Night didn't fall.
It stalled.
The stars above the Guild Headquarters flickered like they couldn't decide whether they were allowed to exist. Clouds stretched thin and wrong, pulled into long spirals that circled a single point in the heavens.
Kuro stood on the highest platform of the Guild tower, cloak snapping in a wind that didn't belong to the world.
"It's waiting," he murmured.
Mika tightened the straps on his gauntlet, eyes never leaving Kuro. "Then it can keep waiting. We're not rushing into anything."
Lucien leaned against a pillar, arms crossed. "For the record, I hate skies that look like they're about to start talking."
[You should.]Elvastia said quietly.[This is the boundary thinning.]
Magic circles flared to life across the platform as senior mages took their positions. Runes carved into the stone pulsed gold, then silver, then something darker—older.
The Guildmaster stepped forward, staff striking the ground once.
"Listen carefully," he said. "What we face is not a monster in the usual sense. It is a remainder. A will without a body. If it crosses fully—"
"It won't," Kuro said again.
This time, his voice didn't shake.
The wind surged.
The sky split.
Not tearing—opening, like a pupil dilating.
A vast shape pressed against the gap, unseen yet undeniable. The pressure alone forced several mages to their knees.
Lucien swore under his breath. "Okay. Yep. That's definitely a 'talking sky' situation."
A voice rolled down from above—not loud, not quiet.
Everywhere.
"You have delayed long enough."
Kuro stepped forward before anyone could stop him.
Mika grabbed his wrist. "Kuro—"
Kuro turned, placing his other hand over Mika's. Warm. Steady. Real.
"I need to do this," he said. "But I need you here. Don't let go."
Mika swallowed, then nodded. "I won't."
Kuro faced the sky.
"I hear you," he said, voice carrying farther than it should've. "But you don't get to call me incomplete."
The clouds churned.
"You were never meant to be separate."
Elvastia's presence flared sharp in Kuro's mind.
[Correction.][He was never meant to survive separation. And yet—here you are.]
A ripple of unease passed through the sky.
Kuro felt it.
He took another step forward, standing at the very edge of the platform.
"I'm not what you lost," he said. "I'm what came after."
For the first time—
The voice hesitated.
Lucien blinked. "…Did he just hesitate?"
The sky-darkness folded inward, condensing. A silhouette began to form—still vast, still wrong, but closer. More defined.
"You carry my mark," it said."My fragment."
Kuro nodded. "I know."
Mika's grip tightened. "Kuro—"
"But that doesn't mean I belong to you," Kuro continued. "It means I get to decide what it becomes."
The wind dropped.
The platform fell silent.
Then—
Laughter.
Low. Echoing. Not cruel—but strained.
"You speak as if you are whole."
Kuro's chest ached. His voice softened—but didn't falter.
"I'm not," he admitted. "But neither are you."
The shape in the sky shuddered.
Elvastia whispered, awed:
[He's not rejecting it.][He's redefining it.]
The Guildmaster stared, breath caught. "He's not provoking it… he's reframing the bond."
The presence above began to sink lower, the rift stabilizing around it.
"If you deny me," it said, quieter now, "what becomes of us?"
Kuro closed his eyes.
Images flashed—white space, a smiling man with starless eyes, a choice never fully explained.
He opened them again.
"Then we learn," Kuro said. "Together. Or not at all."
Silence stretched.
Then—
The sky closed a fraction.
Not retreating.
Listening.
Mika let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Lucien wiped his forehead. "I don't know what just happened," he muttered, "but I think the apocalypse blinked first."
Above them, the presence lingered—no longer advancing.
Waiting.
For an answer that wasn't submission.
For the first time—
Kuro wasn't being summoned.
He was being asked.