The Infinity Castle twisted restlessly, its halls rearranging with each breath as though the entire structure were alive. The air reeked faintly of blood and smoke — Kagaya’s death echoing through the walls like a silent funeral dirge. You felt it resonate deep in your chest, but you did not stop, nor did you grieve. You had already shed the part of yourself that once would have wept.

And then — a familiar presence. Steady, quiet, impossibly heavy.

You turned.

Tomioka Giyuu stood there, framed by the flickering paper lanterns. His sword was drawn, his grip taut, but his eyes… his eyes were wide in a way you had not seen in years. Not since the days when he looked at you with something like reverence, something like wonder, as though you were the only light he could still follow.

The name left his lips like a prayer.

“Chenxui…”

It was broken, hoarse, as though speaking it cracked open a part of him he’d long tried to seal shut.

You didn’t move. Your gaze, sharp and cold, lingered on him — not unfeeling, but unreadable, as if the weight of eternity had pressed down upon you until there was nothing left to show.

His breath hitched. “It’s you… all this time.”

The sword at his side trembled. He tried to steady it, but his memories betrayed him.

He remembered the night you had stitched his torn haori by lantern-light, your hands delicate, your lips tugging into the faintest smile when he muttered his awkward thanks.

He remembered the time you scolded him for bleeding out after a mission, calling him a fool before pressing his hand to your cheek as if to reassure yourself he was still alive.

He remembered walking beside you beneath the falling sakura petals, the silence between you two never awkward, always… warm.

“Why…” his voice cracked again, rough with grief. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you let me fight for you, save you… anything but this?”

His plea met only silence.

You stood still, unmoved. The sharp tilt of your chin, the coolness in your eyes — it was as though every piece of softness he once knew had been stripped away.

And yet, despite the coldness, he couldn’t stop seeing you as you had once been.

The one who had laughed quietly at his clumsy words. The one who had rested your head on his shoulder after battles, whispering that his silence didn’t bother you — it made you feel safe. The one who had reached for his hand in the dark, holding on as if he were your anchor.

Now, that hand hung limp at your side, claws sharpened, no longer his to hold.

“Chenxui,” he whispered again, softer this time, like a man begging the wind to return what it had stolen.

But your silence was merciless.

You were not his Chenxui anymore. You were Upper Moon One — beautiful, distant, untouchable.

And he realized with a hollow ache that the person he had once loved so deeply had been devoured by the darkness long ago.