The mountain winds had died down that evening. The sky, painted in violet and gold, stretched far above the pine-covered cliffs, and the moon, almost full, peeked shyly from behind drifting clouds. A small fire crackled in a clearing between ancient stones. Mireia sat by it, legs crossed, hair down, her eyes reflecting the flickering light.
Kyota was crouched next to the fire, quietly slicing onions and tossing them into a bubbling pot suspended above the flames. He didn't say much—he never did—but he had already caught, cleaned, and cut a mountain hare and wild herbs while Mireia was still unpacking. The aroma rising from the pot made her stomach growl audibly.
"You're seriously good at this," she muttered, poking the fire with a stick. "Cooking, hunting, wood gathering. You some kind of old man stuck in a teenager's body?"
Kyota stirred the stew without looking up. "It's just survival."
"Well, sure, but…" Mireia trailed off, watching his focused eyes and quiet grace. "You don't even flinch. It's kind of impressive. Or creepy. I can't tell."
A quiet snort escaped him.
She blinked. "Was that a laugh?"
"No."
"Oh my god. Kyota laughs. The silent shadow boy… has emotions."
"I don't."
"Then smile."
"I won't."
"Ugh, you're impossible."
He passed her a small wooden bowl filled with stew.
She took it, raised it to her lips—and her eyes widened. "This is… this is amazing! Like Water Kingdom chef level!"
Kyota sat opposite her, sipping silently. Mireia watched him for a moment, then sighed dramatically.
"You ever had someone cook for you before?"
He paused. "No."
Her eyes softened. "Well, consider this dinner a thank you. For not staring when I was bathing."
He nodded. "You're welcome."
"But I made the dinner Kyota added."
"Still mad about that, by the way."
"No comment."
She chuckled, brushing hair from her eyes. "Okay, tomorrow—shopping. You need a new coat. And a smile. And maybe... some soap."
Kyota raised a brow. "Soap?"
She leaned forward, grinning. "Just kidding. You actually smell decent. For a mountain man."
He shrugged.
That night, after the fire died down, the two wandered into a small village tucked into a cliffside ridge. It was sleepy, quiet, and lit with glowing paper lanterns. Children laughed in the distance. Couples strolled hand-in-hand under the stars.
Kyota and Mireia walked side-by-side, not touching, not speaking much—but there was something different in the air. Something softer.
They passed a stall selling woven bracelets.
Mireia picked one up. "These are supposed to bring good luck. Or ward off spirits. Want one?"
"No."
She grinned and tossed him a black one anyway. "Too bad. I'm buying you one."
He caught it mid-air, staring at it like it was a foreign object.
They continued shopping—Mireia haggling with shopkeepers while Kyota carried the bags. They bought meat, flint, bandages, and a new scarf for him.
Afterward, they sat by a quiet stream, the moonlight casting silver across the water.
Mireia sat with her knees to her chest. "You know... this was nice."
Kyota nodded, still looking at the water.
"I forgot how peaceful nights like this can be," she continued. "You made it easy."
She looked at him, smiling.
Kyota didn't look back. But his lips moved.
"…Thank you."
Her heart skipped a beat. For a moment, she saw something in him—a boy, not a weapon. A shadow who wanted warmth.
But warmth doesn't last.
Not in this world.
Blood in the Moonlight
It began with a scream.
Mireia bolted upright from her sleep. The sky was still dark, stars shimmering. Her sword was already in her hand.
"KYOTA!" she shouted.
But he was already gone.
The smell hit her next—burning, rotting, sulfur.
And then—howls.
Hundreds of them.
She ran through the trees, her boots kicking up snow, until she reached the cliffside plateau where they had camped the night before.
And froze.
A sea of shadows stretched before her—twisting, snarling creatures with jagged limbs and eyeless faces. Demons. Not five. Not ten.
A thousand.
And standing in the middle—
Was him.
His black cloak flared in the wind. His black crimson red tint hair turned silver, and his hair glowed like a blade.
He didn't say a word.
He moved.
And the massacre began.
Kyota ripped through the first wave like a storm possessed. His blade cut a demon in half from jaw to groin. Another he grabbed by the mouth and ripped its jaw off with his bare hands, black blood spraying across his chest.
One demon lunged—
He caught it mid-air, drove his fist through its throat, and then kicked it into a boulder with such force the stone shattered.
They swarmed.
He didn't back down.
Didn't blink.
He screamed—and fire erupted from his body, twisting into cursed blue flames that did not burn but consumed. The air turned black. Lightning arced from his hands. He pierced a demon's chest, tore its still-beating heart out, and then crushed it like a fruit.
He laughed.
Not in joy.
But in rage.
A violent, broken sound.
He wasn't fighting to survive.
He was punishing.
Punishing them for existing. For reminding him of the darkness inside.
For reminding him of everything he'd lost.
Demons screamed. Hundreds died. The mountain ran with black blood.
Mireia stood, shaking.
"W-What is this…"
She had seen war.
But not this.
This was… slaughter.
This was hell.
She saw him crush a demon's skull with his foot, then lift another by the tongue and split it down the middle.
Her knees buckled.
Finally, the last demon—a hulking beast with six arms and teeth like swords—rushed him.
Kyota let it come.
He took a deep breath.
And whispered something.
"…For peace."
Then he shot forward like a bolt of death.
He cut all six arms in a blink, kicked the beast into the air, and as it fell—he sliced straight through it, vertically, leaving its two halves twitching on the blood-soaked ground.
Silence.
Only wind.
Only death.
He turned.
His face was covered in blood. His eyes were hollow.
"Mireia…" he whispered.
She took a step back.
"Stay away," she choked.
Kyota blinked.
"I… I saved you."
"You… massacred them…"
"They were demons."
"You enjoyed it."
He froze.
She was crying. Not from gratitude.
From terror.
"You're not human," she whispered. "You're a monster…"
Kyota stepped back, his hands twitching. He looked at the blood. His sword. The battlefield.
Then at her.
"I didn't… want to scare you."
"Well, you did!" she screamed. "I— I don't ever want to see you again. Just go!"
He didn't move.
"GO!"
He turned.
The blood dripped from his hands.
He walked away.
Not a word.
Not a glance.
Only a whisper, lost to the wind.
"…I hope someone… will value me someday."
And as he vanished into the trees, the image of a silver-haired girl flickered in his mind.
Yuki.
Her smile.
Her tears.
Her warmth.
But Kyota only muttered to himself.
"…No. I can't cause her more pain."
He vanished into the dark.
Alone.
Again.