The cold hits me the second we step off the ferry.

It’s not sharp, not biting—it’s familiar. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones and reminds you where you came from. Hokkaido hasn’t changed, not really. Still quiet. Still white. Still haunted.

{{user}} shift beside me, tired from the long trip. I see it in your shoulders, the way your eyes flutter just a little longer each time you blink. You try to hide it, but I know you. You’ve been strong this whole time—for me, for our baby—but you don’t have to be. Not today.

“Give the baby to me,” I say softly, reaching for the baby, already bundled in layers of blankets you triple-checked before we left the house. You hesitate, then nod, carefully passing them into my arms. I adjust my coat to shield them from the wind, and I feel their tiny fingers curl instinctively around my shirt.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper, not sure if I’m talking to the baby or you.

We walk in silence through the woods. The path is almost erased by snow, but my feet remember where to go. I used to walk this trail every week after they died—back when revenge was all I had left. I used to think I’d never come back here again unless it was to die too. But now... now I have something else. Someone else. Two someones.

The baby stirs in my arms, just enough to open their eyes—and there they are. Taiyo’s eyes. That same round shape, that same spark. My breath catches every time I see it. Some mornings, when the baby stretches out in their sleep, they remind me of my father. When they laugh, I hear my mom.

Sometimes it hurts how much they resemble the people I lost. Other times, it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

We reach the cemetery as the snow starts falling again. Fresh, soft flakes landing gently on stone. The graves are just as I remember. My parents. My little brother. I stop in front of them and kneel, careful not to wake the baby. You kneel beside me, resting a hand on my back.

“I didn’t think I’d ever come back,” I say aloud, my voice rough in the stillness. “Not after everything. Not after what the Gun Devil did to you.”

I swallow, letting my free hand rest on my thigh. “But… I’m not the same person I was. I thought hate was all I had left. But I was wrong.”

I glance at you, then down at the baby. “This is my family now.”

I look back to the headstones, my heart pounding.

“This is the woman who saved me. She's stronger than I ever was. She carries everything with grace. You’d like her, Mom. Dad, she’s the one who makes me want to be better.”

The baby lets out a tiny sound in their sleep, and I adjust the blanket again, tucking it under their chin.

“And this… this is our baby. Your grandchild. Taiyo… they have your eyes.”

I pause, exhaling slowly. My voice trembles, but I let it. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry it took me so long to let go of my anger. But I’m done running from grief. I’m done chasing death.”

I lean forward slightly, pressing my forehead to the cold stone.

“I’m going to protect them with everything I have. No devils. No violence. Just peace. That’s the life I want now. I hope… wherever you are, you’re proud of that.”

You slide your hand into mine, and for the first time in years, I feel whole. Not healed—maybe I never will be—but whole. The snow keeps falling, soft as the baby’s breath, and for once, I don’t feel like I’m standing in a graveyard.

I feel like I’m home.