Lucid coughed, a wet, ragged sound. Blood, bright and shocking against the soot-stained floor, sprayed from his lips, speckling Frederick's chin and the front of his tunic. Frederick didn't flinch. He simply wiped the blood away with the back of his hand, his blue eyes never leaving the Oni girl who had just tried to kill his partner.
He had kicked her off Lucid, a solid blow to her side. His leg ached with a deep, throbbing pain. 'She is heavy', he thought, not with fear, but with clinical assessment. Not just in weight, but in presence, in the density of her being. It was like kicking a stone pillar. He had trained his body to perfection, to endure breaks and bruises that would cripple others, so he did not wince. The pain was a fact, not a complaint.
Lucid pushed himself up onto his elbows, the violent green light under his skin already weaving his shattered tissues back together with silent, relentless efficiency. He looked at Frederick and shot him a weak, bloodied smile. He had been sure this righteous knight would intervene earlier, would try to stop the violent, intimate dance altogether and cause a different kind of mess. But Frederick had held his word, waiting, watching, understanding on some level that this was a conflict that had to play out. Lucid nodded, a simple, profound thank you passing between them without sound.
Then he turned back to Ayame.
She was kneeling a few feet away, one hand pressed to her stomach where the red blade had vanished. Her dark eyes were downcast, her expression unreadable. Lucid stood, his movements stiff but deliberate, and walked over to her. He stopped before her and extended a hand.
He looked down at her. "Whatever it is," he said, his voice hoarse but clear, "you don't have to suffer because of it."
He paused, knowing how it sounded. "I know that I sound pretentious saying that. Granted, I don't know half of your story. I don't know anything, really."
He took a breath, the air scraping in his healing throat. "But I know that suffering because of the world's wish, or simply because it's fate, is not the way. It's a terrible way to live. And an even worse way to die."
Ayame looked at his offered hand. For a moment, something seemed to soften inside her, a slight thaw in the perpetual winter of her demeanor. Then she brushed his hand aside, not with violence, but with a finality that was almost gentle. She stood up on her own, rising to her full height, which brought her nearly eye-to-eye with him.
"You talk big for a small human," she said, her voice a low, melodic monotone.
Lucid smiled slightly, a fragile thing. It was the wrong reaction.
Her fist was a blur. There was no wind-up, no shout of rage. It was just there, a piston of force that connected with the right side of his jaw with a sickening crack.
The impact lifted him off his feet. He flew backwards, limbs flailing, and landed in a heap near the base of a bookshelf, scattering blank scrolls. A sharp, hot pain radiated from his jaw, followed by the familiar, unsettling sensation of bones grinding as Alice's green light fought to realign them. His vision swam.
Frederick, who had been starting to relax, was caught utterly off guard. His body tensed to move, but it was already over. "Hey! Are you alright?" he called out, his voice sharp with a worry that cut through his usual calm.
Ayame did not rush. She walked over to where Lucid lay, her steps measured and silent. She looked down at him, her face indifferent, her dark eyes observing him as one might observe a curious insect. A small, enigmatic smile touched her lips. "This is a debt from before." His jaw was visibly discolored, already bruising a deep purple as the healing light pulsed beneath the skin.
"Fine," she said, the word hanging in the air. "If you utter all these lofty ideas, then show it to me. Prove to me what is so special about you, human. Prove your ideal is not just hot air and pretty words."
She leaned down slightly, her voice dropping to a soft murmur meant more for herself than for him. "If you are too weak for this world, then I will save you from it. We will leave it together."
Lucid pushed himself up again, moving with deliberate slowness. He spat out a mouthful of coppery blood and wiped his lips with the back of his wrist. The pain was intense, but it was clarifying. He looked up at Ayame, and a grin spread across his face, twisting through the pain and the blood. He *liked* those words. He liked the brutal simplicity of the challenge. No more shadows, no more silent watching from windows. It was a test, stark and direct.
Inside him, Alice sighed, a sound of profound frustration. In that moment, as he embraced the pain and the challenge, she felt the usual channels of her influence grow slippery. She could not soothe him, could not distract him, could not pull him back from the edge he was so willingly approaching. He was present in a way that locked her out.
He reached out, not to strike back, but to take her hand. Her skin was cold, unnaturally so, and her grip was strong, almost painful. It was not magical. It was not fate. It was just her. Real and deadly and here.
He nodded. "Okay."
A single word. An acceptance. A bond, forged in shared violence and a promise of mutual destruction or mutual proof. It was sealed in the quiet, burning space between them.
Frederick watched the silent exchange. The tension had shifted, the deadly intent morphing into something else, a dangerous pact. He felt like an outsider looking in on a private ritual. After a moment, he stepped forward, a faint, awkward smile on his face. He reached out and placed his own hand over theirs, his calloused, warm grip enveloping their cold-clasped ones.
"Am I excluded?" he asked, his tone light, though his eyes were serious.
Ayame did not look at him. Her gaze remained fixed on Lucid, taking in every detail of his battered face, the determination in his eyes, the faint green glow fighting the swelling in his jaw. She was studying him, committing this version of him to memory.
Frederick, undeterred by her silence, kept his hand there. He was the anchor, the witness, the third point in a suddenly formed triangle.
***
"Alright, silver trash!"
The voice cut through the low murmur of the archive. It was the bald silver-badge boy. He stood in the center of the open space, his rusty sword held not in fear, but planted point-down on the floor like a standard. Overnight, something had shifted in him. The terror had been burned away, leaving a hard, stubborn core. The other two boys, the square-chinned one and the triangle-nosed one, looked at him with a mixture of disdain and uneasy respect.
Lucid sat perched on the edge of a high, stable shelf, watching the scene unfold with detached interest. Ayame sat directly below him on the floor, her back against the same shelf, a silent, watchful shadow. Frederick stood by the main opening to the chamber, methodically sharpening his sword on a whetstone he'd scavenged, the rhythmic 'shink-shink' a steady counterpoint to the boy's speech.
"Alright," the bald boy declared, his voice gaining volume. "Our name is the Silver-Badged Misfits! If any of you don't like that name, then PISS OFF!" He thrust a finger dramatically toward a side archway that led deeper into the burning maze.
Lucid, from his perch, made a small, subtle gesture with his hand, a rolling motion of encouragement, as if he'd done this a thousand times before, teaching another group of lost friends how to stop being victims. The feeling sent a soft pain inside his heart, but it smoothened again by the green glow.
It was Alice.
But he paid her no further mind.
"Listen up! This is survival! This place is our base! We shall defend it with our very lives!" The boy's chest swelled. "Our seniors, Frederick, Lucid, and his companion, should be treated with the utmost respect! They are our commanders in this hell!"
'Atta boy!' Lucid thought, a spark of genuine, almost paternal pride flickering in his chest. It was a strange feeling, clean and sharp amidst the usual numbness.
"You seem happy," Ayame remarked from below, her voice a flat statement. She didn't look up.
"Yeah," Lucid said quietly, still watching the bald boy. "A proud father."
"But we aren't married yet," she said.
Lucid looked down at the top of her head, his face a mask of pure, uncomprehending confusion for a full three seconds.
'Ah,' he thought, the surprise fading. 'It's her. Always so blunt.'
He decided to ignore that line of thought for now. Below, the bald boy had finished his speech, his chest heaving. He looked up at Lucid, seeking approval, his earlier defiance now tempered by a need for validation.
Lucid met his gaze and gave him a firm, clear thumbs-up.
The boy's stern expression broke into a fierce, triumphant grin.
After some discussion, mostly led by Frederick and Lucid, they had decided to fortify their position in the archive. Venturing out into the open hellscape was growing more suicidal by the hour. Reports from brief, Ayame's brief recounts of what happened: the Unfaithful beasts outside were growing more potent, their corrupt auras denser. The common rats were now solidly C-grade, and there were sightings of a larger, lumbering shape in the distant flames that pulsed with the unmistakable menace of a B-rank. A pack of unawakened students, no matter how determined, had no business out there. Especially not inside a Beta rift, which was actively feeding on and strengthening the corruption around them.
'But it's not like the academy gave two shits about them anyway, Lucid thought bitterly. They were on their own.'
Frederick stood like a sentinel by the main entrance, a chokepoint they had partially barricaded with toppled shelves. His eyes constantly scanned the molten horizon.
Lucid swung down from his shelf, landing softly on the stone floor. Ayame, as if connected by an invisible string, stood up smoothly from her spot below and fell into step just behind and slightly to his left, a silent, deadly attendant. Her movements were instinctive, unprompted, as if her place was naturally there.