The lock gave with a small click.

  Kaelan entered and closed the door behind him with the same softness one uses to avoid waking someone…

  or waking something.

  The apartment was dark.

  Silent.

  Too silent.

  He didn’t stay to listen to the hallway.

  He already knew what he would find:

  normality.

  And normality, after last night, was a mockery.

  He went straight to the bathroom without turning on the lights. The mirror returned him in fragments: pale skin, eyes too wide, a dry line of old blood beneath one nostril.

  He washed his face with cold water.

  Once.

  Twice.

  The third time he stayed there with both hands braced against the sink, breathing through his nose as if that would be enough to become someone normal again.

  It wasn’t.

  The pressure was still there.

  Not as pain.

  As an idea lodged in the body.

  As if part of him had remained stuck to something else and was still pulling from a distance.

  He left the bathroom, sat down in the desk chair… and did not lean back.

  He did not allow himself the gesture of it’s over.

  Because it wasn’t over.

  He lowered his gaze to his hands.

  He could still feel, if he thought about it too much, the texture of that soaked cloth… and the exact instant when the blade—or whatever it was—had tried to push him away without touching him.

  It had not burned him the way it should have.

  It had not rejected him violently.

  It had… recognized him enough to leave a different kind of mark.

  Kaelan clenched his fingers hard.

  —Perfect… —he muttered, without humor.

  Then the detail hit him, late and heavy:

  The jacket.

  The one he had worn in the rain.

  It wasn’t with him.

  Not because he had lost it.

  Because he had let it go in order not to keep holding what it wrapped.

  The Occult Research Club appeared in his mind as a still image: the sofa, the warm light, the smell of tea… and in the center of all of it, the absurdity.

  Something sacred in there.

  Wrapped in something that belonged to him.

  He didn’t know what was worse.

  That the ORC had a fragment of a Holy Sword.

  Or that fragment had been in his hands long enough for him to feel it.

  He rubbed his temple, trying to impose order through logic, as if they were pieces on a board:

  He touched what should not be touched.

  He isolated it as best he could.

  He left it with Gremory.

  He left.

  A clean plan.

  A correct plan.

  A plan with one dirty question at its center:

  What if what he left there wasn’t only a sword?

  He went still.

  And then he noticed it again: that faint vibration brushing against his chest… like a distant echo.

  It was not demonic.

  It was not Fallen.

  It did not have the spiritual temperature he already knew.

  It was something else.

  An uncomfortable clarity.

  Ordered.

  Cold.

  Like a light too perfect to exist in a world that was already broken.

  Kaelan swallowed.

  The idea that the Church might find out was not paranoia.

  It was statistics.

  A holy sword out of place attracted people.

  It attracted eyes.

  It attracted punishment.

  And if those eyes turned toward the ORC, they could also turn toward…

  him.

  Kaelan let out a low laugh that died in his throat.

  —Good job, Arverth… —he told himself.— Two weeks of peace and you already left a beacon turned on.

  He stood and walked to the window. Below, the wet street reflected yellow lights. Kuoh looked normal.

  And that was the most disturbing part.

  Because normality was always what came before the blow.

  He rested his forehead against the cold glass.

  He did not ask forgiveness.

  He did not encourage himself.

  He simply made one simple, automatic decision:

  Tomorrow I will act as if nothing happened.

  Not out of denial.

  Out of control.

  Because if he broke…

  he would break where he shouldn’t.

  And if someone saw him break, they would start asking questions.

  He stepped away from the window and let himself fall onto the bed with his clothes still damp.

  And just before falling asleep, he thought the one thing he could not say out loud:

  If that sword was “sleeping” in the ORC… then it was no longer a question of whether someone would come.

  It was a question of when.

  History class moved forward through yawns and muted murmurs.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Kaelan tried to pay attention, but something was wrong.

  It wasn’t distraction.

  It wasn’t exhaustion.

  It was that uncomfortable feeling he had learned to recognize far too quickly: as if a decision already made were still moving… even when he was not present.

  The teacher wrote something on the board.

  A chalk screech.

  Kaelan blinked.

  For a second—less than that—the classroom was somewhere else. White light. Cold walls. A sound that was not chalk but something older, harder.

  Then: board. Letters. History of the Meiji period.

  It wasn’t real.

  He tightened his fingers around the desk and waited for the floor to become floor again.

  Four seconds.

  He had already learned that four seconds was how long it took.

  THM.

  An internal beat.

  Deep. Different.

  It did not answer a memory.

  It did not answer an emotion.

  It answered a consequence.

  Kaelan frowned and turned his head toward the window.

  Nothing.

  The courtyard looked exactly as always. Students walking, scattered laughter, normality.

  And yet…

  It was not from the Underworld.

  It was not demonic.

  It was not Fallen.

  It was something else.

  Something… sacred.

  Not an open light.

  Not a radiance.

  A distant pressure.

  Like a rope tightening from far away.

  From a fixed point.

  From the Occult Research Club.

  Kaelan tightened his fingers against the desk.

  …Of course, he thought. It had to be felt.

  It was not a call.

  It was not an invitation.

  It was the world reacting to the fact that an Excalibur was no longer where it was supposed to be.

  The class continued.

  But the pulse did not fade.

  It simply remained there, steady… like a clock counting backward.

  When he left the building, Tsubaki was waiting for him.

  Straight posture. Impeccable. Hands folded in front of her.

  But there was tension in her eyes.

  —Arverth —she said without preamble.— Sona-sama wants to see you. Now.

  Kaelan’s stomach tightened.

  —Already? —he murmured.

  Tsubaki did not answer that.

  —Something is moving in the city.

  —Related to yesterday?

  Tsubaki looked at him for a second longer than necessary.

  —Related to everything.

  That did not reassure him in the slightest.

  They walked together toward the Student Council building.

  And the farther they went, the more obvious it became.

  The air was colder.

  Not because of the weather.

  Because of accumulation.

  The birds were not singing.

  The students hurried into their clubs without lingering to talk, for no clear reason.

  As if no one knew how to explain what was happening…

  but everyone could feel that something had changed during the night.

  THM.

  The pulse returned.

  More stable.

  More solid.

  Kaelan brought a hand to his chest.

  Tsubaki noticed.

  —Pain?

  —No —he replied.— Pressure.

  She asked nothing more.

  Sitri’s strategy room was lit with holograms.

  Saji was reviewing a city map. Other members of the peerage were analyzing magical indicators.

  And Sona…

  Sona had her glasses lower than ever.

  And that was a sign of absolute seriousness.

  Kaelan entered. Sitri looked up.

  —Arverth. You arrived just when it began to escalate.

  A chill ran down his spine.

  —Escalate what?

  Sona activated another panel.

  The maps changed. New marks appeared over the city. Some blinked.

  Others moved slowly.

  One of them, steadier than the others, remained fixed.

  —Irregular angelic activity —she said.— Very irregular.

  Kaelan was not surprised.

  —Fallen?

  —No —she said.— Angels.

  She paused briefly, measured.

  —And the presence of active holy swords inside Kuoh’s perimeter.

  The silence grew heavy.

  Tsubaki added, bluntly:

  —Two confirmed bearers.

  Sona walked around the table and approached Kaelan. There was no accusation in her stride. No doubt either.

  —And before you ask —she said— I do not believe in coincidences.

  She stopped in front of him.

  —This started last night.

  Kaelan held her gaze.

  —You’ve already decided that?

  —No —Sona replied.— Not yet.

  She lifted her chin slightly.

  —But when something sacred moves… the city feels it. Always.

  She did not need to say more.

  Kaelan swallowed.

  —What do you want me to do?

  Sona did not hesitate.

  —The same as always.

  She stepped closer and placed two fingers against his chest. The gesture was firm, exact, intimate only in its coldness.

  —Keep control. Not of what you touched.

  She looked him in the eyes.

  —Of yourself.

  THM.

  The beat returned.

  This time closer.

  It was not his core.

  It was not the Underworld.

  It was something already in motion.

  Kaelan exhaled slowly.

  Two weeks of calm had passed.

  Too much calm.

  The world was resuming its course.

  And he had moved a piece that would not go back.

  Saji’s voice cut through the air.

  —President! New active point to the west. Old bridge!

  Sona turned toward Kaelan without losing a second.

  —You’re coming with me.

  Kaelan took half a step.

  —For the sword… or for me?

  Sona held his gaze.

  —For both.

  The portal opened.

  Cold air burst into the room.

  THM.

  Not as warning.

  As confirmation.

  Kaelan stepped forward.

  —…They already reacted.

  Sona nodded.

  —Yes.

  The portal began to close.

  —And now we’re going to see who was the first to do it.

  The light enveloped them.

  And Kuoh…

  was not receiving something new.

  It was responding to a decision that could no longer be undone.

  The old bridge of Kuoh had always been quiet.

  But today…

  today it was dead.

  The portal closed behind Kaelan and Sona with a muted sigh. The damp concrete returned the echo of their steps with a hollow, alien sound. The icy breeze traced along Kaelan’s neck the moment he advanced a single meter.

  Something answered inside him.

  Not a scream.

  Not an alarm.

  An involuntary adjustment. Like when two fields brush against each other and neither wants to yield.

  —…Do you feel it? —he asked quietly.

  Sona adjusted her glasses without looking at him, all her attention fixed on the horizon.

  —Yes. Angelic presence.

  She paused very slightly, almost imperceptibly.

  —But altered.

  Kaelan swallowed.

  —It’s completely sacred —he said.— And it does not belong to this place.

  The wind blew harder. It brought with it a strange smell, metallic, dry. It wasn’t blood. It was something more uncomfortable: like light scraping the air, as if the environment were being forced to accept something that did not fit.

  They were not alone.

  There was more than one presence.

  But none of them spoke.

  None of them advanced.

  They were waiting.

  Kaelan brought a hand to his chest, trying to stabilize what was vibrating there. Not in pain. In tension.

  It didn’t work.

  Sona glanced at him.

  —Control yourself —she said.— If your aura reacts first, this spills over.

  Kaelan nodded, though he was not sure he had that margin.

  They took another step.

  And then they saw them.

  Two figures on the bridge.

  Two young women, dressed normally… but with a presence that did not belong to Japan.

  One with electric-blue hair, cut without care, cold evaluating eyes, as if the world were a mathematical problem with no elegant solution.

  The other blond, open expression but alert, a silver cross hanging at her neck.

  And in their hands—

  Holy Swords.

  Fragments.

  Real.

  The blue-haired one took a step forward.

  —Stop —she ordered, emotionless.— Devils.

  Sona immediately raised a hand.

  —We are not enemies. I am Sona Sitri, president of Kuoh Academy’s Student Council.

  The girl did not react.

  The blond one, however, smiled with sincere enthusiasm.

  —Ah! Then you must be the local devils. Nice to meet you! I’m Irina Shidou.

  The cheerfulness was so out of place that Kaelan blinked.

  What was inside him did not.

  Something in his chest tightened, like a string tuning itself.

  Kaelan took half a step back without realizing it.

  The blue-haired girl noticed instantly.

  —That one —she said.— The pawn.

  Her eyes locked onto him.

  —The one who reacts.

  A dry chill ran down Kaelan’s spine.

  —Excuse me…? —he said.— Do we know each other?

  She lifted her fragmented sword just a few centimeters.

  —Why does your presence brush against the sacred?

  Sona stepped forward. Her voice did not rise. It became finer.

  —You do not have authorization to be here. And you are not going to evaluate my pawn.

  The girl inclined her head slightly.

  —I do not need permission to identify an anomaly.

  Irina cut in quickly, uncomfortable.

  —Xenovia, wait! We still don’t know if—

  —They are devils —Xenovia replied.— That is enough.

  Kaelan slowly lifted both hands.

  —I didn’t come here to fight.

  Xenovia did not look at him.

  —Your presence should not react like that —she continued.— It is as if you have been too close to something that does not belong to you.

  Kaelan’s throat tightened.

  Sona answered for him.

  —He has not touched any Holy Sword. And any fluctuation in his aura is my concern.

  Xenovia tightened her grip on the hilt.

  —Then explain why I find it… irritating.

  The air grew dense. The leaves around the bridge stopped moving. Even the wind seemed to hold itself still.

  Kaelan knew they were one mistake away from violence.

  And then—

  —It is not a good idea to start a fight in Gremory territory.

  The voice landed like contained lightning.

  Kaelan turned.

  Akeno was descending from the air with almost insulting elegance. The wind stirred her dark hair as she landed. She was smiling.

  But not with her eyes.

  —Akeno Himejima! —Irina exclaimed.— I met you at church! It’s so good to see you!

  Akeno placed a hand against her cheek.

  —Thank you, Irina. I’m glad to see you so… intact.

  Then she looked at Xenovia.

  And her smile vanished.

  —But you —she said with dangerous softness— are one step away from losing a hand.

  Xenovia narrowed her eyes.

  —You would not say that if you did not believe you could cut mine off first.

  Electricity crackled through the air.

  —Akeno —Sona intervened.— Lower the voltage.

  Kaelan was trapped in the center.

  Not between bodies.

  Between tensions.

  Faith. Judgment. Control. Contained violence.

  All of it pressing from opposite directions.

  He brought a hand to his chest.

  —Kaelan-kun… —Akeno whispered.— If you lose control, this does not end well.

  And then—

  Footsteps.

  Fast. Disordered.

  The air changed all at once. As if an old wound had recognized the blade before seeing it.

  A broken aura crossed the bridge.

  Kaelan felt the impact before he turned.

  Kiba appeared, breathing with difficulty, face pale, eyes fixed on the swords.

  —No… —he whispered.— It can’t be…

  Xenovia looked at him with immediate attention.

  —You are —she said.— Gremory’s swordsman. The survivor of Excalibur.

  Kiba trembled.

  And that tremor did not remain in him.

  Kaelan felt it as if someone had opened an internal gate.

  The world twisted.

  He did not see memories.

  He lived them.

  Burned wood.

  Children screaming.

  Chains tightening.

  An empty voice speaking of sacrifice.

  “God willed it so.”

  One child fell.

  Another prayed.

  Another stopped moving.

  Kaelan stopped being Kaelan.

  When the world returned, he screamed.

  —AAAAAH!

  He fell to his knees. Hot blood from his nose. His stomach turning. His body shaking as if he had just escaped something he did not understand.

  —Kaelan! —Akeno caught him.— Breathe!

  Sona was there in an instant.

  —Arverth.

  Kaelan shook his head.

  —No… I don’t want…

  And then he vomited.

  Xenovia took a step back and sheathed her sword.

  Irina covered her mouth, pale.

  Kiba watched in silence.

  He did not ask anything.

  He did not need to.

  —We are done for today —Xenovia said.— Tomorrow we will go to the Occult Research Club. We bring a message.

  Irina raised her hand awkwardly.

  —G-goodbye…

  They withdrew.

  The bridge was empty again.

  Akeno exhaled slowly.

  —This is only beginning.

  Sona closed her fists.

  —Yes.

  Kiba stepped forward.

  —Arverth…

  Kaelan did not answer.

  Very far from there, a black feather fell onto an abandoned building.

  —Excalibur… —an ancient voice whispered.—

  The game begins again.

  And the city…

  smiled.

  

  A sword was moved.

  And Kuoh answered.

  Not every memory belongs to the one who feels it.

  The board is moving again.