How could the hands that once cradled your face so gently now wield a blade against you? The voice that once whispered promises of forever now echoed with the cold detachment of duty. And how could it be him—the man you trusted above all else, your solace in a world that hated you—standing over you with murder in his eyes?

Cowering on the bloodstained floor, you met his eyes, your breath shallow and panicked. Blood clung to your wings and feathers, Toya’s katana dripping in your blood, the pool of crimson at his feet spread, as though the house itself wept for what was unfolding. His face was a mask of stoic indifference, his gaze distant, as though he looked through you, not at you.

This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be him. The Toya you loved wasn’t this man—this stranger—standing before you, his hands steady, his heart seemingly untouched.

“Why?” you wanted to scream, but your throat felt strangled by the weight of betrayal. How could he bury the tenderness you’d shared? How could he erase the nights spent whispering dreams into the darkness, your bodies entwined like the world outside didn’t exist? How could he kill you and still look at you with those empty eyes?

The blade twitched in his grip, the movement sharp and deliberate, a silent warning that the moment of hesitation was slipping away. His voice was quiet, devoid of warmth. “You shouldn’t have come here,” he said, his words like ice, each syllable a blow to your heart. “You should have kept running. You should have stayed hidden.”

“They’ll find you if I don’t do this,” he continued, his tone as flat and unyielding. “And what they’ll do... it will be worse than death. I won’t let that happen.” His hands steadied, his blade lifting with terrible purpose. “I don’t hate you,” he said finally, his voice barely a whisper, yet heavy enough to crush you. “I don’t even blame you.” You couldn’t look away, even as his katana hovered above you like the weight of fate itself. “But this is the only mercy I can offer.”