A year had passed since Rayon left the children behind in that broken village.
Now, where there had once been ash and ruin, life stirred again. The ground that had been soaked with blood bore new roots. The wind carried the scent of smoke still, faint and stubborn — a reminder that healing never came without scars.
Rayon walked down the dirt road with his hands in his pockets, his coat brushing against his boots. The rebuilt settlement ahead shimmered beneath the late sun, humble but alive. Children's laughter cut through the air — not the desperate cries he remembered, but something lighter. It almost made him smirk.
"Looks different," Erethon's voice murmured beside him, half-amused. "You leave for a year, the world suddenly remembers how to breathe."
"Time doesn't stop for anyone," Rayon said calmly, eyes forward. "Not even for the dead."
He stopped at the edge of the small town square — and there they were. Lio stood taller now, sharper in the face, still wearing that determined expression. The old lady he'd left behind, her back a little more bent but her eyes still alive, was teaching the younger ones to read.
The second Lio noticed him, the boy froze — as if staring at a ghost.
"…Rayon?" he whispered, disbelief breaking into awe. "You… actually came back."
Rayon smirked slightly. "Didn't think I would?"
Lio shook his head, then broke into a grin. "I thought you were some kind of myth. Everyone said no one survives out there."
"Well," Rayon said, voice dry, "I'm not everyone."
The old woman turned, her weathered eyes meeting his. "So the phantom returns," she said softly. "We thought you were long gone, child."
"Phantoms don't die," Rayon replied simply. "They linger."
She chuckled under her breath — something between fear and fondness. "You kept your promise then. I told them you would."
Rayon nodded once. "I keep my word. Always."
The children gathered closer, whispering about him like he was a legend. Rayon didn't flinch or play the part. He just looked at them, measuring their growth — the ones who had learned to stand, to fight, to live. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Not warmth, not affection — just recognition. They had survived. That was enough.
"I came to take you somewhere safer," Rayon said, turning to Lio. "There's a man I trust. Cairo. He runs something like a guild — structured, disciplined. You'll have food, shelter, training, if you want it."
Lio's brows furrowed. "You're leaving again?"
Rayon exhaled, glancing toward the horizon. "Yeah. I've got things to burn."
Erethon's chuckle echoed faintly. Things to burn. Classic.
The old woman stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "And why him, boy? You could've left us here to rot again."
"Because you kept them alive," Rayon said. His tone wasn't soft, but it carried weight. "You did what I couldn't stay to do. You've earned your peace."
She looked away, the corner of her lip twitching upward. "Peace… never lasts. You know that."
"Doesn't have to," Rayon murmured. "It just needs to exist long enough to matter."
He turned to the children, his voice steady. "Pack what you need. We leave by sunset."
Lio nodded instantly — no hesitation. "Wherever you go, we follow."
Rayon didn't answer. He just walked off toward the cliff overlooking the city, his coat fluttering in the breeze, eyes catching the faint glow of dusk.
The journey to Cairo's territory — to the heart of his organization — was uneventful, save for the whispers that followed Rayon wherever he passed. The man who broke the Seals. The one who walked with monsters. The Hollow Wielder.
When they reached the gates of the silver citadel — Cairo's stronghold — the guards moved aside without question. Word of Rayon traveled faster than light, and no one with sense stood in his way.
Inside, Cairo himself waited — broad-shouldered, calm, a faint grin playing on his face as soon as he saw him.
"Well, if it isn't the storm himself," Cairo said, arms crossed. "Didn't expect you to show up with a caravan of brats."
"They're survivors," Rayon said. "They've earned better than what they had."
Cairo eyed the kids, then nodded approvingly. "I can work with that. Severin's been expanding our reach — more recruits, more cells. These kids could use purpose."
"Just make sure they don't die trying," Rayon said flatly. "The oldest one — Lio — he's got something. Don't waste it."
"Don't tell me how to run my branch," Cairo said, grinning wider.
Rayon smirked back, eyes glinting. "Then don't make me take it from you."
That earned a laugh. Even Erethon's ghostly chuckle rippled through the air like smoke.
"You haven't changed," Cairo said finally, shaking his head. "Just stronger. And scarier."
"People only notice change when they start losing," Rayon said quietly. "I'm just adapting."
He turned to leave, hands still in his pockets. The wind tugged at his coat as he walked past the hall — the children watching him with wide eyes, the old woman silently praying behind them.
Lio called out, "Rayon—! You'll come back, right?"
Rayon paused, not turning around.
"Depends if there's still something worth coming back to."
Then he vanished into the evening mist.
In the silence that followed, Cairo looked at the old woman. "You weren't wrong," he said quietly. "He's not a hero."
She smiled faintly. "Heroes die. That boy doesn't."