn’t leave her.

He wasn’t just a monster slayer.

He was a monster.

A vagabond born of blood, wandering through hell on earth… slaying his own kind with no future, no hope, no mercy.

And yet…

“You still saved me,” she whispered.
He didn’t respond.

“You always saved me…”
Still no answer.

But his sword hand trembled—just for a second.

And that was enough for her.

Because even if he came from darkness, even if he was born of a Siren…

He was her darkness.

Her monster.

Her Sakurā.

Chapter Text

The mist curls around Kanon like fingers. The blood on the battlefield hasn't dried, and Sakurā is gone—like a ghost in the aftermath. The air turns still… then heavy. Wrong. The kind of silence that warns you something's watching.

From the ancient tree line, a figure descends.
Graceful. Menacing. Beautiful in the way lightning is—fleeting and fatal.

Tang Akayashi.

His white hair gleams like bone under moonlight, styled like the spines of a dragon. His coat—pitch white—billows around him like ghost silk, dragging shadows behind its torn black cape. Every inch of him is regal… and inhuman.

Those white goggles catch the light, hiding his eyes. But his smirk? That’s pure poison.

“Well, well, well…” he hums.
“You really are as pretty as Sakurā said you’d be, Kanon.”

Kanon stiffens, still shaking from the truth she’s barely processed. “...You’re Tang?”

He doesn’t answer with words—just steps closer. Too close. His boots don’t even make a sound on the wet earth.

“You look like you could use some comfort,” he whispers, his voice dripping like honey laced with venom.

“He left you, didn’t he? Again.”
Kanon recoils as he reaches out to brush her cheek, leaning in—his lips almost grazing hers.

“Don’t. Touch me.”
She shoves him back, disgusted.

Tang stumbles slightly—more from surprise than force. He chuckles softly. Then suddenly—splash! Kanon hurls the bottle of water she’d kept on her belt right into his face.

The reaction is instant.

“AAAAAARGH!”
Tang screams, staggering back, clutching his face as steam hisses from his skin. His voice warps—like static through a radio from Hell.

Kanon gasps, wide-eyed. "W-Water?"

“IT BURNS! I’M MELTING! YOU WITCH! YOU—”
She panics, rushing forward—unsure if she just killed him.

“W-Wait—I didn’t know—are you okay—!?”
And then—

He stops.

The screaming halts. Tang’s hands drop.

There is nothing wrong with his face.

He grins—wide. Cruel.

“Gotcha.”
His laughter echoes, twisting through the trees like a serpent's rattle. Kanon stumbles backward, horrified.

That’s when the air splits.

A wind howls—cold and sharp. The shadows part.

And from the black mist steps Sakurā—completely in silhouette. Only his right eye glows crimson through the darkness, blazing like a dying star.

His coat billows like a war banner. His footsteps are slow… deliberate… like Death himself had come to collect a debt.

Tang turns. Their gazes meet.

“Hello, brother,” Tang grins.

Sakurā doesn’t say a word.

He draws his sword.

The Devil’s Blade.

The grotesque weapon hisses as it leaves its sheath, the eye in its hilt opening, watching, hungry.

Tang answers in kind, unfastening the gleaming white katana on his back.

The Angel’s Blade.

Moonlight dances across its edge like holy fire. The air between them thickens—too heavy for mortals to breathe.

“Let’s dance,” Tang smirks.

With a thunderclap, they clash—Devil’s steel screaming against God’s fang. Sparks fly. The earth shatters beneath them.

And Kanon?

She can only watch… frozen between Heaven and Hell.

As the brothers born of apocalypse and betrayal tear into each other—one the White Sun, the other the Black Moon.

Chapter Text

The sky is bruised black. The trees scream as their leaves scatter, torn by the gale born from two impossible weapons meeting in fury.

Sakurā lunges, Devil’s Blade roaring like a dying god. His movements are vicious, wide, heavy—a monster forged in pain.

Tang dances around him, the Angel’s Blade carving through the air with divine elegance. Every slash sings with the precision of heaven’s judgment.

Clang! Clang! Screech!

Blades spark like falling stars. Trees fall. Rocks crack. The very ground gives in as their battle tears open the land.

They don’t speak. They don’t need to.

It’s not just a fight.

It’s a purge. A purge of pain. Of betrayal. Of everything they never said.

Kanon stumbles back, her legs giving out. Her hands tremble against the cold soil as she collapses to her knees.

"Sakurā… please..."

Her voice is small—crushed under the weight of the moment. Her lips tremble, her body shakes, but her words don’t reach them.

They don’t even glance at her.

“Stop fighting… please… I can’t take this… I don’t want this—”

Her sobs break through the howling wind, and she covers her mouth, crying harder than she ever has.

“I thought… I thought you were just a boy. I thought we were just messed-up kids who lost too much. But you’re—both of you are—monsters…!”

Blood smears the ground near her knees—Sirens, brothers, all of it blurring.

“Why… why are you doing this…? Why can’t you just talk!?”

Sakurā’s coat flares as he twists, blade grazing Tang’s cheek—more scar to add to the one he left years ago.

Tang snarls, eyes finally burning behind those white goggles.

“Still fighting like a caged animal, huh? No wonder they call you The Veil.”

“Shut up,” Sakurā hisses—voice deeper, harsher, hollow.

“You’re nothing but a bastard with a pretty sword and a god complex.”

They don’t hear Kanon.
They don’t see her.

They’ve both left her in that moment—gone to that place only broken brothers can go.
That void between family and enemy. Between blood and blade.

Kanon’s scream tears through the battlefield:

“S-T-O-P!!!”

But even then…

Neither looks at her.

Because in this war of celestial weapons and unspeakable pasts—

She is just a girl crying in the middle of gods at war.

And gods never listen.

Chapter Text

Kanon collapses forward, her sobs tearing through the storm like broken glass. Her body shakes, fists clenched into the bloodied dirt, tears streaking down her cheeks like rivers cutting through ash.

"Why are you doing this!? Why are you trying to kill each other!? Why—why can’t you stop!?"
Her voice cracks—raw, desperate, human.

For a split second, the world holds its breath.

Sakurā stops.

His blade, soaked in Tang’s blood and Siren slime, hangs mid-air.

That sound.

Kanon’s voice.

Her cry.

It cuts deeper than any blade. Deeper than Tang ever could.

His left hand trembles.

His eye—the one visible through the jagged curtain of hair—glows brighter.

A twitch in his jaw.

A muscle spasming in his scarred cheek.

Snap.
The storm inside him explodes.

He lets out a roar—not human, not alien, not even Siren.

Something worse.

A primordial sound ripped from a boy who was never allowed to cry. From a monster born without a name.

The Devil’s Blade erupts—spikes glowing, the eye in the hilt wide open, screaming with him. Green slime from the earlier Siren kill ignites and boils off the sword in smoke and fire.

“STAY AWAY FROM HER!!!”
His voice is thunder—a command to the world itself.

He slams his foot forward, the earth shattering beneath him, and lunges at Tang with such explosive rage that even the Angel’s Blade can barely block it in time.

Tang is thrown back, crashing into a tree, which splinters on impact. Blood sprays from his mouth as he grins, wide.

“There he is…” Tang coughs. “There’s the Veil…”
But Sakurā doesn’t respond.

He’s no longer fighting for revenge.
Not even survival.

He’s fighting for her.

His breathing is feral. His entire body surges with wrath—shoulders heaving, veins glowing faintly with something ancient. His eye never leaves Kanon as he snarls:

“You don’t touch her. You don’t look at her. You don’t even exist near her.”
His voice is breaking, but his grip tightens on the Devil’s Blade.

“You can haunt me. Beat me. Burn me. Curse me. But you don’t get to hurt her.”

Behind him, Kanon stares, frozen—tears falling as she sees the monster inside him unleashed.

And it’s not just rage.
It’s love twisted by horror.
Devotion fueled by a life of scars.
Protection born from the only thing that’s kept him human.

Her.

Chapter Text

Kanon’s screams echo like broken bells across the battlefield—raw, human, helpless. Her tears fall faster than the rain around her, mixing into the blood-soaked earth.

“Please, stop… stop hurting each other…!”

But Sakurā doesn’t answer.

He can’t.

His body tenses.

His mind breaks.

Something deep inside him snaps—not from hate, not from vengeance,
but from fear.

Fear of losing the one person who still sees him as something other than a monster.

Kanon...
He turns—just slightly—and that’s when it happens.

From the shadows—hissing, vile—
a Siren, small and fast, bursts from the underbrush like a twitching nightmare. Its eyes gleam, rows of bone-teeth gnashing—

And it bites deep into Sakurā’s right shoulder, flesh tearing, green slime spurting like pressurized venom.

SHRRRIPP!

Sakurā grunts—no scream, just a brutal exhale. Blood, both red and glowing green, pours from the wound, splattering onto his tattered coat.

"Ngh...!"

Without flinching, without thinking, his hand shoots up—
clamps around the Siren’s throat like a vice.

Its tail thrashes. Its limbs twitch. But Sakurā’s grip is unrelenting. His teeth grind. His eye twitches.

“Touch her again... I’ll rip your soul out.”
And then—

CRACK.

He snaps its neck sideways with inhuman strength.

The Siren’s head lolls. Its body spasms. Then it falls—twitching—into the mud, its veins bursting green as it dies.

Sakurā stands there, chest heaving, blood dripping from his wound and fingertips. His silhouette, all shadows and rage, looms like a fallen god.

He turns his eye to Kanon—his right eye burning with a look that is not human.

Not a hero.

Not a savior.

Just a monster—
protecting his reason to live.

Chapter Text

Kanon collapses to her knees, trembling as her fingers clutch at the jagged edges of Sakurā’s dragon-scale armor. The green blood of the Siren still oozes from his torn shoulder, mixing with the dirt and ashes around them. His body, normally so immovable, so cold and unshaken, now lies slumped—defeated. Not dead, but broken. His great sword, the Devil’s Blade, is buried half in the ground, its eye flickering faintly, as if mourning its master’s fall.

Kanon buries her face into Sakurā’s chest. She sobs uncontrollably.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Tang—smiling, cruel, untouchable—had left like a ghost into the trees, victorious. His last words still echo in her ears:
“He’s not strong enough. He never was.”

Kanon's sobs turn into gasps, her mind spiraling.
That cold realization sinks deeper.

All her life, she thought Sakurā was human. Thought she understood him.
But now… the truth is worse than anything she could’ve imagined.
He wasn’t just a vagabond. He wasn’t just a killer.
He was born of monsters. Raised in agony. Molded by fire and blood.

And even now, after all of that, even after Tang beat him down—

Sakurā still tried to protect her.

She clenches her fists against his armor, whispering through her tears:
"Why do you keep fighting... when no one fights for you?"

The wind is silent. The forest still. The battlefield—littered with green-stained corpses of Sirens—is quiet now.

Only the broken sound of her sobbing remains, echoing through the void of a world that never gave Sakurā a reason to live—except her.

Chapter Text

The weight of the world had never felt heavier than it did in that moment. Kanon’s sobs echoed in the distance, sharp and raw like the breaking of glass. Her body trembled, her hands pressed against her face, trying in vain to hide the flood of emotions that had broken free, a dam shattered beyond repair. She was no longer the confident, sharp-eyed woman she once was. In her place stood a girl—vulnerable, shattered, stripped of the pretense that had once held her together.

Iruka-sensei watched helplessly from the edge of the group, his usual calm replaced by a rare anxiety. Jill-sensei, ever the stern figure, stood with her arms crossed, her brow furrowed in worry. Hinata’s eyes were soft with concern, her own heart aching at the sight of the girl she had come to think of as a sister. Shouko, ever the quiet observer, kept her distance but couldn’t mask the sadness pooling in her eyes. Titana, Kaede, and Masago had gathered together, whispering amongst themselves, trying to comfort one another in the face of the uncertainty that hung over them.

And Ruby? Ruby was the hardest to watch. Kanon’s twin brother Mikage had long since vanished from their lives, and the love they shared had been torn apart by pain and loss. She had once thought Kanon was the one person who could heal their wounds, but now, seeing her like this, Ruby felt a deep, bitter ache. What had they all become?

But it was the sun that captured Sakurā’s attention.

Far away from the group, in the solitude of the forest mountains, he stood—silent, brooding, the early morning mist curling around him like the ghosts of his past. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the first light of dawn began to rise, painting the sky with hues of crimson and gold. For a brief, fleeting moment, he could almost taste the warmth of it—the sunlight, the hope, the life that could’ve been his.

But as the sun crept higher, Sakurā’s chest tightened. He could see it, the promise of something better, something beyond the endless cycle of violence and suffering. The future that could’ve been his... but never was. His entire existence had been spent in shadow, marred by tragedy, trauma, and unrelenting darkness. This beauty—the sunrise—was a cruel reminder of everything he had lost.

A tear slipped down his cheek, the burn of it so sharp it felt like acid. He didn’t bother to wipe it away. There was no one to witness this moment of weakness. No one who could see how badly it hurt—how badly he hurt. But even as the pain consumed him, there was a gnawing emptiness in his heart, a void that only Kanon could fill.

She was everything. And yet, it was all falling apart.

Back with the others, the worry was growing palpable.

“Is... is she okay?” Hinata whispered, her voice trembling.

“No,” Ruby said softly, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “She’s not okay. None of us are.”

Masago stepped forward, a quiet determination in her gaze. “We need to find Sakurā. He’s the only one who can help her now.”

But that wasn’t so simple. Where had Sakurā gone? He had slipped away like a shadow, vanishing into the vast expanse of the forest mountains. And Kanon, broken and lost, was left behind, crumbling in the silence of her despair.

The group stood in a tight knot, each of them carrying the weight of their own worries. They couldn’t understand it, not fully. Sakurā had always been an enigma, a man of darkness with a heart wrapped in fear and anger. But the bond between him and Kanon—that was something they could feel, even if they couldn’t grasp it entirely.

Titana, who had often stood as a pillar of strength for the others, found himself at a loss. “What do we do? How can we help her?”

Jill-sensei shook her head, frustration evident in her features. “I don’t know. She’s lost, and I don’t think she even knows how to begin finding herself again.”

Kaede spoke quietly, almost to herself, “Maybe… maybe it’s not just Kanon who needs saving.”

Everyone turned toward her.

“You think Sakurā will come back for her?” Shouko asked, her voice barely a whisper, as though the very thought might shatter something.

“I don’t think he knows how to come back,” Kaede replied softly. “But if anyone can pull him out of the darkness… it’s her.”

Sakurā's eyes never left the rising sun, the golden light spilling over the mountains, reflecting on the tears he could no longer hide. His soul felt heavy, like the weight of a lifetime of regret was pressing down on him, suffocating him. Yet in that moment, the vision of Kanon crying—broken, alone, in need of him—was what tore through him, forcing him to confront a truth he couldn’t escape.

He had to return. He had to go back to her.

But would she still want him?

Would she still be able to forgive him for everything he had done, for everything he hadn’t been able to do? Or would the distance between them grow too wide to bridge?

Chapter Text

The sun, though beautiful, felt like a distant dream to Sakurā, a fleeting glimpse of warmth in an unforgiving world. As he stood on the mountainside, his heart heavy with the weight of all he'd seen and all he'd lost, a cold resolution began to crystallize within him.

His eyes, though stained with the sorrow of a lifetime, hardened as he stared into the rising horizon. I will protect her. No matter the cost.

The vow was simple, a promise forged from the depths of his soul—a promise to Kanon, to the woman who had become his last tether to humanity. His last reason to keep fighting, to keep breathing.

He turned his back to the sunrise, the light that seemed to mock him fading as he walked deeper into the dense forest. His path was unclear, as always. His steps, though heavy with the weight of grief, carried him forward with purpose. There was no looking back now.

Back in the clearing, the others continued to watch Kanon, who had broken down completely. Her sobs were quieter now, but the deep ache in her heart remained. Iruka-sensei, Jill-sensei, and the others had gathered around her, unsure how to heal the wounds that ran so deep. They didn’t know where Sakurā had gone, or why he left so suddenly—but they could sense that something had changed. Something important.

Ruby’s voice was barely a whisper when she spoke, a quiet resolve behind her words. “He’ll come back. He has to.”

But deep down, even she couldn’t quite convince herself of it. They all felt the gulf between Sakurā and Kanon, the silent distance that neither could cross, no matter how hard they tried.

Meanwhile, in the shadows of the forest, Sakurā’s journey had only just begun. His steps were long, purposeful, and filled with a quiet fury. His heart pounded, not with the fury of battle, but with the cold determination of a man who had nothing left to lose.

The world was vast, and it had endless dangers—each more terrifying than the last. But none of it mattered. None of it.

Because he had one goal now: To protect Kanon. To ensure that she would never have to face the darkness alone again.

He didn’t know where his path would lead, or what sacrifices he would have to make along the way. But one thing was clear—he would not let her fall. Not again.

The mountains behind him grew silent, their shadows stretching long as he ventured further into the unknown. The world around him was a blur, an endless march through lands he’d never known, filled with enemies he could barely comprehend. But his resolve was unwavering.

For Kanon. He would do whatever it took.

And as the forests stretched on, the only thing that echoed in his mind was that promise, burning fiercely in his chest.

I will protect you, Kanon. Always.

Chapter Text

The morning dew still clung to the petals of the meadow grass when the weight of Kanon’s heartbreak finally pulled her to her knees.

She crumpled like a rose in winter, shoulders trembling with silent sobs until silence could hold her no more—and then the tears came. Hot and unstoppable, falling freely down her cheeks like a storm no sky could contain.

The echo of Sakurā’s absence rang louder than thunder in her heart.

Kanon clenched the fabric of her skirt, her elegant composure shattered in front of them all. She wasn’t the proud queen of Sunshine Academy now. She was a girl—a girl who loved a boy too broken to stay.

Hinata stepped forward first, timid feet brushing across the grass. Her hands trembled slightly, but her eyes held that quiet empathy, the kind that doesn’t seek to fix but simply to be there.

She knelt beside Kanon without a word, gently placing her hand on her back.

“…You don’t have to say anything,” Hinata whispered softly. “We’re here. All of us.”

Kanon didn’t respond, but her sobs stilled just slightly. A breath between waves.

Komachi stood nearby, hugging herself. Her usual smirk was gone, replaced by something hollow and confused. She looked down, uncertain.

“…This is the first time I’ve seen her cry like this,” she muttered, voice barely audible. “She’s always been… stronger than this.”

Kaede swallowed thickly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “No one’s strong all the time,” she murmured. “Even queens fall apart.”

She took a hesitant step closer, biting her lip, then knelt beside Hinata and Kanon, joining the silent vigil of support.

Shouko stood with her hands in her pockets, chewing her lower lip, eyes full of frustrated sorrow. “Tch… Damn idiot. Leaving her like that…” She looked away, wiping her nose quickly on her sleeve.

Still, she walked over, kneeling beside Kanon and tugging a crumpled lollipop from her coat pocket. She placed it gently on the grass next to her.

“…Just in case you need it, alright?”

Masago scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “She really cared about him, huh…” His voice lacked its usual playfulness. “Guess I never realized how deep it was.”

He didn’t approach—he wasn’t good at these moments—but he stood firm behind them, a quiet pillar of presence.

Teacher Jill Konia stood a few paces away, arms crossed, lips tight. Her usual confidence flickered with something like regret.

“…Stupid boy,” she muttered. “Stupid girl.”

Still, her gaze softened as she watched them gather around Kanon. Despite everything—the petty rivalries, the pride, the posturing—they had come to her side.

Even Jill, the woman who once traded students like chess pieces, now found her heart aching for one of them.

“She’s going to need all of you,” Jill said quietly. “Don’t let her drown in this.”

And so, under that amber-rose sky, they stayed with her.

Kanon, broken and beautiful, wept into the fabric of a world she no longer understood. Around her, hands touched shoulders, silence spoke louder than sympathy, and hearts once distant now beat in unison.

The boy she loved had vanished into the world with a promise.

But behind him—left in the quiet—was a girl who could no longer hold herself together.

And around her stood those who once rivaled her… now her shield.

Chapter Text

In a distant, forgotten corner of the world, where the stars seemed to watch the earth with a quiet, detached gaze, a serene lake mirrored the heavens. The water was still, its surface untouched by time or storm, reflecting only the endless sky above.

A couple swam in its cool embrace, their laughter light, echoing across the smooth expanse. They spoke of dreams, of love, of a future too perfect to even speak of—untouched by the shadows that lingered just beyond the light.

But the air, thick with the calm, began to shift. A subtle ripple danced across the water, a whisper on the wind, as though the very earth was holding its breath.

The boy, with a playful smile, dove beneath the water's surface, his body vanishing into the blue depths. The girl watched, her eyes glinting with amusement, waiting for him to emerge.

But he didn’t.

Moments passed. Her smile faltered, her gaze searching the lake’s surface. Still, no sign of him. Panic slowly curled around her chest, and she called out for him, her voice shaking with rising dread.

“Tom... Tom! Where are you?”

Without warning, the surface of the lake rippled violently, and from the depths, a form emerged—a figure with pale, translucent skin, sleek and unsettling, its hair like tendrils of kelp twisting in the water. It was not a woman, not a creature of flesh, but something more sinister—something otherworldly.

A Siren.

The girl gasped, backing away in shock, her heart pounding as she saw the boy’s body in the Siren’s grasp. His eyes were wide, unseeing, and blood mingled with the water around him, swirling like crimson silk. The Siren’s jaws, sharp and unnatural, closed around his throat, dragging him deeper into the abyss.

She screamed, rushing to the water’s edge, but it was too late.

The Siren pulled the boy under, and the water, once clear and pure, was stained with his blood.

“NO!” the girl cried, falling to her knees, reaching desperately into the depths, her fingers grasping at the water in vain.

The Siren, as if amused by her desperation, surfaced again, its cold eyes fixed on her with a predatory gaze. It tilted its head, its smile a twisted mockery of human pleasure. Slowly, it advanced toward her, its pale form seeming to shimmer like liquid silver.

She backed away, her breath ragged and terrified, but there was no escape. She stumbled and fell, her body now lying on the edge of the lake, the cold water lapping at her legs.

The Siren’s figure loomed over her, and with a swift, fluid movement, it reached down, wrapping its fingers around her throat. She gasped, but the creature’s touch was not of this world—cold, empty, inhuman.

The Siren’s lips parted, revealing rows of sharp, jagged teeth, as it whispered in a voice not its own. “The waters claim all.”

And with that, the girl’s body began to change. Her form dissolved, the air around her distorting, as her flesh became liquid. Slowly, she was drawn into the Siren’s mouth, her body turning to water as the Siren consumed her, feeding on her soul.

Her scream, if it had ever been heard, was now lost to the lake, as her last breath was swallowed by the depths.

The lake was still again, quiet. The surface, once disturbed, was now perfectly smooth, undisturbed by the horrors it had just witnessed. Only the faint ripples remained, as though to remind the world that darkness always lingered beneath.

Chapter Text

The lake lay still, a dark mirror of the sky, its glassy surface reflecting the last fading hues of the day. The air was thick with an unnatural silence, the kind that clung to the earth when something had gone terribly wrong. The waters, though still, seemed to hold secrets beneath their depths, as if the tragedy that had unfolded there lingered in the very essence of the place.

Sakurā’s footsteps were heavy on the soft ground, the path worn with time and solitude. His eyes, dark and weary, swept over the landscape, the quiet stillness biting at him like a familiar ache. He had been walking for hours, with no real direction, no plan beyond putting miles between himself and the haunting memories of the others.

But something had pulled him here, something inside him that felt the weight of her absence.

He stopped at the edge of the lake, his gaze landing on the lone figure lying at the water’s edge.

Kanon.

Her hair, once so meticulously arranged, now tumbled in wild strands, splayed across the grass like dark waves. Her clothes, torn and wrinkled, bore the marks of her flight. Her body was hunched slightly, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as her sobs tore through the silence.

Sakurā felt a pang in his chest, a sharp twist of something he could not name. He had known her pain, had felt the bite of that same agony himself. Yet here she was—lost, broken, and he had only ever been a shadow in her life.

Slowly, he approached her, each step measured, as though walking through a dream he could not wake from. The world around them felt far away, too far to touch or understand. And yet, the pull of her pain dragged him closer.

He stopped a few feet from her, not sure whether to speak or simply wait for her to notice him. The air was thick with unspoken words.

Kanon’s sobs stilled for a moment, as if she could feel him there, but she didn’t turn. Her face was hidden, buried in the crook of her arm, her shoulders still shaking with the weight of everything she had lost.

“Kanon…” Sakurā’s voice was low, rough, carrying the remnants of an emotion he couldn’t bury. His eyes, always so cold, flickered with something softer—something that he hadn’t shown her before.

Her breath caught, and she looked up, her eyes red from crying, her face pale and streaked with tears. The sight of her like this, so vulnerable, pierced something deep within him.

She opened her mouth, but her voice faltered. “Why... why are you here?”

Sakurā stood in silence, his fists clenched at his sides. The pain of their distance, the unspoken truths between them, felt almost too much to bear.

“I couldn’t leave you like that,” he finally said, his voice rough, like a blade scraped against stone. “I... couldn’t leave you alone.”

Her gaze softened, though the pain never left her eyes. “You should have... just left me.”

Sakurā’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. “I’m not leaving you. Not now. Not ever.” His words were harsh, but there was an underlying tenderness that slipped through the cracks.

He stepped closer, kneeling down beside her. The distance between them felt vast, but it was no longer an insurmountable chasm. The air between them seemed to shift, to pulse with the fragile hope of something that might yet survive.

“I don’t know how to fix this, Kanon,” he said softly, his voice a whisper against the wind. “I don’t know how to make the pain stop. But I’ll stay. I’ll protect you. I swear it.”

Kanon’s tears, still fresh, began to fall again, though this time they were quiet, like the last remnants of a storm. She didn’t speak for a long moment, but her body slowly relaxed, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction.

“I don’t know if I can believe that,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t know if I can believe anything anymore.”

Sakurā reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before he placed it gently on her shoulder, the warmth of his touch grounding her in ways she hadn’t expected.

“You don’t have to believe me right now,” he murmured. “But you’re not alone. I’m here. Even if you can’t trust anyone, you can trust me.”

Kanon closed her eyes, the tears still slipping down her cheeks, but the sharp edge of her sorrow seemed to dull, just slightly, in the face of his presence.

For a moment, everything was still again—the lake, the world, even the two of them—caught in a fragile silence that spoke louder than any words ever could.

Chapter Text

The calm, fragile moment between Sakurā and Kanon shattered in an instant. The air, once thick with the weight of unspoken words, suddenly grew heavy with a different kind of tension. A ripple tore through the stillness of the lake’s surface, and a shadow, dark and terrible, rose from beneath the water.

The Sirens.

Their eyes glowed with an unnatural hunger, their bodies sleek and terrifying, slipping from the water like dark apparitions. The once peaceful lake, now a battlefield, became the stage for an ancient, malevolent force. Their twisted forms loomed over Kanon, their presence a chilling reminder of the darkness that always stalked them.

Kanon’s breath caught in her throat, and her eyes widened in terror. She tried to back away, but her body was frozen in place. The Sirens’ eyes gleamed with malice, and she felt their gaze on her like a vice, pulling her into the depths of her own despair.

But before the Sirens could strike, a familiar voice broke through the air.

“Kanon!” Hinata’s voice was firm and steady, cutting through the rising panic like a beacon of light. “Stay back!”

Hinata’s slender fingers wrapped around the hilt of her silver longsword, its blade shimmering with a faint, ethereal blue glow, as though the very essence of the water itself had been captured in its edge. She stepped forward, her eyes steady, filled with the quiet confidence of someone who had seen darkness and had learned how to stand against it.

“Stay close to me,” Hinata urged, her gaze locking onto Kanon with a comforting intensity.

Masago, always the first to rush into danger with a reckless smile, was already on his feet, his massive broadsword gripped tightly in both hands. The jagged, fiery-red blade crackled with the heat of a thousand battles, flames licking the edges like the fire of a vengeful storm. “I’ve got this,” he growled, his voice full of determination.

Kaede, ever poised and precise, drew her katana. The blade gleamed with a violet sheen, its edge glowing with an energy that seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat. She stood tall, her posture perfect, her expression focused and unyielding. “Let’s cut them down,” she said, her voice a promise of swift retribution.

Shouko, the tomboyish rebel, slid her twin daggers from their sheathes with a quiet, fluid motion. The emerald-green glow of the blades reflected the fierceness in her eyes, the same fire that burned behind her tough exterior. “They’re gonna regret this,” she muttered, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips as she leaped into action.

Komachi, despite her usually easygoing nature, had a fire in her eyes as well. She grasped her rapier, its sleek, golden blade flashing in the dim light of the evening. The blade seemed to hum in her hand, its elegance belying the deadly precision it was about to unleash. “Time to show them what we’re made of,” she said with a determined nod.

The Sirens hissed in unison, their movements swift and predatory as they closed in on Kanon, their hunger palpable.

But as the first of the Sirens lunged toward Kanon, a cold shadow moved between them. Sakurā. His figure, tall and imposing, stood before Kanon, a wall of silent fury, his eyes burning with a rage that no one dared to approach. His massive sword, Devil’s Blade, gleamed with an ominous light, reflecting the red and blue hues of the battlefield.

“No,” Sakurā’s voice was low and dangerous, his gaze icy as he turned toward the approaching threat. “Stay back.”

He swung his sword in a graceful, yet terrifying arc, cleaving through the first Siren that dared to approach. The creature let out a wail of agony as it was severed in two, its twisted form falling to the ground in a bloody heap.

But as more Sirens closed in, their numbers overwhelming, the others surged forward, weapons raised high, ready to protect Kanon and defeat the creatures that sought to destroy them.

Hinata’s sword flashed, slicing through a Siren’s throat with a fluid motion. The creature writhed, gasping for air, but it was too late. Masago, with a grin that barely masked his fury, swung his broadsword in a wide arc, cutting through the air like a vengeful storm. The fiery-red blade met flesh, and the Siren evaporated in a burst of black smoke.

Kaede moved with the precision of a dancer, her katana glowing with violet light as it tore through the nearest Siren, severing its limbs and sending it sprawling to the ground, its screech echoing through the forest. Shouko, laughing almost madly, darted between the creatures, her twin daggers flashing as she tore into the Sirens with ferocious speed, cutting them down one by one.

Komachi, with her rapier held high, moved with a swiftness that belied her usual carefree nature. Her golden blade struck with surgical precision, each thrust and parry a flawless execution, sending a Siren crashing into the earth in defeat.

The battle raged on, the air thick with the clash of metal and the shrill wails of the Sirens as they were cut down one after another. But Sakurā fought with a ferocity that none could match. He was a monster unleashed, his every movement a blur of steel and rage. His sword cleaved through the Sirens with a precision that came from years of endless battle.

Yet despite the overwhelming force of his strikes, his eyes never strayed far from Kanon. She was his focus, his reason for living—and no matter the cost, he would protect her.

The battlefield became a blur, each strike a flash of light in the chaos. But through it all, Sakurā stood like a fortress, blocking any Siren that dared to come near her.

"Stay behind me," he growled, his voice cold but filled with a desperate plea. His gaze, hard and unyielding, never once wavered from Kanon.

She watched in silence, her heart racing, the tears still fresh in her eyes. For the first time, she didn’t feel completely alone. The battle, the blood, and the chaos—they didn’t matter. Not when she had them. Not when Sakurā was standing before her, protecting her from the monsters that sought to consume them both.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Kanon allowed herself to hope, just a little.

Chapter Text

Beneath the shattered moonlight and amidst the cries of the dying Sirens, time itself seemed to hold its breath.

From the far end of the battlefield—where smoke swirled like mourning veils and shadows crept along the treeline—a silhouette emerged. Step by step, steady and inevitable, Tang Akayashi returned.

The wind whispered warnings as his boots crunched against the cursed soil. His white coat fluttered like the wings of an angel cast down to walk among monsters. In his hand, the Angel’s Blade gleamed with divine fury—its edge kissed by Heaven, its purpose forged in prophecy.

Without a word, Tang raised the blade skyward.

A hum began—subtle at first, like a hymn sung by forgotten ghosts. Then he swung.

A single, perfect arc.

And from that swing, a white halo burst into existence, hovering above his head like a crown of purity amidst corruption. Light spiraled from it, coiling around him like vines of judgment, cleansing the rot from the battlefield. The earth quaked beneath his feet as if recognizing the arrival of something ancient—something final.

His body lifted an inch from the ground—arms wide, as if offering himself to the storm.

Then—

CLANG.

The sound of armor. Not forged by human hands, but summoned from the marrow of fate itself.
Grey armor wrapped around him, sculpted like dragonbone and shadowsteel, plated and ridged like the spine of time. It encased his chest, his limbs, his soul. Upon his helm, yellow eyes opened—unblinking, seeing across moments not yet born.

The transformation was swift, holy, and terrifying.

Where once stood Tang Akayashi, now stood a legend reborn:

Chronos, the Hope Knight.

His voice echoed like a bell tolling across eternity, low and divine:

"I am the seal between despair and dawn... the blade that splits time from ruin. Sirens... your era ends now."

Sirens shrieked—not from hunger this time, but from fear. The battlefield, which had once belonged to blood and madness, now bent to the presence of something far greater. Something impossible.

Sakurā paused mid-swing, his scarlet eye catching the white glow rising behind him. Even he, forged in wrath, could feel it.

The Hope Knight had entered the war.

Chapter Text

The battlefield shimmered with tension, the sky overhead bruised with the weight of nightfall and ash. Sirens hissed from the trees, twisting and pulsing with putrid hunger. But all eyes—save for two—were drawn to the impossible sight before them.

Chronos, the Hope Knight, stood in full form.

Grey armor that looked chiseled from prophecy itself. Yellow, glowing eyes embedded in the plating—unblinking, ancient, all-seeing. A halo of light crowned him, spinning slowly above his head like the wheel of fate.

The ground beneath him cracked with holy resonance.

Gasps filled the air.

“Whoa…” Masago whispered, eyes wide, broadsword faltering in his grip.

Hinata clutched her silver longsword to her chest, stunned awe in her soft features. “I’ve never… seen armor like that before…”

Shouko blinked, slack-jawed, nearly dropping one of her twin daggers. “That guy’s like—like a myth come alive!”

Komachi’s mouth parted. “Even in all the old fairytales… no one wore armor like that.”

Kaede’s heart raced, her katana gleaming faintly. “Is this what real heroes look like?”

Even Teacher Jill, ever the cynic, couldn’t hide the gleam in her sharp eyes. “So… the white knight arrives. Hmph. About time something legendary showed up in this mess.”

The others could only watch, adrenaline and awe flooding their veins. For a brief moment, despair cracked. The air tasted of hope.

But two remained untouched by the spectacle.

Kanon, kneeling behind the frontline, clutched her chest. Her tears still fresh. Her thoughts spinning in confusion. The awe didn’t reach her—only the hollow ache where Sakurā had once stood beside her.

“Why does everyone cheer for him… but not the one who truly bleeds for us?”

And then, Sakurā.

Blood dripped from his shoulder where a Siren had bitten him earlier. His massive black greatsword, Devil’s Blade, remained stained with green. His cloak snapped in the wind, red eyes watching Tang—no, Chronos—with measured silence.

"Hmph," he muttered, voice like gravel and dusk. "Armor’s loud. Hope is louder. Neither save anyone."
He turned away from the spectacle. A Siren lunged at him.

And he met it with cold steel—one strike, one scream, one silence.

Chronos turned slightly, catching that motion from the corner of his visor. Beneath the mask of holiness, Tang’s lips curled, almost imperceptibly.

“You never change, little brother.”

The battlefield teetered on the edge of a new war.

Chapter Text

The battlefield fell into a thick, shuddering silence.

Tang— Chronos, the Hope Knight — stood radiant, halo burning like a dying star.

But then…

“ Go, DRAKOS.”

A voice— ancient, unmerciful— slithered from the mist.

The fog curled in like a serpent’s breath. The Sirens, momentarily cocky, paused, twitching their eyeless heads.

Then came the sound: the rasp of steel unsheathing.

Sakurā stood still.

No words.

Only motion.

With inhuman grace, he twirled the Devil’s Blade — once, twice… six times. Then—

SLASH!

A vertical arc cleaved the sky.

A portal bled open like a wound above him. His cloak and clothes were torn into nothingness, swallowed by the ether. And from that void:

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Armored limbs rained down— purple, dark red, black as nightmares . They slammed onto him like meteorites, melting into his flesh, twisting and coiling around his limbs. His skin groaned. His veins boiled.

A helmet, shaped like a dragon’s head and mane , clamped over his face.

His jaw cracked. He chomped — once— his mouth tearing into shape, forming fangs like a dragon’s maw , and they glowed red .

Then the horror came.

He ripped his own eyes out.

The crowd gasped.

No blood— only silence. As green light poured from the sockets, and they reformed into scar- like slashes , trailing down his cheeks like twisted teardrops. His soul bled out through them.

From his back, a giant purple cape unfurled, etched with jagged runes—Doolb, the Siren tongue for blood, cursing the air with every flicker.

Spikes erupted from his limbs.

Frozen blood surged through runes in his arms.

His feet warped— clawed, bestial, draconic .

And then—

THOOM.

The last piece struck.

And Drakos, the Despair Knight , stood reborn.

No words.

Just the scrape of his sword across his chestplate.

Sparks flew.
Black feathers erupted into the air like a blasphemous snow.

A sickly green glow wrapped around him, pulsing with hatred and loss.

"Sakurā…?" Kanon whispered, trembling.

But the thing before her didn’t answer.
Only the quiet, heavy breath of a dragon reborn.

And without warning—

Drakos charged.

Blade drawn.

Cloak howling like a beast.

Toward the Sirens.

Toward Tang .

Toward Hope itself.

Chronos raised his blade in answer.

"You fool," he whispered, “you think despair is power. But it only devours.”

Clash was coming.

Chapter Text

As the sky split with thunder and despair, and Drakos closed in like a storm of sorrow, a quiet yet piercing voice echoed from behind the smoke:

"…By the light of Jewel Land, I invoke the ancient tongue."

Standing upon a stone, her crimson Jewel Eyes gleaming like prophecy, Ruby—small but sovereign—held up a scroll, the parchment glowing with rose and gold sigils. Her ears flickered in the wind, and the cherry blossom on her head pulsed with light.

She read aloud in the sacred tongue of Jewel Land, her voice melodic, yet heavy with fate:

“On the dark night…
may the brothers of black and white
clash with their imposing ideals.
The armors of dragon and wolf
shall meet in sacred fury.”
The scroll crumbled into glowing petals.

The wind grew still.

The world listened.

The Sirens hissed and shrank away, sensing something older than them stirring.

Even Drakos faltered—if only for half a heartbeat.

And Chronos… lowered his blade ever so slightly.

“Ruby…” Kaede whispered in awe.
“What did you just do?”

Ruby turned, eyes still glowing. Her voice a whisper:

“The scroll was never meant to stop them…
only to mark the moment
the world must remember.”
The prophecy was sealed.

The Dragon of Despair.
The Wolf of Hope.

Brothers.
Bound by blood.
Divided by fate.

Chapter Text

The clangor of war was gone.
Only the sorrowful hush of wind slipping through broken leaves, As Drakos fell away, armor burning to ash—

And Sakurā, bloodied and pale, knelt upon the soil of secrets.

His breath was a whisper.
His body, scarred stone.
His soul, a black phoenix, too tired to rise again.

And Kanon wept.

Her tears were not simple,
But ancient—dragged from the marrow of a soul now wedded to terror.
She fell to her knees beside him, clutching her chest,
As though trying to hold in the scream of a world unraveling.

Komachi trembled.
Kaede swallowed her breath like it was fire.
Shouko could not speak.
Masago gripped his sleeve, remembering laughter now turned to ash.
Hinata, now believed in monsters.

They had seen cyborg dolphins, pirates, dragons.

But this...
This was not fantasy.
This was hell wearing a human face.

And Kanon... Kanon remembered.
A night of cheap thrills and plastic pumpkins.
Six Flags Great Adventure, during Fright Fest.
A boy with a sword too large for this world.
A boy who bled green.

"Sakurā..."
Her voice shattered.
"Why... why are we being hunted by nightmares?"
No answer came.
Only the groaning earth, the weeping trees.
And the truth whispered in their minds:

The Bioknights don’t protect dreams.
They kill the possessed.
They kill the hosts.

Even the innocent.

And Sakurā?
He was not like them.
He was never like them.

FLASHBACK: Devil’s Dusk – October 31st, 1999, 11:59:59 PM JST

The forest of Ebonspire held its breath.
Beneath the twilight veil of the cosmic womb,
Queen Luna wandered. Regal. Silent. Alone.
Until—

A cocoon.
Hung from the tree like the moon’s heart carved open.
Blood—red and green—spattered the grass like twin sins.

From a dead womb, he fell.

Not born. Released.
Slick in alien blood, with a cape that breathed and hissed.
Green eyes.
A face like silence made flesh.

“This child...” Queen Luna gasped,
“Is not human. Yet... he is not fully lost.”

She injected him with fate.
Skin formed—human, smooth, deceptive.
A mask over the truth.
And still... he did not cry.

“He... cannot.” she whispered,
“He has no voice.”

A king died from fear. A queen from love.
And the child opened his eyes to emptiness.
Born a vagabond.

No lullabies.
No cradle but the sewers.
No warmth but his own body heat in the dark.
He found black armor, spiky boots, a torn cape.
Clothing of a past he never lived.

And he crawled.

December 26th, 2000 – New York, Rainfall

He was two.

Alone in the woods, he waited.
Beasts tore into him.
Yet he did not bleed red.

He survived.
On instinct. On agony. On silence.

He dreamed of kindness,
But even his dreams burned out.

Age Three – The Sirens Come

They spilled like filth from the stars.
Grotesque angels with black wings.
And they knew him.

“You are ours,” their shrieks cried.
He fled through dirt and rot.

Until they caught him—
Not to kill, but to reveal.

You are one of us.
He bled green.
The villagers turned away.

And then—

The Blade.

"悪魔の剣" — Akuma no Ken.
The Devil’s Blade.
It rejected him.
So he roared.

And the blade obeyed.

A scream tore through the ages.

He became rage.

He became memory.

Present

And now...

Kanon looked at this broken, quiet boy with the weight of stars on his shoulders.

No name.
No home.
No cradle.

Just blood.

Green.

His own.

“Sakurā…”

She touched his arm gently.

“You were never a monster. Just... alone.”
He did not answer.

He had no voice for it.

But somewhere in his silence,
She swore she heard the smallest sound—

A breath.

A beginning.

Chapter Text

The rain fell like the weeping of an old, tired world, and Kanon's voice cracked through it like lightning.

Her arms were shaking, dress soaked to her knees in streetwater and memory. She stood before him—before the towering shadow that was him, the black-clad myth with red glass eyes and a blade birthed from nightmares.

“Why are you a vagabond?” she asked, her voice cracking like old porcelain.
“Why do you hunt monsters?”
“Why are you... an alien in human skin?”

Sakurā stood still beneath the flickering streetlight, its sickly glow dancing on the serrated edge of his sword—the Devil’s Blade, sleeping on his back like a demon caged. His cloak billowed slightly, torn edges whispering secrets to the wind. His goggles shimmered, red as the final breath of a dying star.

He said nothing.

The silence was an executioner. It fell like a guillotine.

“Say something!” Kanon screamed, her fists clenched, tears running down her cheeks, salt meeting storm.

Still, nothing.

Only the heartbeat of the rain. Only the distant thunder.

He did not look at her—but she could feel him breaking.

She had seen that silence before.

Once, long ago, in an alley of bruises and rain, when a child named Sakurā lay on the ground, blood mixing with mud, a halo of pain crowning him. She’d seen that left eye—half-carved by her own mother’s blade—close in shame and agony. She had offered him her hand then, and now, once more, she reached.

“Do I not deserve the truth?”

Her words echoed like prayers shouted into an empty cathedral.

Then, slowly—so slowly it was like watching stone melt—Sakurā turned his head. The curving left bang slid slightly, the ruined eye catching a glint of lightning.

And still, he said nothing.

Not with words.

But from beneath his coat, his fingers tightened—his black-gloved hands curling inward like claws around something unseen. Perhaps it was the weight of her question. Perhaps it was the memory of the Tree of Shadows, or the screams at Ebonspire. Perhaps it was her.

Then finally, a whisper—not spoken, but breathed, like the last line of a forgotten poem.

“…Because monsters don’t fear angels.”

It wasn’t an answer. Not really.

But it was his.

And somehow, it was enough to make the storm pause.

Chapter Text

The wind soured.
It carried a howl not born of beasts—but of Sirens.

A sound like glass screaming.
Like the sorrow of every motherless child.
Like the end of hope.

Kanon shivered. It wasn’t the cold—it was them.
They were coming.

From the alleys, the gutters, the broken lights.
Eyes like wet obsidian opened in the shadows. Limbs twisted wrong. Jaws clicked open, lined with teeth shaped like regrets. Sirens.

“Back away from her.”
It was Hinata who stepped forward, her long raven hair trailing behind her like a war banner. Her longsword, silver-blue like winter moonlight, gleamed as she drew it from its sheath with a hiss of metal and mercy.

“I’ll handle them—!”
She charged.

But he moved first.

Sakurā.

A blur of black and red smoke. The wind split apart as he landed between the Sirens and Kanon, his cloak flaring, the Devil’s Blade drawn.

No flash. No roar. Just silence.
And then—cleaving. Flesh. Bone. Reality.

One Siren tried to shriek. But it never finished the sound.

Blood like ink splattered the pavement. The others fell back, hissing.

“You don’t touch her,” he growled, the eye in his sword pulsing like it was awake, alive, thirsty. His voice wasn’t loud—it didn’t have to be.

It was final.

But instead of awe, what followed was judgment.

Footsteps. Five.

Masago stepped forward first. Freckles. Green eyes that once smiled.

“You don’t deserve her, Sakurā.”

Then Hinata, her sword now lowered, her gaze unflinching.

“You’re not saving her. You’re just keeping her.”

Komachi, with her twin blades crossed at her back, added coldly:
“She needs warmth. Not someone who’s forgotten how to feel.”

Kaede, soft-spoken and sweet once, spoke like a verdict:
“You only bring death. Not love.”

And finally, Shouko, the quietest one, murmured the cruelest cut:

“You’re not her guardian, Sakurā. You’re her cage.”

Kanon gasped.

“What... what are you all saying?” Her voice cracked as her hands reached out, trembling. “Why... would you say that?”

Her friends—the girls she laughed with, cried with, trusted—looked at her like she was lost.

Like she was the one who didn’t see.

“Kanon…” Hinata began, but the words withered on her lips.

Behind them, the Sirens hissed again—but even they felt the tension now. Even they did not dare interrupt the war of hearts about to unfold.

Sakurā didn’t move. His blade was still raised.

He didn’t look at Kanon.
Didn’t look at the others.
Just stared at the dying Sirens.

“They’re right,” he finally said.
Flat. Hollow. Inevitable.

Chapter Text

Kanon stepped forward— slowly, shakily— like walking through shards of her own heart.
The others watched, silent, as if the whole world had paused to witness her choice.

The rain from earlier still clung to her hair, to the lace on her sleeves, glistening like dew on grief.
But her eyes— her eyes did not waver.

She stood beside Sakurā, between him and the world’s judgment.

“He’s not my cage.”

Her voice didn’t crack.
It rang out like a bell in the void.

“He’s not some monster who chains me, or follows me like a ghost of death.”
She turned to face her friends— Masago, Hinata, Kaede, Komachi, Shouko— her friends who looked like strangers now .

“You think you know him?” she whispered, pain sharpening each word like glass through silk.

“You think he’s cruel, or broken, or lost? Maybe he is.”
She turned back, looking at Sakurā’s jagged silhouette—his cloak torn like wings that had seen too many storms. His hand still gripped the Devil’s Blade, but his head was bowed.

“But I see him.”

A beat. Her voice cracked then— but she didn’t fall.

“He’s not the reason I’m afraid. He’s the reason I can still breathe.”

Sakurā’s red eyebrows twitched faintly, and his left hand— gloved and scarred— tightened at his side.

“You say he brings death,” Kanon continued, stepping even closer to him now. “But so does fire. So does night. So does the blade that protects a life.”
She turned, looking directly at Hinata.

“You drew your sword. He drew his first.”

The Sirens hissed, retreating now— not out of fear, but out of reverence. This was no battlefield now.

It was confession.

“He doesn’t speak,” Kanon whispered, and her voice softened like rain on ash,

“because the world never listened when he screamed.”
She looked up at Sakurā, and her voice trembled.

“But I hear you. Every silence. Every scar. Every time you hold that sword for me instead of yourself.”

She reached out. Her hand—small, pale—touched his black armor. The Mark of Dräkk gleamed faintly beneath her fingertips.

Sakurā didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
But for a flicker— just a flicker— his eyes met hers beneath the bang that veiled his soul.

And in that moment, she wasn’t a girl.
He wasn’t a monster.

They were just two broken lights trying to hold each other up in a world full of Sirens.

Chapter Text

The storm raged outside on December 2th, 2004, lightning crackling across the sky, casting flickering shadows on the muddy streets. The wind howled as it swept through the empty streets, the air thick with tension. The sound of boots stomping through the wet earth broke through the storm’s roar. A group of boys, dressed in tattered school uniforms, surrounded a young boy, his back pressed against the cold brick wall of an alley.

The boy was trembling, his face bruised, his clothes torn. His spiky black hair clung to his forehead, and his red eyes glinted with a mixture of anger and despair. His hands were raised in defense, but it was clear that he was outnumbered, that his will to fight had long been broken.

“You think you’re better than us just because you’re a freak, huh?” one of the bullies sneered, his voice filled with contempt.

“Yeah! You’re just a Siren, nothing more than a piece of shit!” another boy shouted, his face twisted with hatred. "Hope you drown in your green blood, you Siren piece of shit! I can’t believe you got a girl to help you."

The others laughed cruelly, their jeers piercing the stormy night. The boy tried to stand his ground, but the pain from the blows he'd taken forced him to his knees. His hands shook as he wiped the tears that streaked down his face, trying to hide his vulnerability.

And then… a quiet voice interrupted the chaos.

“Are you okay? ”

A young Kanon Mizushiro stood at the edge of the alley, her deep red eyes wide with concern. Her long black hair fluttered in the wind, the hem of her skirt dancing in the storm. She was drenched, but her gaze never wavered from the bruised boy in front of her.

The bullies, distracted by her presence, stopped laughing for a moment. They sneered at her, but she didn’t flinch.

"Leave him alone," she commanded, stepping closer to the boy. “He’s not your plaything. ”

The bullies exchanged uneasy glances, but they quickly turned and ran, their footsteps fading into the distance. Kanon’s heart pounded in her chest, her anger bubbling just beneath the surface. But when she looked down at the boy, her anger gave way to compassion.

The boy said nothing, his shoulders shaking as he continued to wipe his tears. He was silent, almost as if he couldn’t speak at all. Kanon crouched down in front of him, her gaze softening as she gently reached for his cheek, lifting his face to meet her eyes.

“I’m Kanon,” she whispered, her voice warm despite the storm. “What’s your name?”

Still, he didn’t respond. But Kanon didn’t mind. She understood. He was too broken to speak, too lost to trust anyone.

At that moment, Kanon knew she had to do something. She wasn’t sure why, but her heart told her she couldn’t just leave him like this. Without thinking, she leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his cheek— his first kiss . The gesture was fleeting, but in that moment, it meant everything. It was a connection—however brief—that he so desperately needed.

She pulled back, her hand lingering on his cheek for a moment longer. “You’ll be okay, I promise.”

The boy blinked, his red eyes wide with disbelief, as if he couldn’t comprehend the kindness she had shown him.

But Kanon didn’t have the time to explain. She was about to say something else when she heard footsteps from behind. Her heart sank. It was her parents.

“Kanon!” her mother’s voice shouted. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

Before she could react, her mother grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away from the boy, her fingers digging painfully into Kanon’s skin.

“ This is not your place, Kanon! You’re not supposed to associate with him! He’s a freak, a monster! ”

The words hit her like a slap. She didn’t understand why her parents hated him so much. But their hatred was all-consuming, and it didn’t matter what she thought.

Kanon fought against her mother’s grip, her eyes still locked on the boy who had become the target of her parents' venomous hatred. But her efforts were in vain. Her mother dragged her away, her voice filled with fury.

As they reached their home, Kanon’s mother slapped her across the face, a brutal punishment for disobeying their orders. Kanon’s cheek burned, but she didn’t say a word.

She couldn’t.

The last thing she saw before she was locked in her room was her mother’s hateful glare, as she stormed back out into the storm to find the boy.

Kanon’s heart hammered in her chest as she slammed her hands against the door. She knew what would happen next.

Her mother then attacked the boy with a knife, slicing his left eye in half, making it a scar; his left eye bloodied and making him half-blind. with Kanon’s mother screaming at the boy.

“DON’T COME NEAR MY DAUGHTER EVER AGAIN, YOU FUCK!”

The boy’s blood would stain her mother’s hands.

And Kanon would never be able to see him again.

Kanon pounded against the locked door of her room, her fists trembling as she sobbed uncontrollably. “Let me out! Please!” she cried, her voice breaking with desperation. “I didn’t do anything wrong! Please, Mama!”

But her pleas were met with silence. The storm outside had begun to fade, but the chaos in her heart only grew stronger. The image of Sakurā, his eye slashed, blood streaming down his pale face, haunted her mind. She could still hear her mother’s furious screams, see the hatred burning in her eyes.

Minutes stretched into an eternity before the door finally creaked open. Kanon barely had time to react before her mother grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of the room.

“You disobeyed me,” her mother hissed, her voice cold and sharp. “You need to be punished.”

Without warning, Kanon was forced over her mother’s lap. A sharp sting spread through her as her mother’s hand struck her, the pain burning across her skin. She gasped, biting her lip to hold back her cries, but the tears kept falling.

After what felt like forever, her mother finally released her, pushing her away as if touching her any longer disgusted her.

“No pudding for you tonight,” she said, her voice laced with finality. “You don’t deserve it.”

Kanon’s stomach twisted. Pudding had always been her favorite, the one comfort she could rely on after a long day. But now, even that was taken from her. She looked up at her mother with tear-streaked cheeks, but all she saw was indifference.

“You will forget that boy,” her mother continued. “And you will never see him again.”

Kanon’s fingers curled into fists at her sides. She wanted to scream, to fight, to tell her mother she was wrong. But what could she do? She was just a child, trapped in a home that would never understand her heart.

And somewhere out there, in the cold and darkness, the boy was alone, wounded, and suffering.

Kanon wiped her tears, swallowing the pain in her throat. She knew, deep in her heart, that she would never forget him. No matter what her mother said.

The boy running from his now-attacker, still heard Kanon’s sobs miles away, as she sobbed “Please. Help me. Save me.”

The moon that night was a silent witness, pale as porcelain, and just as cold. Its silver glow spilled upon the earth like milk from a cracked chalice, illuminating the crooked path of a girl who wandered far from home—far from warmth, from laughter, from love.

Kanon, still a child, wore sorrow like a ribbon in her hair.

Her light blue shirt, dotted with yellow buttons, fluttered gently with her skirt as she ran barefoot into the woods. Her white and red-striped stockings were stained with soil, her little black shoes clumsy on the twisted roots. But her tears—those were clear as spring water, glinting like fallen stars.

“I’m not a curse,” she whispered, voice trembling, throat raw. “I just want to be found…”

But no one came.

No one ever did.

She had always been last in games, first in mockery. The echo of laughter—never hers—had long since turned cruel, and even the shadows in the park seemed to forget her name. So she ran, away from her cage, from the Mizushiros, from the whispers that called her misfortune wrapped in silk.

Until the forest swallowed her.

And then it came.

A Siren, with eyes like cracked glass and a voice that leaked into her mind like ink on paper, slithered from the darkness. Its shape was unclear—shifting, trembling—like a nightmare that never chose a face.

“You are alone,” it hissed. “Unwanted. Forgotten. Let me cradle your sorrow.”

And Kanon screamed—not out of fear, but heartbreak.
She cried until the trees wept with her.

Then—
Steel sang.

A blade like midnight sliced the air, severing the Siren’s illusion with one mighty swing. The forest held its breath as the creature shrieked, then dissolved into ash that smelled of burning rain.

There, bathed in moonlight and silence, stood a boy.

No name, no smile.

A black longcoat clung to his small frame, its torn cape whispering like smoke. His jagged, dragon-scale hair caught the moon like shards of obsidian, the red streak in front glowing faintly—like fire behind glass. His goggles glinted crimson.

His armor bore the Mark of Dräkk—his childhood drawing etched into myth. The Devil’s Blade rested on his back, taller than the boy himself, and yet he bore it like a ghost bears sorrow.

He said nothing.

But his presence was a vow.

Kanon sniffled and stood, knees scraped, heart pounding. Her small hands clutched the hem of her shirt as she looked up at him—this shadowed stranger who had shattered the silence.

“…Thank you,” she whispered, eyes wide with awe and something deeper.

He turned away, his cape fluttering like a broken banner.

But before the darkness could claim him again, he paused.

One glance.
One second.
A promise passed without words.

And in her chest, where sadness had lived so long, a seed of warmth stirred.

From that night on, though the world still turned cruel and the skies still rained pain—Kanon would remember the boy who didn’t need a name to protect her.

And somewhere, deep in the woods or perhaps the soul, the Siren still wept—
defeated not by steel alone,
but by the silent bond between two broken children.

One forgotten.
One feared.
Both fated.

… a vow that Kanon would never be alone again.

When she saw him— really saw him— her breath hitched in her throat.
“Sakurā…” she whispered, as if his name itself could tear through years of silence.

He did not speak, not with words. But his eye— the one not marred by her mother’s hatred— softened.
And in that gaze was the memory of

December 2nd, 2004.

Of blood. Of rain. Of her kiss.
Of her sobs echoing across miles he had run barefoot, hunted, half- blind— drawn not by rage, but by her voice.

She reached out, trembling, her hand brushing the frayed edge of his coat.

“You came back,” she murmured. “You remembered…”

The boy nodded once— slow, deliberate.
And when he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, deeper now, cracked by years of battles and screams, but still the boy she had kissed in the alley.

“I never left,” he said. “ Not really.”

Kanon’s lip quivered. “ They always said you were a monster. But they didn’t see what I saw. They didn’t see you cry.”
She stepped closer, her fingers curling around his. “They tried to make me forget. But you’re not my curse, Sakurā. You were my first light. My first rebel act. My only promise.”

He looked away for a moment, shadows dancing across his jagged features.
“I’m not good. I’ve done… things. I don’t deserve you.”

Her grip tightened. “ You were never my cage. You were the only one who ever broke the lock.”

A wind stirred the branches above them, the forest sighing in sorrow and relief. The Devil’s Blade pulsed gently behind him, as if it, too, remembered the child who once wept in the mud.

And Kanon, her voice like a melody soaked in stormlight, said:

“Do you remember that night?
When I kissed you beneath thunder’s breath?
When I was dragged away and you bled—
Not from battle, but from love forbidden?

They told me to forget.
But every time I dream, I see red eyes crying.
And every time I scream, I’m screaming your name.”

Sakurā turned to her fully now, the air between them sharp as the edge of a memory.

“I remember,” he said.

And with those two words, the past unraveled like thread from a ruined dress—
And the present wove it anew.
Not as tragedy,
But as oath.

A quiet, forgotten hallway within Sunshine Academy. A stained- glass window beams warm light onto the floor. The group stands before a terminal monitor left playing fragments of Kanon and Sakurā’s past— the screams, the sirens, the scarred silence.

Hinata (voice trembling, hands clenched near her chest):

“I didn’t… I didn’t know.
All those nights I thought her cruel—
But no… she was surviving.
She wore frost because she lived through fire.”
She lowers her eyes, and soft tears slide from her cheeks like dew.”

“I judged a girl who only ever wanted to be… unbroken.
I’m sorry, Kanon-chan. I see you now.”

Komachi (lips thin, uncertain but sincere):

“I thought hate made me strong.
I thought following Kanon meant mocking Ruby too.
But she— Kanon— was drowning under her own ocean. And Sakurā…”
Her voice trails off as her eyes flicker to the screen’s brutal memories.

“He bled for a world that never thanked him.”
She swallows, then stares at Ruby and murmurs:
“I was wrong. I followed pain. I’m sorry.”

Kaede (arms crossed, chin up, but her voice cracks):

“We were so petty.
Gossiping, giggling, talking of boys and lipstick—
While she…
She wore pain like perfume, hiding the rot beneath the roses.”

She turns slightly away, hiding the tears that threaten.

“I never wanted to hurt anyone.
But I hurt her anyway.
I’m sorry, Kanon.
I’m sorry for not seeing the girl behind the crown.”

Shouko (punching the wall lightly, biting her lip):

“Tch… I don’t do tears, alright?”
But her voice cracks on the last word.

“He fought monsters, didn’t he? Real ones.
Not just bullies or heartbreaks, but monsters. And Kanon… she took on the world with nothing but a glare and broken wings.”

She pulls a crumpled lollipop from her pocket, places it on a windowsill.

“For the little girl you were.
For the demon he became.
I’m sorry. You should’ve never had to burn.”

Masago (silent at first, then shakily speaks):

“Mikage never told me.

But now I get it— why he never laughed when I joked about Kanon,
Why he went quiet when we mocked her  scars.”
His smile falters, his posture slouches.

“I acted like everyone’s friend… but I never tried to understand .
I was thoughtless. A fool.”
He bows his head.
“I’m sorry. Both of you… deserved better.”

The group stands in silence. The window glows amber- gold, and the echoes of the past drift into stillness.

Then, softly—
A breeze moves through.
A whisper from nowhere,
Yet it carries the warmth of forgiveness.

Chapter Text

The hallway is still. Tears have dried on cheeks. Forgiveness whispers on tongues— until footsteps echo like thunder, and the room feels cold.

Sakurā appears.
Not a boy. Not a knight.
But a ghost of war and winter,
His voice like gravel scraped against stone:

Sakurā (low, trembling, then rising like a tidal scream):

“Cut. The. Bullcrap.”

He glares at them—
At Hinata, kind- hearted yet naive.
At Komachi,
At Kaede,
At Shouko,
At Masago, who still carries that soft, clueless grin.

“You don’t know me.
You’ve never known me.”

His breath shakes, rage bottled for years.

“Not a soul in this school gave a damn
When I was bleeding under broken light poles,
When my ribs ached from fists and boots,
When the sirens clawed my mind and no one noticed!”

His eyes narrow, fiery red and full of venomous sorrow: “Don’t talk about Mikage acting ‘quiet’ when you joked about my scars.
He’s never even met me.”
A bitter laugh, cruel and cracked:
“You all write tragedies and pretend you lived them.”

He whirls to Komachi, Kaede, and a trembling Titana hiding behind Kanon’s skirt.

“And you three! Worshipping Kanon like she’s a goddess— Drinking tea, giggling like it’s a damn opera. Ohohohoho~'” (He mocks the sound with poison)

“Compliments, sunflower seeds, rehearsed cruelty wrapped in ribbons.
You bullied Ruby for fun. You weren’t a team. You were a pack of smiling hyenas.”

His gaze softens only for a moment— upon Kanon —
A glimmer of the only thread that ever held him together.

Kanon (quietly): “Sakurā… they’re trying to change.”

Sakurā (his voice cracks—his pain is a scream):

“Let them change. I don’t care.
But I won’t forgive them for remembering a version of me they never met.”

His cloak sweeps the dust.
His boots echo—
One step. Then two.

“You all talk like you ever looked at me.
No one ever loved me…
No one ever even saw me.”
He turns, walking through the stained-glass glow.

Shouko (whispers): “Where… where are you going?”

Sakurā (without turning around): “Far away.

Farther than your guilt will ever reach.”

And he vanishes,
A shadow walking into a sunset none of them can follow.

The silence after Sakurā’s storm is long, a breathless wound across the hearts he left behind. But it is broken— slowly, deliberately— by the sound of boots that do not echo, yet demand the world’s attention.

Through the shimmer of the afternoon haze, Tang Akayashi appears.

A phantom knight in ivory and ash, his long coat trailing like a ghost’s whisper, torn at the edges like his soul. The Angel’s Blade rests at his side, humming with the breath of divinity and death. His eyes—cold, mirror-bright, ringed in the spiral of something beyond judgment—look down at them all.

His voice is calm.

Tang: “You’ve upset my brother.”

He doesn’t raise it. He doesn’t need to.

Tang: “Let him be.”

He walks forward, the fang- laced boots pressing into the earth as if each step writes a scripture of finality.

Tang: “That’s the way he is.”

He pauses— his gaze sharp as glass, his scar pulsing like a wound carved by fate.

Tang: “I’ll kill him, and he’ll still be the same way.”

A silence, heavier than steel, settles in his words. Not a threat. Not even grief. Just truth.

He turns his head slightly, his dragon- scale hair catching the light like shattered halos.

Tang (soft, almost to himself): “He was born beneath the sword, not the sun.

Forgiveness is Kanon’s gift.
But understanding? That’s never been yours.”

He looks directly at Masago, then to Komachi, Kaede, Shouko, and Hinata .

Tang: “You don’t get to mourn a boy you buried before you met him.”

Then, without further words, he follows the path Sakurā left behind, his long coat flaring like torn wings.

As if death itself had taken form to chase after sorrow.

Kanon stood there, in the wake of Tang’s words, as if the world had cracked under her feet. Her hands, once always perfect, always poised, now trembled. The wind didn’t blow, and yet she felt cold— like the sun itself had turned its gaze from her.

Her heart, proud and polished like her porcelain tea sets, shattered not with a scream—
But with silence.

“He’s… not coming back, is he?”

No one answered.
Not Komachi. Not Kaede. Not Titana. Not even Ruby.

The ribbons in her hair seemed heavier now, weighted by something more suffocating than grief:
understanding.

Fridge horror swept in—not the sudden kind, but the creeping realization.
Sakurā wasn’t a prince in disguise.
Not a beast needing love to become beautiful.
Not a monster waiting for a saving hand.

He was the broken sword.

Not forged wrong—but forged for ruin.

Kanon’s breath caught. Her lips parted. Her eyes went wide.

BSoD. Blue Screen of Despair.

“I thought I could help him… I thought if I was kind enough, if I stayed close, if I… if I just believed—”

She clutched her chest.

“But what if he doesn’t want to change?

What if... he doesn’t even see it as something to change?”

Images spiraled:
– Sakurā, bleeding from his youth, wearing his scars like armor.
– His snarl at Masago, his contempt for Hinata’s warmth.
– The way he walked away.
Not limping. Not hesitating.
Like he chose to carry that pain, tooth by tooth.

“He doesn’t want to be saved,” Kanon whispered.

“He wants to be left alone with the fire.
That’s who he is.”

Titana, who once nestled beside her with sunflower seeds and praises, stepped back slightly.
The tea was cold. The “ohohoho” laughter felt fake.
Everything suddenly felt like a lie.

Kanon turned her gaze to the horizon, where Sakurā and Tang had vanished.

“Some people aren’t meant to be fixed.”

Her voice cracked— not because she was weak. But because for the first time…

She wasn’t the main character in his story.

Chapter Text

A desolate clearing at the edge of a dead, black forest, where wind howls like tortured wolves. Flames crackle from the cracked earth. Sakurā stands alone , muscles tense, blade stabbed deep into stone as sweat and blood drip down his cheek. In the distance, a twisted castle looms, spires like bone, gates screaming silently into Romulus— the underworld realm of the Sirens.

Sakura, breathing hard, lifts his blade and mutters:

"I don’t need kindness. I don’t need mercy. I need to get stronger… So I can carve through them all."

He slashes at the air again, practicing ruthless, sharp strikes— each one infused with raw, hellish resolve.

Suddenly— snow.

But it doesn’t melt. It cuts.

A soft howl of wind spirals, and Tang steps forth, white coat fluttering, boots hissing as they touch the scorched ground.

Tang: “ You train like a demon. But that won’t change your fate, little brother.”

Sakurā doesn’t flinch. His voice is dry as steel.

Sakurā: “Didn’t ask for your opinion. Or your arrival.”

Tang: “Didn’t come for permission.”

CRASH!

Steel erupts—Angel’s Blade against Devil’s Blade, and the impact shakes the earth. They’re flung into the distance, smashing through the air until they crash through the gates of the ruined castle of Romulus.

Inside:

Everything is alive with rot and flame. The walls are stitched with screaming faces, and shadows breathe from the cracks.

Two brothers.
Two blades.
One cursed by man. One chosen by God.

Tang, calmly: “I’ll kill you before the Sirens do.”

Sakurā, smirking bitterly: “Good. Then I won’t have to listen to your sermons.”

They charge.

Clang. Slash. Fire bursts.

Sakurā fights like a beast starved of light—slashing, biting, moving on instinct. Tang is graceful, precise, a dragon masked in snow, his strikes guided by divine wrath.

Tang: “You blame the world. But you chose this. You chose hate.”

Sakurā: “I didn’t choose anything. The world made me this way. You were the one who stood back and watched.”

Tang: “I watched… because I wasn’t allowed to intervene.”

Sakurā: “Then stay out of my way now!”

He roars and knocks Tang through a stained- glass window of Siren history, shards scattering like dying prayers.

The castle bleeds.

The walls collapse. Chains rise from the ground, trying to bind them. Romulus itself is watching. And smiling.

Tang, rising from rubble: “You’re not the hero of this story.”

Sakurā, eyes glowing red with fury: “I’m not the villain either. I’m the end.”

They clash again, this time in midair , above the broken throne where Satan once sat. Lightning cracks from the floor. Time bends. Memory howls.

And both of them scream—

“I HATE YOU!! ”

Their swords ignite.

Angel’s Blade: Light that punishes evil.
Devil’s Blade: Darkness that punishes everything.

The fight isn't just for survival anymore.

It’s for truth, for pride , and the unbearable weight of what they were forced to become.

The throne chamber of Romulus lies in ruin. The shattered glass has melted into rivers of molten memory. The skeletal pillars burn with cursed flame. Blood, both divine and damned, stains the cracked obsidian floor where the brothers last clashed.

The two figures stand, broken and gasping.

Tang’s white coat is torn, scorched with black marks. One eye swollen shut.
Sakurā’s armor hangs in ribbons, the Mark of Dräkk flickering on his chest, pulsing with fading rage.

Their blades rest against the ground. Neither has the strength to raise them anymore.

Tang, spitting blood: “You're... still standing. Damn you.”

Sakurā, voice low like thunder before a storm: “So are you.”

The wind within Romulus stills— like even Hell itself is listening.

And then, the silence breaks.

A single drop of blood hits the ground.

The castle groans, as if tired of the fight.

Tang, quietly: “We’re the same… you and I.”

Sakurā, turning his back: “No. You had a choice. I didn’t.”

He begins to walk— each step echoing like the toll of a mourning bell.

Tang: “ You’ll never be free of this. Of me. Of what we are.”

Sakurā halts for just a moment. Then speaks without turning around:

Sakurā:
“You can keep your Angel’s Blade.
I’ll take the scars.”

He vanishes into the smoke.

A crack opens beneath his feet— a gate out of Romulus. Not salvation. Just escape.

With one last glance at the burning sky, he walks through it.

Gone.

Tang stands alone now. In a castle made of lies, battles, and broken gods.

He clenches his fist.

Tang:
“He left Hell…
But he’s still carrying it.”

Chapter Text

A lonely, wind-stirred meadow deep within the forest—a place once peaceful, now heavy with grief. The grass bends under the trembling sobs of a girl who once ruled a school hallway like a queen. But here, in this clearing beneath a wide, uncaring sky—Kanon is just a child lost in a world too cruel, too real.

She’s on her knees, hair unkempt, makeup streaked with tears. Her uniform's collar is crooked, clutched in her fist like it's the only thing keeping her grounded. Sakuras fall around her, petals like the ghosts of gentler days.

Kanon, choking through sobs:
“Why… why are we fighting demons?
We were supposed to be kids.
Just stupid, spoiled kids…”

She looks up toward the branches, eyes red and wild.

“Cyborg dolphins, Pirates, dragons.
But this? This is real.
Too real…”

FLASHBACK: The haunted trails of Six Flags Great Adventure. Fright Fest. The air was cool. The lights fake. The screams manufactured. But then came him.

Sakurā, in shadow.
One glowing eye beneath windswept bangs.
Blood on his collar. His colossal sword gleaming like midnight’s fang.

"Go home, Kanon." he had warned, voice like gravel soaked in sorrow.

And she hadn't listened.

Since that night, everything changed.

[BACK TO PRESENT:]

Kanon, whispering:
“He was different.
Not just from the monsters…
Not just from us.
From everything.”

The Sirens came after. Not the pretty ones from storybooks.
But the real ones.
Hollowed people with rotted smiles.
Children, parents, teachers—taken and remade from the inside out.

And behind it all— Sakurā , the wanderer. The sword. The sorrow.

Kanon , curling into herself:
“We called him cruel…
Heartless.
But he’s been fighting them since he was three.
We were learning how to braid hair and cheat on quizzes,
and he was ripping demons out of people .”

She stares at her trembling hands.

“What do we even know about suffering?”

She falls flat, pressing her face into the dirt, the flowers, the green:

Kanon :
“You can't fix someone born in Hell.
You just get burned trying…”

And still, somewhere deep within, a tiny thought dares to spark—

“But I saw it.
Just for a moment…
I saw something in him.
And maybe that’s why it hurts so much.”

Scene lingers. The wind hushes. The sun fades to amber. Somewhere, far away, a sword is dragged through ash. And something ancient, something watching, stirs in the blackened stars.

Chapter Text

The soft pink light of dawn filters through the gauzy curtains of the academy dormitory. The scent of cherry blossoms lingers faintly in the air, like a memory not yet gone. All is calm— until…

“BOING!”

A sudden weight bounces atop Kanon’s back.

Ruby:
“Wake up, sleepyhead! It’s already morning! ”

She grins like a child high on mischief, her tiny red- cherry necklace jingling as she bounces once more , her fluffy white form a blur of energy atop the bunk bed.

Kanon, groggy, tangled in sheets like a half- dead siren dragged from the sea, mumbles into her pillow:

Kanon (half-awake, voice muffled):
“...ngh… your fur smells like cotton candy and lies…”

Ruby, snorting:
“That’s because I’m sweet and undeniably fabulous.”

(She twirls dramatically atop the bed, nearly slipping.)

“Unlike some people who sleep like they were cursed by a gothic prince.”

Kanon, eyes still shut, smirks a little.

Kanon (sleepily, half-teasing):
“You’re cute when you’re not stealing my breakfast or yelling about Mikage.”

Ruby, pausing, cheeks puffed indignantly:
“Ahem! That was the old me!
Ever since we fought Dark Jewelina and saved the world from eternal sparkly doom, I’ve grown. Matured. Blossomed.”

Kanon, opening one eye:
“You’re literally bouncing on me like a spoiled hamster.”

Ruby, smug:
“Cherry rabbit, thank you very much.”

Kanon chuckles. It’s a quiet, broken laugh—like something trying to remember how joy once felt. But even that small sound means more than Ruby lets on.

Kanon, voice barely above a whisper:
“… I missed this.”

Ruby pauses mid- hop, ears twitching as she looks down at her.
No sass. No snark. Just a rare softness in her ruby- glass eyes.

Ruby (quietly):
“Me too.”

The dorm is warm. The storm is far. And for now, at least, the world is just two old friends tangled in morning sun and tangled hearts.

Sunshine Academy – Newspaper Clubroom, 3th Floor . A neglected little room filled with open file drawers, messy bulletin boards, and stacks of old printouts. The fluorescent light above flickers like it's auditioning for a horror film.

Junko Mihara (sliding the paper door open with a dramatic shhkt):
“Heh… time to dig up another scandal.”

Her glasses flash as she steps into the cluttered lair of truth- stretching and scoop- chasing.

Peridot, perched on a swivel chair mid-spin, pauses mid-twirl, her green Jewel Eyes glittering as she fiddles with her Jewel Pod camera.

Peridot:
“Nice morning lighting! Junko, hold that smug pose—click!”

(A flash goes off.)

“Perfect for the ‘Power-Hungry Editor Caught in Natural Habitat’ exposé!”

Junko , brushing a hand through her spiky orange hair:
“Don’t waste my photogenic genius, Peridot. We’ve got something better than club budget scandals or that weak cafeteria curry exposé…”

She tosses a thick manila envelope onto the table with a papery thud, sending some ungraded reports flying.

Junko (grinning):
“We’ve just hit the motherload. Demon hunters, Peri. Real ones. Classified records. Internal logs. Faxed intel. All from that creepy goth corpse-boy, Sakurā.”

Peridot’s ears perk up.
She bounds to the table, nearly knocking it over.

Peridot (excitedly):
“Nice! Like, Bioknights? The Terminal? Or those sword freaks with the cursed bloodlines?”

(She flips open the folder with lightning speed.)

“Ohhh, look at these glyphs and battle records!”

Junko, leaning over with glittering green eyes:

“We’ve got info on the Bioknights. The Onimusha. Something called the Bái Tàiyáng... Sounds ancient. Scary. And soooo juicy.”

She sifts through pages, eyes scanning reports of Siren encounters, unredacted names , bloody skirmishes in deserts, ruins, labs …

Junko (smirking):
“This is Pulitzer-level, Peri. We print even one page of this, we’ll be famous.”

Peridot , already snapping photos of the documents:

Peridot:
“Nice cursed intel! Nice forbidden journalism! ”

Junko (wickedly):
“All I gotta do is pretend this came from a whistleblower… maybe blame a transfer student... or that weird drama teacher. You know, throw ‘em off the scent.”

Peridot (winking):
“Nice scapegoat!”

Junko turns serious for a rare moment. Her tone sharpens like a scalpel.

Junko:
“If the world knew how many monsters walked in daylight wearing human skin, people would panic. But if we play this right... we control the panic. We write the narrative.”

She holds up a sheet titled:
"OPERATION GORESTAIN: The Bioknight Corps (Classified)"

Peridot (softly):
“Junko… what if we’re not supposed to read this?”

Junko (grinning):
“Oh, Peri. We’re definitely not supposed to.
And that’s exactly why we will.”

As Junko and Peridot lean over the documents, the glow of danger burning behind their eyes. Somewhere outside, stormclouds gather.

Chapter Text

 Scene: Sunshine Academy Cafeteria – Lunchtime. Students gather in little cliques near tables, laughing, whispering, and scrolling their Jewelpods.

The latest issue of the Sunshine Academy's student paper, "Sunshine Newspaper" , flutters in the breeze. On the front page, in obnoxiously bold crimson letters:

"SECRET SOCIETIES! DEMON HUNTERS WALK AMONG US!!"
By Junko Mihara, Lead Journalist/Prophet of Doom

There are grainy scans of Bioknight insignias, reports of Siren sightings in Tokyo subways, a badly cropped image of Sakurā brooding by an alley, and a flaming headline:

“THE WORLD IS NOT WHAT YOU THINK!”

A cackling wave of laughter erupts by the vending machines.

Student A (mocking):
“Did you read this part where a demon hunter called ‘Tang’ rides a dragon made of fire and regret? BAHAHA!”

Student B (snorts):
“No no—‘Bloodgekka’? That’s not a sword, it’s the name of my shampoo!”

Student C (scrolling):
“Is this supposed to be real or fanfic? Junko’s finally lost it!”

Junko, standing nearby with crossed arms and eyes twitching beneath her glasses, tries to keep her cool as students toss around copies of her "bombshell."

Peridot, sitting casually on a nearby bench, licking a lollipop, watches the chaos unfold with the relaxed air of someone who’s already accepted the punchline.

Peridot (grinning smugly):
“Nice crash-and-burn, Junko. I told you people think demon hunters are just edgy cosplayers and washed-up YouTubers.”

Junko (hissing):
“They’ll see. One day, when a Siren swallows the principal or the Bioknights burn the lunchroom, I’ll be vindicated!”

Peridot (mock gasp):
“Ooooh, can I get an exclusive when that happens? Nice apocalypse feature!”

Junko (grumbling):
“Don’t gloat too loud. We still have those files. Something in them's gonna shake this place to its core... even if these sheep can’t see it yet.”

Peridot shrugs, bouncing off the bench as she twirls her Jewel Pod around her finger.

Peridot:
“Just make sure next time it’s not your credibility getting shaken.”

Junko glares, but deep down, she knows Peridot's right. The truth is dangerous— and so is being ignored. But somewhere in the shadows of the academy... a pair of eyes did read her story. And they weren’t laughing.

Chapter Text

Midnight – The rooftop of Sunshine Academy. Clouds crawl across a starless sky. A single paper flutters, caught by the wind, before landing near heavy boots.

A silhouette stands alone against the night—torn cape trailing like a shadow, dragon-scale armor glinting red beneath the moonless dark. Sakurā. Silent. Still. The crimson headline on the student paper catches his eye: "SECRET SOCIETIES! DEMON HUNTERS WALK AMONG US!!"

He says nothing, but his breath fogs in the chill. His left bang veils the ruined eye that never healed. The Mark of Dräkk on his chest pulses once, faintly. He kneels.

He picks up the paper. The ink is cheap. The photos are worse.

But the words…

They’re accurate.

“A boy with a Devil's Blade, clad in darkness. Marked by the Dräkk. He travels alone. Rumors say he killed twenty Sirens in one night. One survivor claimed he saw his eye bleed fire. If this is true—he is real. He exists.”
— From “Sunshine Newspaper,” Vol. 27, by Junko Mihara.

Sakurā’s gloved fingers curl slowly around the page.

His mouth twitches. Not a smirk. Not quite. But the echo of something not quite dead.

“...Junko Mihara,” he mutters. His voice is gravel dragged through frost. “A liar... who told the truth.”
[Flash—]

His mind replays a memory:
Rain slapping broken pavement. Bullies laughing. A girl—Kanon—watching from the alley. Her eyes wide, unsure. His blood mixing with filth.

“Monster.”
“Demon.”
“You should have died with the rest.”

Now he stands, the wind billowing his coat behind him. The paper flutters free of his hand, drifting into the darkness below.

“They laugh,” he says. “But they won’t forever.”
He turns away from the edge.

“The truth is loose now. It’s in the cracks. It will fester. It will grow.”

He pauses near the rooftop door. Shadows pool around his boots. His blade, Devil’s Blade, hums faintly on his back, as if it, too, heard the call.

“...And if she publishes again—”
His voice drops to a whisper. Low. Like a curse. Or a vow.

“I’ll make sure she survives long enough to regret it.”

Chapter Text

Sunshine Academy Courtyard – Midnight. The wind rustles through the cherry trees, their blossoms scattering like paper- thin ghosts. Lanterns flicker, casting nervous light across the stone path.

Kanon, arms crossed, heels clicking sharply against the cobblestones, leads the way with a practiced scowl. Behind her trail Komachi, Kaede, Masago, Shouko, and Hinata — all drawn by rumors of something creeping through the gardens.

Komachi: “Are you sure the groaning sound wasn’t just Masago after eating cafeteria mystery meat?”

Masago: “Hey! It looked like curry!”

Kaede (grinning): “Yeah, and it moved like it too.”

Hinata (hugging herself): “W-We shouldn’t be out here... What if the rumor’s true?”

Kanon rolls her eyes, her red tie fluttering with the wind.

Kanon: “It’s just a stupid dare. Honestly, I’m only here to prove that Ruby didn’t come up with the story just to scare peop—”

A low, wet groan rises from the dark.

The air goes still.

From behind a tree—a figure lurches out. Rot-stricken, twisted, flesh hanging in globs from the bone. Its hollow sockets glint with red.

A demon.

Masago: “...Okay, that’s not curry.”

Screams scatter— except for Shouko, who squares her stance.

Shouko (grinning): “I got this!”

She lunges, but the creature grabs her mid- air and throws her like a doll. She hits the grass with a grunt.

Kanon takes a trembling step back. The demon  turns to her.
Her legs lock. Her voice catches. For all her bravado, she is helpless.

Kanon (whispering): “M- Move… Move!”

A shadow falls.

A sound like iron splitting stone cuts the air— and the demon’s head is gone.

Blood sizzles where it touches the grass.

Standing behind the falling corpse is Sakurā, cloaked in the ink of night, Devil’s Blade dripping green ichor, his lone visible eye glowing like a furnace of vengeance.

Sakurā (low, cold): “ You’re in the way.”

The silence that follows is absolute. Only the wind speaks.

He doesn’t look at anyone else. He walks straight past, stopping only once. He reaches into his coat, pulls out a crimson handkerchief, and gently tosses it onto Kanon’s lap.

Sakurā: “Clean your hands.”

He vanishes into the night like a rift closing.

And then—

Komachi (snickering): “ Oooooooh, Kanon’s knight in bloody armor~ .”

Kaede (giggling): “He always shows up when you’re in trouble.”

Masago: “What’s the deal? He ignored all of us. Bet he doesn’t even know our names.”

Shouko (rubbing her back): “Tch. Love makes you blind and really dramatic.”

Kanon’s face burns a shade redder than her tie.

Kanon: “S-Shut up! It’s not like that!! H- He’s just… always around because I’m important! Not because he—! Ugh!”

She storms off, scarf flapping furiously, handkerchief still clenched.

Behind her, Komachi nudges Kaede, voice dripping with mock-sweetness:

Komachi: “Bet she dreams about him slaying demons and carrying her bridal- style.”

Kaede: “She probably writes his name in her notebook with little hearts.”

Hinata smiles gently, not saying a word, but clutching her sleeves.

Hinata (softly, to herself): “Even cold swords warm for someone…”

It fades as moonlight kisses the blood- slick blade left embedded in the earth.

Chapter Text

Sunshine Academy – Moon Dorm, Late Morning. The sky outside is powder blue, and light spills through sheer curtains like golden silk. Kanon lounges on her bed, pretending to read a fashion magazine. Her fingers haven’t turned a page in ten minutes.