The battlefield was supposed to be silent by now.
But silence in this world never truly existed—it merely hid the sound of betrayal.
Rain fell in fine, cold threads across the field where the last embers of battle had died. The smell of burnt steel and blood clung to the air like ghosts refusing to leave. Reiji stood motionless among the corpses, his blade resting against the mud, his reflection fractured in every drop of rain that touched its surface.
Kaede approached slowly, her boots sinking into the soaked ground. Her breath came in visible clouds, her right hand trembling as she reloaded the small crossbow strapped to her wrist. The wound she'd taken during the last skirmish was deep, but she didn't complain. She never did.
"They're not coming back," she said quietly, scanning the treeline.
Reiji didn't respond. His gaze was still fixed on the horizon where the smoke of burning banners rose like a dying prayer.
Kaede took a shallow breath. "The Choir's gone. Everyone's dead. We can't stay here."
Reiji finally looked at her, eyes as dull as the clouds above. "No one's dead until I stop hearing their voices."
The words carried weight, something Kaede couldn't interpret—grief, guilt, maybe both. She opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could, a faint metallic click echoed through the rain.
They turned in unison.
From behind the wreckage of a fallen carrier, five figures emerged—armored soldiers in black-and-silver plating, each bearing the insignia of the Silent Vanguard. The unit Reiji once commanded.
Kaede's eyes widened. "That's—"
"I know," Reiji interrupted softly.
The one in front removed his helmet, revealing a familiar scar that cut across his jaw. Captain Arven. The man Reiji had once trusted with his life. The rain traced the edges of his face like thin cracks in old marble.
"Shinomiya Reiji," Arven said, voice steady but heavy with something unsaid. "You've disobeyed direct orders. The Council has marked you for termination."
Kaede drew her blade instantly, but Reiji didn't move. He stood still, unreadable.
"Termination," he repeated. "That's what they call it now?"
Arven's grip on his spear tightened. "You led your squad into a restricted engagement. You interfered with an active operation. You executed an officer without clearance."
Reiji tilted his head slightly. "That 'officer' was executing civilians. You call that clearance?"
The silence that followed was suffocating. The rain's rhythm grew louder, harsher—like the ticking of a clock counting down to something inevitable.
Arven's expression faltered for a moment, then hardened again. "It doesn't matter what you think. Orders are orders."
Reiji sighed softly, closing his eyes. "You used to question them once."
"And you used to obey," Arven replied.
Lightning cracked across the sky.
When it faded, Reiji was gone.
The first strike came from the left—silent, fast. One soldier fell before the others could react, his throat slit cleanly through the gap in his armor. The rest scattered, forming a defensive circle, but Reiji's shadow was already behind them.
Steel clashed in the rain, sparks scattering like fragments of dying stars. Kaede moved alongside him, her motions sharp and deliberate, every strike in sync with his. There was no hesitation, no wasted movement—only purpose, only inevitability.
"You shouldn't have come," Reiji murmured, deflecting a spear thrust and countering with a horizontal slash that tore through armor.
Arven parried the next attack, sparks flashing between their blades. "You left me no choice."
"Then you've already chosen death."
They moved like two storms colliding—Arven's strikes were heavy and controlled, trained precision honed by years of command. Reiji's movements were faster, almost unnatural, like his body had learned to predict death itself.
The fight lasted minutes, but each second stretched like eternity.
Kaede watched as Arven's strength faltered, the weight of betrayal pressing down heavier than any blade. Reiji caught the captain's spear mid-swing, twisted it free, and brought his sword up to his throat.
The rain ran crimson down the steel.
Arven's voice cracked, not from fear, but from regret. "Was this… worth it?"
Reiji's expression didn't change. "Nothing ever is."
He pulled the blade free.
The body fell with a hollow thud, drowned by the storm.
For a long moment, neither Reiji nor Kaede spoke. The rain cleansed the field again, washing away the names of those who once fought side by side.
Kaede finally stepped closer, her voice quiet, trembling at the edges. "You didn't have to—"
"Yes, I did," Reiji interrupted. His tone wasn't cold—it was tired, emptied of anything resembling mercy. "He would've come again. Or someone else would've. It never ends."
She looked at him then—the same man she'd followed into countless battles, but somehow less human than before. "Then where does it end?"
Reiji looked toward the mountains beyond the valley. Dark, jagged peaks cut across the horizon like the spines of some slumbering beast. "The north," he said. "Eclipse Hold. That's where the first war began. If there are answers left, they'll be buried there."
Kaede hesitated. "And if there aren't?"
Reiji started walking, boots sinking into the mud. "Then we'll bury what's left of us beside them."
Lightning flashed again, illuminating the corpses scattered across the field—the remnants of allegiance, the echoes of loyalty shattered beyond repair.
As Reiji and Kaede disappeared into the storm, the rain fell harder, erasing their footprints one by one.
Behind them, the last remnants of the Vanguard burned where stray fire met oil. Their insignia melted into black sludge, indistinguishable from the mud.
By dawn, the battlefield was empty.
Only the wind remained, whispering through the trees—
carrying with it the sound of a name, repeated softly, as if trying to remember what loyalty used to mean.
Shinomiya Reiji.