The moon rode high above Olympus, its pale glow softening the sharp edges of the columns and gardens. Shadows stretched long and quiet, broken only by the faint whisper of wind brushing through olive trees.
Kurai stood near the courtyard, her pale hair shining faintly in the moonlight, her silver eyes reflecting back the sky above. She did not sleep much. She never truly needed it. Instead, she watched. Observed. Calculated.
The mansion was alive with different kinds of energy — every person within preparing for what was to come, though their methods could not have been more varied.
Helios had been reckless again. He had sought out Sephiroth of all people, still bloodied and wounded from his clash with Baldr, insisting on testing himself against the legendary swordsman. To Kurai, the spar had been absurd. His body was failing him, yet his spirit burned bright enough to try and challenge a monster like Sephiroth. Foolish, she thought. Yet part of her respected it — the defiance, the refusal to break even when his body begged him to. It was similar to her defiance of fate, the fate that she must lose to light in the end.
Skuld was worse in her own way. Her 'feelings' for Helios were transparent, laughably so. Every look, every act of healing, every moment she spent lingering by his side was a display of attachment that Kurai found baffling. Affection was useless. Attachment was weakness. Yet Skuld seemed to think it was her greatest strength. Kurai couldn't decide if she pitied her or despised her.
Aqua, by contrast, carried determination like a mantle. Her entire being was bent toward her lost friends — Terra and Ventus. That determination hardened her into something reliable, but brittle. Kurai could already see the cracks in her resolve, though Aqua herself could not. She was a flame that refused to go out, but flames were fragile things.
Helga was simpler — a creature of discipline. Her training was relentless, her focus absolute. Kurai respected that. At least the woman understood efficiency, preparation, and strength.
Thalen, however… he was an anomaly. The boy had begun to control his powers, summoning and commanding Nobodies with the kind of instinct Kurai would have thought impossible so early on. He had even managed to evolve his Dusks into something new — Harlequins. Watching him brought a faint curiosity to her otherwise cold indifference. He was still frail, still young, but he was becoming… interesting and useful.
Kurai's gaze swept back across the gardens. So many preparations. So many human ways of coping. Training, bonding, hoping, clinging. She found them all strange. Unnecessary. But perhaps, in their uselessness, she found them predictable. And that had its own value.
The stillness broke with the sharp, deliberate click of sandals against stone.
"Well, well, well," a sultry voice purred. "If it isn't our pale little shadow, lurking and brooding like some tragic heroine."
Kurai did not turn her head. She already knew who it was.
Circe swept into view, robes of crimson and gold catching the moonlight, her staff tapping against the ground with a theatrical flourish. Every step was a performance, every gesture exaggerated, every smile sharpened like a weapon.
"My, what a dull little household this is," Circe sighed dramatically, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "A soldier, a healer, a swordsman, a boy with no emotions, and one very dreary little shadow girl. Without me, it's all terribly monochrome."
Kurai's silver gaze slid toward her, flat and cold. "Leave."
Circe clutched her chest with a gasp, feigning injury. "So cruel. So icy. And yet you keep me here, lingering under your shadow. Could it be you like having me around? Afraid to admit you'd be lost without my beauty and charm?"
Kurai turned her head fully then, studying Circe with the same look she might give a pest crawling across her path. Her voice was low, edged with warning. "You can tag along if you wish. But understand this: the instant you get in the way, I'll discard you."
For a heartbeat, Circe blinked — and then she laughed, rich and lilting, tossing her hair back as if Kurai's words had been some kind of flattery. "Oh, darling, threats don't frighten me. Especially not from someone whose hands are shaking."
Kurai's eyes narrowed.
Circe stepped closer, her gaze sliding up and down Kurai's frame with deliberate slowness. "I've noticed, you know. The way your body tenses. The way your steps drag when you think no one's looking. You used too much power recently, didn't you? All that pretty darkness in your fight against someone… what did they say his name was? Baldr? You've been paying for it ever since. You pretend you're invincible, but the cracks are there. And I see them."
Kurai said nothing.
Circe's smirk widened. "So maybe you're not the great, untouchable monster you want us to believe. Maybe you're just a fragile little girl playing at being a scary nightmare. How delicious."
The air changed.
Without a word, Kurai vanished into shadow, the darkness swallowing her in an instant. Circe blinked, startled — and then stiffened when Kurai reappeared right in front of her, so close their faces nearly touched.
A wave of oppressive darkness spilled outward, heavy and suffocating, pressing down like a physical weight. The courtyard air grew thick, icy, crushing. For the first time, Circe's playful smirk faltered as her body betrayed her — a step backward, unbidden, stolen by fear.
Kurai's hand shot out, fingers tangling in the back of Circe's hair, yanking her head back with cold precision. Her silver eyes gleamed with merciless light.
"You are a small, insignificant bug," Kurai said softly, her voice colder than the night air. "Always buzzing in my ear. The only reason I haven't squashed you already is because I had better things to do. But you keep putting yourself in front of me."
Circe's breath caught, her usual dramatics failing her under the weight of Kurai's presence.
Kurai's lips curved into a smile — sharp, cruel, humorless. "So here's my advice, witch. Do your best to stay out of my sight. Because the next time you don't, I won't hesitate. Now scurry along like the insect you are."
She released her grip, shoving Circe back. The sorceress stumbled, clutching her staff, her expression twisted between fury and shaken pride.
Kurai's shadowed form dissolved back into the darkness, vanishing into the night as if she had never been there at all.
The courtyard was silent again — save for Circe's quickened breaths and the pounding of her heart.