Chapter 3

Montrosier in the afternoon was all sun-glinted windows and distant motorbike echoes. The week passed quietly, the school days stitched together by low conversation, walks home, and where three people became "a group" without anyone deciding.

Kusho, Yui, and Renji had found a dynamic.

Yui spoke the most. She asked about books Kusho had read (he had). She asked if he liked drawing (he didn't). She once asked him what color he'd paint the sky if he could (Dark blue.). Renji mostly groaned about assignments or complained that Yui kept humming while sketching. But he never told her to stop.

They ate together during lunch, on the quiet rooftop when they could manage it. Kusho didn't mind the silence. Sometimes it stretched too long, but Yui always filled it with something gentle. She'd talk about dreams or doodle everyone's silhouettes against the sky. Once, she asked if Kusho ever dreamed. He told her he didn't remember.

He remembered all of them. 

It was Thursday when something shifted.

They were packing up after class. Yui asked Renji if he wanted to walk with her, and he hesitated. His eyes darted to the clock. Then out the window.

Kusho noticed it.

"Not today," Renji muttered. "Got somewhere to be."

"Sketch club again?" Yui teased.

Renji forced a laugh, grabbed his bag, and left too quickly.

"Yui, you go ahead," Kusho said to Yui

Yui nodded and left. 

Kusho waited five minutes. Then followed. He followed Renji across town, through the older quarter where the shutters always seemed half-closed. His steps didn't make noise; they never did. Kusho kept a careful distance, watching not just Renji's movement but the tiny details: the flex in his fingers, the shifting weight of his bag, the faint muscle tension along his spine.

Something about Renji was humming with intent.

Renji turned into a half-paved alley behind an abandoned café. A group was already waiting.

10 of them, 10 gangsters.

Kusho crouched behind a trash bin. One of the gang boys, all leather jackets and smirks, stepped forward.

"You're late."

Renji dropped his bag. "You're still ugly."

The lead guy cracked his knuckles. "You sure about this?"

Renji stretched his neck. "You said I needed to prove myself. Fine. I'm done proving. Let's go, come on idiot!"

Kusho didn't interfere.

The fight was messy but decisive. Renji threw hits at elbows, knees, and momentum. He didn't hold back. Kusho watched as he flipped one of them over a railing, swept another's legs, dodged and countered, took a punch, and gave two harder.

But it was wearing on him. Kusho could see the microtremors in his hands. Breathing too fast.

Then something appeared.

Not from the battle. From the air.

A shimmer split the air, barely visible. Then it stepped through. A creature. Pale gray skin. Twisted limbs with horns. It was a soldier demon.

Kusho stood up slowly behind the wall.

The gang had already been beaten. Renji stood his ground. Barely.

The demon attacked. Renji blocked the first strike and countered the second, but his stance wobbled. Blood at the corner of his mouth. Then, the third hit threw him against a wall.

He stayed down.

The demon tilted its head and paused.

It turned.

Kusho had stepped forward.

The demon looked at him. Something passed across its face, maybe it was instinct, maybe it was recognition. Or dread, perhaps. 

It hesitated.

Kusho said nothing.

Then he attacked, in a singular strike, the demon scream, its limbs twisting out of sync and its body disintegrated into smoke and ash.

Kusho lifted Renji, took his bag and went home. 

Étienne didn't ask questions when Kusho dropped the unconscious boy onto his couch.

"He fell," Kusho said.

Étienne raised an eyebrow. "Right. Let me guess, he fought gangsters?"

"He'll be fine."

Étienne sighed and got to work. Bandages.. Something from a locked drawer.

"Cracked ribs, bruised shoulder, mild concussion. He's tough. What happened to the other guys?"

"Fell harder."

Étienne didn't ask anything else.

He rarely did.

That night, Kusho sat in his room.

He closed the door. 

"Caelen," he said. "You can appear now."

Silence. Then, a shift. Like the molecules in the air clicked back into place.

A shimmer. A ripple no wider than a coin. Then a body stepped from it — Caelen, arms folded, smirking slightly.

"Only took you six years to say it."

"I saw you the first day."

"I figured. You always were a terrifying observer. I had you loaded with nearly microscopic observer threads woven into your clothes. I spent months crafting their distribution pattern. You didn't even flinch."

"I noticed them when the threads disrupted airflow around my collar. Half a degree off."

"You noticed a half-degree deviation."

"You flared the humidity on accident once. Molecules told the rest."

Caelen stared. "You're unreal."

"You're obvious."

They both laughed.

Caelen stepped forward, relaxed now. "It's good to see you. You know, six years felt... longer than usual."

Kusho glanced at him. "We've gone a hundred without contact before."

"Yeah. But this time I didn't know what shape you'd come back in."

Kusho didn't answer right away.

"I like this life."

Caelen looked at him, surprised. "Yeah?"

"It's simple. I wake up. I walk. I learn, even if I know already. I get tired. There's no scream in my head. No blood under my nails."

Caelen sat on the floor. "But?"

"But I know it won't last. I know that when people scream, I'll hear it. I'll feel it. I'll move. Even when I don't want to. But I need to"

Caelen nodded quietly. "It's not fair."

"No."

"You deserve peace, Kusho."

"Maybe. But someone always calls. And I answer. That's how it's always been."

Caelen leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "You think the others will reach you soon?"

"They already have. Indirectly."

Caelen's voice dropped. "The Lords fought. Arvenhal and Vey'Zhaal. Right after you vanished. The Saints said the Demons took you and the Demons said the Saints tricked you into sealing yourself. Both factions clashed. All for you."

Kusho closed his eyes. "I didn't ask for that."

"I know."

"People probably died."

"They did."

"I didn't want anyone to follow."

Caelen smiled faintly. "That's not how it works. If you leave a hole like you, they fight over the gravity."

Kusho looked down at the ring on his finger.

"Caelen," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Would you join the Circle of Thorns?"

Caelen's eyebrows lifted. Then, something more serious behind the grin. He nodded.

"I saw you yesterday going into this ancient artifact. Are you asking me officially?"

"I am."

"Then yeah. Always."